An Angel Named Olga

An Angel Named Olga 

Today I went to KSCE TV to do my weekly program. When you enter the station, they have you sign in and put the date on a clipboard. Mexican pastors had entered before me, so they put the date as they write it, 2-6-16, instead of the way we write it, 6-2-16. I was a bit confused for a moment, and asked the receptionist about it, then we both simultaneously realized what was going on.

Most countries of the world record the date in a more logical way than we Americans do, writing day, month, and year, instead of month, day, and year. As the receptionist began to explain, I remembered that other countries write dates that way. “You know what?,” I said. “This difference in how we write dates once got me into legal trouble in Russia. It cost me some $1200 dollars, and a seven-day delay. It kept me from making it to a teaching engagement I had in Kazakhstan too. I’ll never forget it!” 

She had called for the production manager to come and get me, but he was taking some time, so when she asked me to explain my statement, I figured, “Why not?” and proceeded to tell her the following account of an “adventure” I had back in 2003, a fond memory of how God took care of me in a real time of need.

My wife and I and two of our daughters had been living in Kiev, Ukraine for three months, so I could study Russian with private tutors. As our time there came to a close, I was asked to go to Volgograd, Russia, to discuss the possibility of leading a Bible Institute for aspiring Christian leaders, based out of a large, thriving Russian church. My family and I parted ways in the Kiev airport. They flew home to Florida; I was going to Russia and Kazakhstan.

My first stop in Russia was St. Petersburg. There I spent a couple of days with a former Russian language school classmate, seeing the sights of that beautiful city. After stopping at an ATM, I was patted down and robbed by a group of Gypsy women and children. They took over $300 USD and my wallet, with ID and credit cards! Remarkably, the Russian police saw the whole thing and swooped down on the group, throwing them into a sort of Russian “paddy wagon” and threatening them with prison. I was so worried, having lost all my money and the only way I had of getting more!

The most amazing thing happened though – suddenly a hand reached out through the bars of the police vehicle, offering me my wallet back! I was very pleased to get it and my credit cards. But the cash was all missing! The police offered me a form to fill out to report the crime. As I struggled to figure out the Russian, another hand came out through the bars, this time offering me all my money back! That sort of thing just doesn’t happen, but God worked that miracle for me, and I’ll never forget it!

From St. Petersburg, I rode a train to Moscow, missed a flight to Volgograd, and ended up taking a train there too. I came to that city, the famous “Stalingrad” of WWII infamy, and was picked up at the station by an African pastor who worked with the Bible Institute I was coming to consider leading. He took me to meet the senior pastor of the large church. We had tea, then ate dinner together. I spend a couple of days with the leaders there, talking about the Institute, and praying about whether God would have me be involved. I had a great afternoon one of the days, when I was taken to meet the youth who led a large ministry to university students. There were folks from many countries there that afternoon, including a Chinese couple and their young female Chinese translator, who spoke with me in fluent English, Russian, and even taught me a little Chinese.

The Russian brothers then took me back to the train station, and sent me on my way. I was headed for Astrakhan, a Russian port on the northern end of the Caspian Sea at the point where the Volga River empties into that sea. Because they had an affiliated church in that city, they had called ahead to see if anyone there could pick me up. I was to change trains and have an 8-10 hour delay there, and these brothers thought it would be best if I could spend that time with fellow Christians, rather than simply sitting in the train station alone.

I was picked up by a young Russian pastor, Sasha, who took me to his church building while explaining that he had to leave for a previously scheduled conference! He opened his office for me, and said I could rest there on the couch, or do whatever I liked, then he left. My day didn’t look very promising! I would rather have stayed at the station than in his dark office, which was filled with buzzing mosquitos! There didn’t seem to be any option, however, so I thanked him and sadly sank into one of the lumpy couches, expecting a rather boring 8-10 hours.

Suddenly, the office door opened and a middle-aged Russian woman walked in, surprised to see me there. I guess she was a volunteer at the church who just happened to walk into the pastor’s office, possibly to clean it? She could see I was a foreigner, so she hesitantly spoke to me in Russian. When I answered in Russian, her face brightened up and we began to converse. She asked who I was and what I was doing there, and when she heard my answers, she quickly said it wouldn’t do at all for me to stay in that office. She called her husband to ask permission, then told me to get my stuff, I was coming to her house! I learned that her name was Olga.

She got me situated in her apartment and told me to take a shower, she was going to the grocery store to buy food, and would make us lunch! I proceeded to obey her orders. When she got back and I’d finished the shower, we ate together and shared testimonies the best we could with my limited Russian. The day passed quickly. She fixed us another meal, and before I knew it, it was time for Olga to take me to the train station for the next leg of my journey, the crossing out of Russian territory and entry into Kazakhstan.

As Olga drove me in her little Russian car to the train station, she took the time to make sure I understood where her apartment was in relation to it. I thought that a little odd. Why would I ever return to this city? But she made sure I saw which building she lived in, which apartment number, which street, and she pointed out, “See, it’s not far from the station. You come down this street and turn here.” Ok, wonderful. Thanks, Olga. I’m sure I’ll never be back, but thanks for so carefully showing me the way.

Olga wouldn’t let me carry my heavy duffel bag. She grabbed it and dragged it all the way into the station, to my train car, then loaded it in the overhead compartment for me! As she turned to leave, she pressed some Russian rubles into my hand, saying God had told her to give them to me. I was embarrassed – I didn’t want this lady who was obviously poorer than I to give me money, but she refused to take it back.

I thanked her profusely for her kindness and hospitality and said good-bye, “do svidanya.” Olga left me in the hot railway car. Soon we were rolling out of the station, on our way to Kazakhstan. At least, that was my plan. We rode along for about an hour and a half, then were told over the loudspeaker that we would be coming to the last check station before leaving Russia, so we should get our passports and other papers ready for inspection. When the train stopped, uniformed Russian border agents began going through the train checking papers. I had my passport and visa ready for inspection.

When they came to my car however, they didn’t just quickly glance at my documents and move on. Instead, they delayed for some time, and two of the soldiers conferred back and forth with each other. I was concerned, but had no idea why there would be any delay. Suddenly, one of the men just turned to me and told me to get my luggage and follow him. Annoyed, I had to reach way up in the compartment above, get that heavy duffle bag down, and then drag it through the narrow corridor of the train to the nearest stairway and off the train!

Over the rocks and ties of the railroad tracks we went, and over to some dingy government offices. I was told to situate myself on a chair in one of them, and was left alone. No one had explained anything to me; I could only speculate as to what was going on. After a time, an officer of some sort came into the room and sat behind a desk, where he proceeded to read documents and mark some of them. I waited and waited, but he never spoke to me at all. I found a Russian newspaper, and tried to read it the best I could, getting out my dictionary for help.

Suddenly, the train I’d come on began moving off down the tracks! That was my train! I tried to tell the officer behind the desk, but he seemed unconcerned. Grabbing my dictionary, I went to him and tried to ask what was going on. He said a word I’d never heard before. “Don’t you understand? You’re a narusheetyel.” What was that? I looked it up in the dictionary. Violator! A violator? Of what? It took some time, but finally I was made to understand that I had misread my visa, because of the different way other countries write the dates, remember? I thought I had plenty of time to get out of Russia, because I’d read my visa wrongly. I had already overstayed my visa! I was a violator!

Well, what was I to do? The man seemed completely unconcerned. I guess he would’ve let me sit in that office all night if I hadn’t finally come up and complained! Communication was very difficult, but he told me I couldn’t leave the country. I would have to go back to the city, to the government offices that handled these sorts of things, and I would have to fix things there. Well, how would I get back there? Would there be another train? Oh no, that train that just left is the last one for today! Well, what could I do? Where could I stay? Was there any other way back? Oh, you’ll have to figure that out yourself! There are taxis. Maybe you could get one of them to take you back!

Gathering up my things, I made my way outside the area of the train station to where I saw various taxis and their drivers. Mosquitos were buzzing all around as I walked through the darkness up to this group of Asian-looking men. I was a foreigner who couldn’t speak the language very fluently, with no idea where I was or how far it was back to the city, no idea of what would be a fair price for such a long taxi ride, and without any Russian money. Oh, but I did have some Russian money! Olga had pressed some rubles into my hands! I asked the taxi drivers how much it would be, and guess what? I just “happened” to have enough rubles! Soon I was bouncing and zooming along in a tiny Russian taxi, with Russian music blaring from the speakers! We rode all the way back to Astrakhan, something like 100 miles away.

The taxi driver dropped me off at what I guess was one of the only hotels in Astrakhan. I dragged my duffle bag up the steps and went to the front desk, asking if they had a room for the night. “Sure, but I need to see your passport,” the lady behind the desk said. When I gave it to her, she said, “Sorry, I can’t let you stay here. You’re in violation of your visa!” There was that word again – violation! Struggling to communicate, I said, “Please, I know I’m in violation, but I just found out, and I need to spend the night here to try and figure out how to resolve this problem.” She informed me that it would be against Russian law, and she would be in trouble if anyone found out. I just could not have a room in that hotel!

I really prayed! “Please,” I said, “I need a place to stay, just so I can resolve this! I don’t have anywhere to go! Do you want me to sleep in the streets?!” The woman looked around to see if there were any police or any of her managers around, and nodded her head. “Ok, you can stay, but only for one night.” Whew – was I relieved!

I paid for the room, but I can’t remember how – probably with a credit card? Then I dragged my stuff to the elevator. When I got off at my floor, there were at least five prostitutes waiting there for me! “Do you want a girl?” they asked. “Oh no,” I said, “I have one already.” “Where is she?” “Oh, she’s in the United States.” “Well, that’s a long way away! We’re here!” “Thanks a lot, but no thanks!” I opened my door, pulled my stuff in, and quickly shut it behind me!

After spending the night in that hot little room, I woke the next day determined to get to the government offices and resolve my immigration problem. I asked where it was at the front desk, and leaving my things at the hotel, I caught a taxi which took me to it. There was a large group of people waiting outside. After about a 20 minute wait, an official of some kind came out and told us to sign in on a clipboard, and we would have to come back later in the afternoon! Dumbfounded, I signed and walked away. What would I do? Checkout time was noon. I’d have no hotel room after that!

I spent the next several hours riding buses to different transportation hubs. I went to the bus station to see if I could ride a bus to Kazakhstan. I went to taxi drivers. I even tried to find a boat across the Caspian Sea. Nothing I tried brought any resolution. Unless and until my visa problem could be resolved, I was stuck! What could I do? Where could I stay? I couldn’t even speak the language well enough to understand these officials I had to deal with! Dejected and tired, I went back to my hotel room. I would have to check out and wander the streets till later in the afternoon. I lay on my small hotel bed, thinking and praying.

Suddenly, a thought! Olga had told me how to get to her apartment – could I remember the way? She’d been so insistent, I thought I could! So I left my stuff and headed out on foot. Olga had pointed out that her place wasn’t far away!

I walked there, found her apartment, and rang the doorbell, but no one answered. What to do? Finding a scrap of paper, I wrote out in Russian what had transpired, and told Olga where I was staying. Then I walked back to the hotel. Going to my room, I lay on the bed again, resolving to stay there until the hotel people made me leave. Suddenly, a knock on the door! I opened it, and there stood Olga, with a concerned look on her face! What had happened? Why had I come back?

I told her my story, and about how I had to return to the government office around 4 or 5 pm. She helped me get checked out, and took me to her apartment, where we unloaded my heavy duffle bag once again. Then we went to the office. There was a huge crowd of people, but Olga barged right in as Russians tend to do. She dragged me behind her to one of those windows with a semicircular opening at the bottom, and began to speak in my behalf to the official there. “This man is an American. He overstayed his visa because he didn’t understand our dating. You need to fix this for him.”

With a totally disinterested look, the man said, “Impossible! We can’t do that here. He’ll have to go to Volgograd.” Olga was very bold. “He can’t go back there! That’s where he just came from! You have to fix this here!” Oh no, it wasn’t going to be possible. After more arguing, Olga finally gave up and led us back out of that place. She took me home, and said she was going to prepare us something to eat. She went into her little kitchen and set to work. I waited out at the dining table.

When Olga came out, she had a determined look on her face. “You know what? We’re not going to just sit here. I’m going to take you to Volgograd! I just have to call my husband first and get his permission.” (I never did see any husband. I wonder if Olga just talked about him as a sort of protection for herself, to keep me from getting any ideas?) Anyway, she got on the phone to somebody, and after a while, told me it was ok; we were going to Volgograd!

“But Olga,” I said, “That’s so far away, at least 5 hours in your little car. I hate for you to have to drive me so far!” She wouldn’t hear any of my reservations! We ate together, packed our stuff into her little Russian Lada car, and off we went, as evening was darkening the skies. As we got on the highway out of town, Olga asked me if I could sing. “Sing? Well, sure, I sing in the shower! But I don’t know any Russian worship songs!” “That’s fine,” she said, “you can sing in English or Spanish, or whatever other languages you know. I’ll sing in Russian. We’re going to praise the Lord on this trip!” We started singing, and I sang just about every praise song I knew! The hours passed much faster than I had imagined.

As darkness closed in, I saw Russian Sukhoi jet fighters flying overhead, one of the most advanced fighters in the world. Yet the roads were full of potholes, and the apartments were crumbling and in a terrible state of disrepair. It was easy to see what the Russian government spent its money on!

Near midnight, we were finally coming into the outskirts of Volgograd. Suddenly, one of Olga’s tires blew out! She had to pull off the highway immediately, and we came to a stop outside some houses that looked like the houses poor people live in in Juarez, Mexico, where I had worked for years. I got out and had her open her trunk. I wanted to see if she had a spare, so I could change the tire. There was a spare, in very poor condition, but no jack or lug wrench! How would I ever get this tire changed?

Just as I was pondering this dilemma, two men came out of one of the houses, obviously inebriated! With slurred speech, they asked what the problem was. Olga got out of the driver’s side and explained. The two drunks happily pulled the spare out of the trunk, went to their house and brought out a jack and lug wrench, and proceeded to change the tire! We had stopped at the best possible place for a midnight tire repair! Soon we were on our way again, and in just a short period of time, we had come to the home of the Russian pastor of the large church in Volgograd where the Bible Institute was located. His house was very large, and in short order, he and his wife had Olga situated in a room downstairs, and me in a room upstairs. Exhausted from all that singing, I fell asleep in no time.

The next day, we had a great breakfast with the pastor, his wife, and several church workers. It was agreed that I would stay with some of the young men, and we would try to solve my immigration problem. That was to take almost a full week and over $1200 US dollars before it was finally resolved. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience! Eventually, I did make my way to Kazakhstan, but I missed an entire week at one church and Bible School where I’d been scheduled to speak. I did get to teach and preach in another part of the country before returning to the States.

During the breakfast, I slipped out of the house and slid some Russian rubles through a slight opening in Olga’s car window. I don’t know if she ever found them. But after breakfast, I thanked her profusely for all she’d done for me, and we said good-bye.

I’ve never seen or heard from her again. But I’ll never forget Olga, this Russian woman with an amazing love for Jesus and a willingness to do whatever was necessary to help one of His servants get where he was supposed to be. How many people would be so willing to give money to a “rich American,” to feed him several times, to allow him into her house to take a shower and rest, to go to bat for him in a government office, and then to drive him hundreds of miles, only to have to turn around and drive back all that way, alone?

I just don’t think there are many people like Olga! For me, she truly was one of God’s angels, sent to help me in a time of need. What would I have done, where would I have been if she hadn’t been so cheerfully willing to serve God by helping me?!