IT WAS early spring, but the landscape was still frozen beneath a thick blanket of snow as our bus slowly navigated the many potholes waiting in ambush under slushy puddles on the road ahead. It was difficult to think, much less read, because of the lurching, bumping, and vibrating motion as we inched our way along the winter-ravaged highway. A soap opera rerun was playing on a ceiling-mounted TV to entertain the passengers during the long ride. But most of us were trying to ignore the program as we passed through dense forests dotted with fields, small villages, and a vast network of rivers still hidden by thick ice. Our bus would pass through several widely scattered towns both before and after my destination. It's a landscape that speaks of isolation and life lived without the amenities I've learned to take for granted.
I was on my way to a small city near Russia's western border that was already old at the beginning of the tenth century, and I would be meeting with a small group of evangelical Christians.
The cold, lonely landscape tried to creep into my thought. I had no idea where I was! The question came, "Will I even know when I've reached my destination?" Road signs, and street and informational signs in general, tend to be few and far between here. Small towns don't always advertise their names—if you live there you know, and if you don't ... (visualize a shrug of the shoulders). An angel message touched my heart saying, "God knows where you're going—He'll tell you!"
