I love my country and am very proud and thankful to be Canadian. Both my mom and my dad were born in the former Soviet Union under the communist regime. Life for them was completely different than it has been for me as a first generation Canadian in this free and affluent country.
My parents told us stories of their lives through those turbulent years. They were our bedtime stories, and they sometimes made for some pretty scary dreams at night. I will try to give you a glimpse of their lives in Russia and as refugees during WWII.
Although my parents were raised in families where they knew the love of God, their faith had to be kept quiet. My father's family had a Bible that his mother would read after they had covered the windows. She sternly warned her sons that they should never talk about this part of their lives. My mother's family had a Bible and a songbook. She remembers her parents singing these songs together. There were no churches, so they never went to church.
Fear of arousing suspicion of loyalty to Mother Russia was always part of their lives. When my mother was little, she innocently mentioned in school that she had an aunt who lived in Canada. My mom was reprimanded for talking about this because simple statements like this could bring serious trouble with the authorities.
When my father was seven, the Secret Police entered their family home at night and took his father away. As my dad's father was being led away, he said to my dad, "Take good care of your brother." My dad never saw his father again nor his carefree childhood either. He got a job tending sheep and earned more money than his mother did. When his mother worked, he didn't just tend the sheep, but his younger brother and also their baby brother who had been born three weeks after his father was taken away. How ironic that he would get a job as sheepherder, when the alleged crime for which his father was arrested, was stealing sheep.
Life was difficult and food was scarce during those times of raidings. The little food that the family salvaged would be divided among the children, and my mom's mother would often tell the children that she wasn't hungry so her children would have more to eat. Once they were given some cornmeal to make into porridge. That night soldiers came into their home. My mom remembers how her mother possessively kept her hand on the lid of the pot in order to keep it for her children. The soldiers slept in their house that night. It was wall to wall bodies on the floor making it impossible for my mom to get to the outhouse at night without stepping on those sleeping on the floor.
More than three years of travelling from place to place as refugees during World War II, provided stories of God's miraculous provision and hand of guidance. I heard the story of my mom's sister who, when the train came to a stop, wanted to leave the train in search of food for the family to eat. Her mother begged her not to leave and hung onto her for dear life. Just then the train started moving again. In the chaos of the crowds, she would have been lost if her mother had let go of her hand.
When my mom's family came into a Poland, they were welcomed into a village home where they, as dirty travellers, were given the luxury of sleeping on beds... with fresh laundered sheets. God also provided shelter for their family in a Catholic Monastery for 10 months, where 24 people slept in one room. In Germany, it was providential to have slept in the forest on the night that Russian soldiers suddenly invaded the area and raided and ravaged the refugees there. My mom and her sisters - all teens at the time - had been hidden and spared the horrors other women had to endure.
Hearing my parents tell of a loving God who faithfully carried them through times of trouble and hardship, has been a huge influence on my life. The life they've had in Canada has been more wonderful than they could ever have imagined life being. Each prayer at the dinner table included thanksgiving for our freedom. So now, when Canada Day comes around, every year I hang the Canadian flag on the flagpole on our house, I sing
God keep our land glorious and free as a heartfelt prayer, and I am truly thankful.
I'm thankful for freedom - for freedom of speech and religion. I'm thankful for an abundance of food and for shelter, for comfy beds and clean sheets, for privacy and indoor plumbing, for the encouragement I receive when gathering together with believers, and for the ever-present, continual goodness of God.
Even though I do celebrate our country and am a proud Canadian, I'm mindful that this world is not our home
but our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. (Phil. 3:20) While we wait though, we need to keep in mind what God told his people in Jeremiah 29:7.
But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.
