This Week in Pictures- part 2

Fri.-White Christmas? Does fog count?

Masha & Lyera with their stockings. That was fun, because it's not a tradition here. See the pistachios, dad?

Pancakes with strawberry and cherry syrup

Christmas lunch with Ron Winkler(from the other IM team in Odessa) and John & Patti Sharer

Sat.-A Christmas band walking down the crowded walk in the market.

A New Year's Tree in one of the squares along with a very blurry Santa handing out fliers for something

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you! I'm leaving today to go the far eastern side of Ukraine to spend New Years with two of the students from the training center. I''ll be there until the 2nd and then will go spend Orthodox Christmas with my brother's family. I'll return to Odessa Jan. 10th.

This Week in Pictures- part 1(Mon. - Thurs.)

Mon.- Still a lot of snow and everything is frozen

Tues.- a fairly unusual evening sky, since it's usually foggy and gray.

Wed.- Christmas bushes are here! They are rather strangely shaped, though. Even the ones that look like trees are super sparse.

A "tree"

Thurs.- beautiful crystal glasses that were sent to me from Russia several years ago

Christmas Eve dinner with two girls I disciple. We had some traditional Ukrainian cold salads and chicken pot pie(take a guess who made that). =-)

Kootyah-a traditional Christmas Eve dish-wheat kernels with a sauce poured over it. The sauce is a water and honey broth with poppy seeds, walnuts and raisins in it.

Sleepover: Masha and Lyera spent the night

Just Another Day

Today is "American Christmas." It's actually Christmas in most parts of the world, but here I keep hearing it referred to as "American Christmas." It's most definitely not Orthodox Christmas, which is celebrated on January 7th. I'm not sure what I expected, but it's so strange to go through an entire day and see or hear nothing celebratory out on the streets. People left for work and returned home, as normal. The marshrutkas were crowded and the streets packed with cars, as normal. People hurried to and fro, as normal.

I decided to have two of the girls that I meet with over for a Christmas Eve dinner yesterday. We watched "White Christmas" and they spent the night. I had planned a pancake breakfast and made strawberry/cherry syrup and was up bright and early to get everything ready. I had spent time thinking of things to fill their stockings with and was looking forward to giving those to them, since it's not a tradition here.

They woke up and wandered into the kitchen, where I was cooking the pancakes and we starting talking. Looking out the window at all of the fog, I made some comment about it kind of being a white Christmas, if fog counts. "Oh, right," one replied, "It's Christmas." And that was that. My balloon of Christmas joy deflated, as I realized that they really didn't understand what this meant to me. I had planned and prepared for this, wanting them to experience some of the joy and traditions of our biggest holiday. And when they didn't respond in the way I was hoping, I wilted. I really didn't have much Christmas cheer to start out with and was looking for them to share in the little that I had managed to eke out. But it's not their biggest holiday and though they enjoyed trying new foods and learning about different cultural traditions, it all comes down to the fact that it's simply....just another day.

It's all about Him

I sit here at 5pm Christmas Day, struggling with my thoughts. I'd like to write you some inspirational words for Christmas, but the truth is I'm not feeling very inspired. I'm discouraged and lonely, homesick and hurting. Odessa, Ukraine, is the last place that I want to be at the moment. I want to be home. I want for someone, anyone, that I spend time investing in here to say "Merry Christmas" to me, acknowledging the fact that I've left my family and friends to come here and that this might be a hard day for me . A text, a phone call, an e-mail would have been nice. I've been struggling through December and doing ok. The day in and day out of ministry needs is good for me and keeps my mind occupied. For awhile, though,I just wanted to escape. I just didn't want to be here on Christmas Day. I looked at maybe taking a short trip somewhere and then decided that trying to escape wasn't going to help.

But even as I sit here writing, the thought comes to me: Jesus left His home with God to come to earth to offer eternal life to a completely fallen world. He endured rejection, humiliation, scorn, terrible physical abuse, accusations, betrayal, mockery, hatred, and ultimately, a horribly brutal death...........all for our sakes. He was the Godman and could have relieved Himself of that awful duty, but He chose to walk that road out of His love for you and me.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life." Jn. 3:16

So even though I'm not doing great emotionally right now, I'll get over it. After all, this day isn't about me, or my family, or our traditions, as great as they are. It's all about Him.

Snowy Odessa

The cars were completely stuck until yesterday, because none of the drives were shoveled out.

The wind was so strong, that all of my balcony decorations flew away.

The entrance to my building

What do all of the poor wild dogs do in this weather?

Steam rising from the underground hot water pipes. We're all radiator heated.

I Hear Music

I hear music in:

*the cooing of the doves & the ticking of the clock

*the howling of the wind & the hush of snowfall

*the complexities of a foreign language & the noise of unknown neighbors

*the barking of the dogs & the comforting still of my flat

*the hurried rush of traffic & the rhythmical fall of footsteps

*the measured timing of traffic lights & the rush of water through pipes

*the rolling boil of the teapot & the cocoon of a quilt

*the quiet contemplation of a good book & the solitary time spent with God

I hear music all around me. What do you hear?

A Day at School

Wednesday I spent the day at an MK(missionary kid) school here in Odessa, substitute teaching for Kim Huffman, who is in the States. This is a school run by Mission to the World and there are seven students and two classrooms. It reminds me of the old one room schoolhouses in America, except this would have to be a called a two room school-flat, since it's on the fifth floor of an apartment house in the center of the city. I taught the younger group, which is all girls, ages 7,9 & 12. The older group is four teenage boys. Every subject, with the exceptions of Russian, gymnastics and ballet, are taught be one teacher in each room, a couple who moved here to run the school for MTW. Kim comes in on Wednesdays to give the girl's teacher a break. She also teaches music and art to them that day. So that's what I was there to do: give their teacher a break. I prepared the music and art lessons(Kim had all of the art stuff ready to go), but then had to do all of their other subjects with them, as well.

Snow had been pouring from the sky since Tuesday and continued to do so the entire day. By 2pm, we could barely see the buildings next door and were beginning to get a little concerned that I might not make it home, so I left early to see if the marshrutki(buses) were still running. The temps were down to about 18 and there was about a foot of snow on the ground by the time I left school. Getting back to the bus was longer and much messier than normal and I wasn't very happy when I got there to see long lines of waiting people and no buses. I was about to begin the walk back to the school, having resigned myself to the fact that I was about to get to know the Martins much better, when the very bus that I needed pulled up. The driver got out, said that they were shutting down all of the buses for the entire city and that this was the last one. I got on, but after a while, began to wonder if I was going to be stranded somewhere with no way to get home. We started and stopped, started and stopped, over and over and over. People ran along the side of the bus banging on the windows and door, begging the driver to let them in. But we were already packed in like sardines, with me and about 20 other people standing smashed against each other.

For two hours we crept along the route that normally takes 45 minutes, with the driver getting out every few minutes to bang the ice off the windshield wipers so that he could see. We passed at least 50 cars stranded in banks of snow, because the city had no one clearing the streets, until it was too late. Tramvais(like cable cars) were stuck on their tracks, because when the city finally did try to clear the streets, all of it was pushed over onto the tramvai tracks. They would clear the roads in one direction, but not the other, leaving great humps of snow for drivers to attempt to get over at intersections. We finally made it to my neighborhood and were within four stops of where I would get off, when the traffic came to a complete stop. We sat and sat and finally I and two others asked to be let off right there. As I started the walk home, I saw cars crawling along the uncleared roads and people lining the sides of the streets with their thumbs out. In a city dominated by public transportation, where storms like this rarely happen and aren't planned for, what happens to people when all public transportation is shut down and they are left stranded on the side of the road in 18 degree weather?

I finally made it home, two and a half hours after I started, with scarves, gloves and hat completely soaked through. As I took off all of my layers, extremely grateful for the warmth of my home and my safe return, I was haunted by the image stuck in my mind, of rows of people standing in snow drifts on the side of the road, just trying to make it home.

The girl's school room

Lunch time

Recess!

How would you like for this to be where you get to have recess?

The colonnade of the Voronsovsky Palace

Heading back to find a marshrutka

You can see the yellow marshrutka that I got off of, still sitting there

Looking out my window, from the warmth of my flat

Ernest Goes To Ukraine

For those of you who have seen the Ernest movies, I would almost swear that I was asked out on a date today by his older, drunk, Ukrainian brother. I ran out of minutes on my phone and attempted to make a quick dash out to the store to get a phone card. Of course, simply getting out of the house at the moment takes a little preparation in this 21 degree weather: longjohns? check. Wool socks, boots, jeans, shirt, sweater? check, check, check, check, check. Scarf, gloves, ear protection and hat? All there. Ready to go.

So off I went, having added a few items to my list. As I was putting the bellpeppers in my cart, a guy wandered up and started asking me questions about some guy I've never heard of. Konstantin somebody. I never quite caught the last name, but that's mainly because he wasn't positive he remembered it. But he knew Konstantin's brother's name: Valyera. Well, that still wasn't much help to me, since, #1)I had no clue what he was talking about and #2)there are tons of Konstantins and Valyeras in Ukraine. He was very disturbed that I couldn't answer his question and kept asking me what kind of Ukrainian was I? After a couple minutes of this(as he got closer and closer), I realized two things: 1) he was drunk and 2) he was talking about some famous Ukrainian music group. He described them very thoroughly to me"one guy writes and the other one sings. The music is very sexual and emotional and popular." I continued to explain that I didn't know the group to which he was referring.

Finally, I got frustrated with his questioning my Ukrainian identity and explained that I'm NOT Ukrainian. His reply, "Well, how do you speak Russian, then?" Keep in mind that he had been doing the majority of the talking, as my policy in public is to keep talking to a minimum. So of course, he then wanted to know where I was from. So I told him and that prompted another strange conversation. "I've always been afraid of Americans, but you're not scary. Are you sure that you're American? You speak Russian. Americans speak English, not Russian." At this point, I was feeling fairly uncomfortable, as he had long ago invaded my personal space and I was having to endure the odiforous fragrances of garlic and alcohol wafting out of his mouth.

I was ready to make a break for it and was stealing furtive glances around, in the hopes that someone would come to my rescue. Alas, the closest person was a babushka, who, while looking very sorry for me, didn't give any signs that she was going to come to my rescue. Meanwhile, the interrogation carried on: "Where are you from again? You live here? Are you here by yourself? Where are you headed next?(in the grocery store. What, we're going to do our shopping together, or something?) Why don't we take a break(cause I'm so exhausted from shopping?) and go sit down for a while upstairs? Hey, where's my shopping cart? Who took my shopping cart?"

At that, I made my move. As he turned to look for his cart(which he had left in the middle of the aisle, so someone had pushed it aside), I dashed in the opposite direction, trying to make a quick getaway. Quick! Grab everything and go as quickly as possible! You can do it! As I rounded the corner of the cereal aisle, I heard behind me, "Anya, wait for me!" I pretended not to hear and kept going, trying to get lost in the cookware and soap aisles. After a few minutes I peered around the corner and decided to head towards the checkout, and beyond to freedom. I made it safely back through the wind, snow and cold and as I was unlocking my door, I realized......... that I had forgotten the phone card.

What He Intends

"The question is not what we intended ourselves to be, but what He intended us to be when He made us. He is the inventor, we are only His machine. He is the painter, we are only the picture......
We may be content to remain what we call 'ordinary people': but He is determined to carry out a quite different plan. To shrink back from that plan is not humility: it is laziness and cowardice. To submit to it is not conceit or megalomania; it is obedience." C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity


He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
Phil. 1:6

Picture(s) of the Day: Bangs Gone Wild.

Several people have asked me recently about my bangs, "Where have they gone?" and "Why are you pulling them back?"

I figured I could give you a pictoral answer and you would all completely understand. =-D

Cheer( more to come later)

Tradition vs. Truth

I think the truth of what Christmas is about has finally hit me. Or at the very least, the opportunity has come where I can completely focus on the truth of why I celebrate Christmas. You see, I am a very aesthetic person and very much tied to traditions. I love every aspect of the Christmas season: music, lights, parties, a live tree, wreaths, shopping, sitting in church after church playing music and bringing joy to people, caroling, the Salvation Army bell ringer, hanging stockings on the chimney, turning the strands of lights on every morning and evening, beautiful decorations everywhere, ice-skating, cheerful people, wrapping presents, reading the Christmas story, the scent of pine, giving, visiting, hayrides to see brilliantly lit houses, hot cider, silly gift exchanges, bonfires, special food, waiting for dad to finish reading all the things he wants to read and hand out the stockings................and I could go on and on.

But everything is different this year. I made a decision to do something that I was convinced I was supposed to do and I now find myself on the other side of the world, far away from my family and the traditions of my culture. And though I knew there were many differences awaiting me, some continue to take me by surprise. I knew that New Years is the biggest holiday here and I knew that they don't celebrate Christmas until January 7th and that it is not as important as New Years. What I didn't know was that the entire month of December isn't considered the "Holiday" season, as in America and many other countries. There are decorations for sale in a few stores, but that's about it. There are no beautifully lit trees in people's windows, no bell ringers, no tacky Christmas sweaters, no reindeer antennae decorations, no Christmas trees on top of cars, no tree lots, no wreaths on people's doors .........nothing. If you were just walking down the streets here, you would have absolutely no way of knowing that it's December.

The thought of that, combined with the ever present foggy, grey days, has been a drain on me. I love the beauty and cheer of the Christmas season. And then I realized that even though I've always said it's not about that, it's incredibly hard to separate the truth of the holiday from the trappings of tradition. The truth is that over 2000 years ago a baby was born, who was both God and man. He grew up a sinless and holy man, and willingly suffered an incredibly terrible death to take the sin punishment that was separating me from God. He died in my place, so that I, through faith in Him, could have a relationship with the One who forgave my sins and offered me eternal life. The most incredible gift of all eternity was given over 2000 years ago, through the birth, life, death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ. And that is something that transcends all cultural traditions of all time. Tradition or Truth: what will you choose to focus on this holiday season?

The package pickup

Five months into life in Ukraine, I received my first package notification: “Pick up your package at Post Office 121”, no address given. I knew that there is a post office just down the street, so the next Monday I(along with my visiting sister-in-law) went to pick up my package. Wrong post office. We asked where post office 121 is and were told it is near the store “Kopyeika”. I know where that is, but since it's at an intersection, we asked which street it's on, Glushko or Marshalla Zhukova? I guess one question was the limit, because we got an angry response of, “Girls, it's in the field of Kopyeika!” Er, the field? There are no fields anywhere around here, so I knew I was probably in for a small search.

Later in the day came the opportunity for attempt number two: find the “field” where the post office is located. I walked down to Kopyeika and started looking all around, but to no avail. There was no post office to be seen anywhere, only row after row of small stores and flats. So I started asking people, “Excuse me, can you tell me where post office 121 is?” Apparently, my third eye had popped out on my forehead, because no one would stop to answer my question. Some would listen for a second, shake their head and keep walking. Others would just shake their head as soon as I opened my mouth. Finally, a young woman was kind enough to stop, listen and direct me across the intersection to the post office, which was hidden behind construction walls. I'm still not sure how that was in the same “field” as Kopyeika, but at least I found it.

I walked up to the door, only to find it locked. I looked back at the notice I had received, which told me that the lunch break was from 12-1. It was now 1:40, so I wasn't sure what was going on, until I read the sign, which said that lunch was from 1-2. sigh. So I went on a walk. Twenty-five minutes later, I returned for attempt number three, only to find a sign up that said something was happening after 2pm. Calling my brother, I found out that they were doing inventory and had closed the post office for the rest of the day. So, feeling slightly discouraged at this point, I trudged home.

Attempt number four came two days later, with just enough time to take a fast walk to the post office, collect the box and get back in time for a team lunch. I was determined to get that package. This time, I was happy to see the front door open. I patiently waited in line, got to the front, handed over my filled out paperwork and my passport. The woman glanced at it, handed it back to me, and told me that packages are picked up in a different place, around the corner. So around the corner I went and found a closed door. After knocking on the door, I showed the slip to a babushka who parted the curtains. She took one look at it, screamed, “Lunch!” and pulled the curtains closed again. After muttering a few words about service with a smile, I grudgingly turned around and made my way home, once again empty handed.

Along the way I pondered all that I had learned in this seemingly simple task of picking up a package:

1)Persistence is key to achieving anything in this country, 2)Politeness isn't something you're born with, it's something you're taught, 3)Waiting builds anticipation. I don't think I've ever wanted a package so much, 4)the package pickup place is really sketchy looking, even if a grandma is in charge, 5)when grandma is having lunch, you'd bother not bother her!, 6)living here is character and patience building.

Attempt number five: SUCCESS!! And though I really didn't win anything, having merely figured out the rules of the system, I found myself strutting victoriously home singing, “Weeeee are the champions, my friend!!”

A Gorilla comes to visit

Last night the training center students came over for a late Thanksgiving dinner and to visit with will, Phyllis and the kids. The surprise of the night was when a Gorilla came to visit! And even funnier was listening to the commentary going on in English, Polish, Ukrainian and Russian. I'm sure that my neighbors were hating me last night, because it sounded like a circus was in my flat, but we sure did have a lot of fun!!

The Measure of a Life

Yesterday marked one year since my grandfather died. And the day got away from me before I could write anything, so I am doing it now. This may sound terrible, but I prayed that God would take him before I moved overseas, because I wanted to be there and didn't want to do my mourning here. The week of Thanksgiving last year was a difficult one for me; I've never grieved like that before. Watching someone that you deeply care for slowly waste away in front of your eyes gives one such a feeling of helplessness. Death by starvation is a merciful death, but not merciful to those who are watching it occur. Even thinking about it now I realize that I still grieve his loss, though I know that he's so much happier now and feels wonderful. I loved him so much and still miss him, one year later. The following is what I wrote last year:

"I am thankful for the life and death of my grandfather. He was not my biological grandfather, but was the only one that I ever knew. He was a quiet, reserved man at home, who boomed out his "Amens" and out-of-tune hymns at church. He had a strong faith and I'm confident that he's now free of pain and with his great Creator. He was always a bit of a mystery to me, rarely talking, but always willing to let us watch the news with him or follow him around. I always loved him, but grew to cherish him over the past two years as I spent time with him at the nursing home. I didn't know him as anything other than a kind, quiet, gentle man. I didn't know him when he was young, when he pursued his first wife, went to war, raised his daughter, buried his wife, and then met and married my grandmother. I don't know what kind of husband, father, or friend he was to others. The measure of the man that I knew was laughter, quietness, gentility, patience and a deep and abiding love for God. He was my beloved Pop and I will miss him very much."

Picture of the Day

I thought this was just too cute. There are so many young couples here walking around every day pushing baby strollers. So I did a double take the other day when I was looking out my window and saw these two strolling down the sidewalk by themselves. At first glance I didn't realize they were just children, until I noticed their little hats. They were out for a walk, practicing their "parenting" skills and having a good chat at the same time.

Searching for Sauce

My desire to make BBQ chicken took me on a hunt around my neighborhood this past week searching for BBQ sauce. And before you tell me to make it, I've already tried. The main problem is that we can't purchase all of the necessary ingredients here, so it doesn't taste the same. And since I've had BBQ sauce at McDonalds here, I assumed that I would be able to find it somewhere. My first attempt showed me that there are many sauces(all in bags like the above picture) to be found here, but not quite what I was looking for:

*odd versions of 1000 Island, Caeser and sweet Italian
*sauce w/veggies
*sauce w/forest mushrooms
*chinese sweet/sour sauce
*curry sauce w/pineapple
*sweet garlic sauce for fries
*tartar sauce
*mushroom sauce
*sour sauce w/veggies & pineapple
*parmesan sauce
*paprika sauce
*"mexican" sauce
*Georgian sauce(the country, not the US state)
*French sauce
*Italian
*Russian w/horesradish
*Steak sauce
*mushroom soy sauce
*thai sweet chili sauce
*mango sauce
*thai seafood sauce
**and the many kinds of ketchup available here(none of which taste like ours): homestyle, "hot", shashlik, chili, classic, garlic, paprika

Soooo, after searching through all of that in various stores, imagine my excitement upon finding Heinz BBQ sauce. I got home, twisted the top off, inhaled the sweet and tangy smell of BBQ sauce. Yessss!!! I was victorious!! I made dinner and sat down to enjoy the sweet taste of success..............and found out that much like the ketchup here, the sauce may smell similar and taste kind of similar, but it's just not the same. I don't understand why it can be made by the same company and use a completely different recipe than any that are found in the US. So, anyone feel like shipping me some brown sugar, chili powder and worcestershire sauce?? =-D

Preservation

People here tend to look older than they really are. Therefore, people who are in their early 20's look like they're in their mid-20's, people who are in their late 20's and early 30's look even older and those in their early 40's often look as old or older than my parents(who are 57).

I had a peculiar thing happen to me. As a teenager I looked a fair amount older than I was. But in my 20's I kind of stopped that advance and most people don't know how old I am, even in the States. But here, there's even more of a difference and most people are quite amazed when they find out my age. Therefore, I don't usually volunteer the information, because I don't feel like answering all of the questions that go along with the revelation of my age: Are you married? Why aren't you married? Do you want to be married? Are you worried that you won't be married, etc., etc. You get the picture. But, this topic has come up three times this past week and I have been quite amused that I received the same response all three times:

"You've been preserved very well!!"

ummm, thanks. Sheesh, I didn't think I was that old. What, is thirty the new fifty, or something? You hit thirty and that's it. No more life is left in you, no more hope. If I was fifty and told that I had been preserved well, I would really appreciate it. But, it's hard to take it as a compliment when most people that I know in the US look better at 30 than they did as teens. And yet I know that this isn't the US, and that people age much quicker here. So for now, I'll just appreciate the fact that God slowed down my aging clock and that I'm being well preserved. =-D