I grew up in communist Russia, when everything and everyone was under the tight supervision of the KGB, and the few people who believed in God and Jesus kept it secret. My father worked for the government, which meant our family was supervised even closer than most. No one ever spoke about faith. No one ever said there was a God. Religion was a fairy tale for the faint-hearted. "Yuri Gagarin [the Soviet cosmonaut who was the first human to fly in space] was in space and he didn't see God," our schoolteachers told us, "because there is no God."
The only "holy" thing, the only thing that everyone respected and feared was the Communist Party. At the age of nine I had the honor of becoming the first among my peers to enter the Young Pioneers, the Communist youth organization. I swore the traditional oath declaring myself an atheist, and was determined to uphold the teachings of Grandpa Lenin.
I filled my days with studies of physics and astronomy, and was headed for the bright future my beloved government promised--a great education and many years of work in a science laboratory, all for the good of Mother Russia. I needed no God in my life.
Then something happened that shook my Communist beliefs.
My family was going to visit friends in Zelenogorsk, a little town not far from our home in St. Petersburg ("Leningrad" during the Communist era), but my mother refused to go. "I had a dream," she said. "If we will go now, we will have an accident and might not survive. I saw a truck dropping concrete blocks on our car while we were stopped for a red light."
At the time, Russian truckers were notoriously careless with their cargo--after all, they received the same monthly allotment from the government, regardless of how they did their job. It was not uncommon to see a truckload of goods scattered all over the road.
My father refused to listen to "the woman's superstitions," so off we went. Halfway to Zelenogorsk we got stuck in traffic. My father took a detour. As he turned a corner, we found ourselves at a stoplight just as it turned red. Directly in front of us was a huge truck carrying concrete blocks. An eerie feeling came over us.
My father's face turned pale as he tried to steer away from the truck, but with other cars behind us there was little room to maneuver. After what seemed an eternity, he managed to pull away. Then Mother's dream came true.
The plank that was meant to hold the concrete blocks in the truck cracked under the weight, and we watched speechless as the blocks toppled out of the truck and crushed the car that had pulled up into our place. We were shaken but safe--and I would never forget the events of that day!
I tried to find a plausible, logical explanation to my mother's prophetic dream, but couldn't find any. There was only one explanation, and it seemed neither plausible nor logical: God had given her that glimpse of the future to save our lives.
The next night I did something very unusual for me--I prayed. "God, if You really do exist and You spared our lives in that accident, then show me once more that You care. Send someone to talk to me about You. If You do, I will believe."
A few minutes later I stepped onto the dark street, my mind teeming with questions. Had God done a miracle to spare my life? If so, why? Was He going to answer my prayer and give me another sign? I felt goose bumps as I thought about what might happen next.
I hadn't taken more than ten steps when someone handed me a beautiful poster. "God is love," it stated, "and He loves you!" I was stunned.
"Why are you giving this to me?" I asked.
"Because God told me to," the stranger answered. "He wants to be there for you."
I can't remember what else was said, but I ended up praying with that stranger to receive Jesus as my Savior. We also arranged for me to visit her at home two days later, when she was going to give a Bible study to a small group of new Christians.
About two months later I made up my mind to become a missionary. I was seventeen. My parents didn't take me seriously at first, but as I was packing my bags to go to a Christian youth camp, my father walked into my room. "Where do think you are going?!" he thundered.
"I want to become a missionary and help people," I answered. "It's just for three months, Father." My mother overheard us and joined the argument on my father's side.
"Three months!" my father yelled. "Don't you realize that is plenty of time for people to find out that my daughter is associating with foreigners who are Christians? I will be kicked out of the Communist Party, and could even be suspected of being a spy! We will have no jobs, no money, and you will be to blame!"
It was 1991, and the Soviet Union had just broken up. "Things will be different now," I tried to tell him.
He wouldn't listen. His lecture went on for four hours, but didn't change my convictions one bit. In my heart I knew that God had called me to be His servant, and I was going to follow that call no matter what.
When my mother saw that their arguments were getting nowhere, she decided to go with me and find out for herself what kind of people I was seeing--and she became a Christian herself during the first meeting she attended!
That night I had another heated discussion with my father, and to his surprise Mother took my side this time. Finally he agreed to let me "give God a try," providing God gave him a sign.
That same night his simple, old-fashioned watch switched over to daylight saving time by itself. The next morning, when he realized that his was the only timepiece in the house that showed the new time without being adjusted, he remembered that he had asked God to give him a sign and he was overjoyed at how He had. My father received Jesus that day, and ever since then he has been proud to be a Christian. "The Communists only promised us a bright future," he tells people. "God actually has the means to give it and to answer our prayers."
I did become a missionary. During the past twelve years I have seen many more signs and miracles that proved to me that God exists. And best of all, I found what had been missing in my life. It was the link that connected my heart to God's.
(Joanna is a full-time Family International volunteer.)
