Thursday, 11 June 2009 07:03
June 10th, 2009
Let's see... What's been happening in Krasnodar? Well, as you may remember, Hope J. was here for 6 weeks, providing a lovely and lively addition to our household while she studied Russian at the language school and immersed herself in the adventures of life in a new culture. Then, when Hope went home, we went...camping! On a Saturday morning, we packed up the tent and sleeping bags, and far too much food--practically a requirement of camping anywhere in the world--and headed out with our teammates the Watsons, and a Russian family.
Sasha and Tanya (and their children Vanya and Vika) run a drug-and-alcohol rehabilitation farm, which our church is very involved with. The residents raise all their own food there, so for the camping trip, Sasha slaughtered a lamb, which we grilled over the open fire for lunch and supper. (We roasted hot dogs too, but only the kids were gastronimically-stunted enough to eat those.) We drove about 2 hours, and set up our tents in grassy, tree-ringed field along a river. There were farms scattered throughout this part of the country so periodically horses wandered through the campsite, and on Sunday morning, we were awakened by the sound of cowbells, as half a dozen cows had earmarked the back yard of our tent as a good place for some sunrise grazing. Most people see deer, moose or bear when they camp: we saw livestock!
Don't get me wrong: we like livestock. In fact, we followed the animals to their source and discovered a little family business just up the road, where we could rent horses for a guided trail ride. For just 250 rubles a person ($8), we rode for an hour. The trail ended in the woods, at the site of an old pagan altar. No one knows for sure what the purpose of the altars was, but our guide offered us 3 of the most popular legends. It seems there are around 2,500 such stone altars scattered throughout southern Russia, remnants of a nature-worship cult. The trees nearby were covered with scraps of knotted cloth: "prayers" left there by the hopeful hundreds who still come, seeking some kind of spiritual answer to their problems. After Saturday's shashlik, trail ride and general fun-camping-stuff (including a bit of a 2 a.m. scare with an enormous, unidentified animal-that-was-definitely-not-a-cow wandering through our campsite,) came Sunday. Our church had planned an all-day picnic, so they rented a bus and came to join us for an outdoor worship service, games, more horseback riding, and far more food than can possibly be good for anybody. It was great fun, although I picked up some plant-related rash that still, more than a week later, has not subsided. We came home Sunday evening, sunburned, sweaty and exhausted--and ready to do it again soon!
Tuesday, Tim was invited to join the church leaders at a leadership retreat in Anapa, on the Black Sea. They talked church-leader talk, played on the beach and took a banya together which, Tim and his American friend Brennen observed, was the first time the Americans among them had ever discussed church polity with no clothes on. The retreat was held at a bed-and-breakfast guesthouse run by Americans, for the sake of ministering to spiritual leaders in Russia. Pastors and their families stay free; people like us stay very cheap. In fact, our whole family is going back next weekend for some sun and fun on the Black Sea.
I have joined the church worship team as keyboardist. Between church involvement, language school, and ministering to the steady stream of Russians that comes through our door, we are understanding more and more the wisdom of God's command that we build a weekly day of rest into our lives. Doing nothing sometimes has become as much a necessity as a luxury.
Meanwhile, the American community here continues to shift. The same week one family of friends returned from America, we learned that yet another family is leaving for good. A third family, who has been on home assignment since we've been here, has also come back: more people to meet; more change to embrace. Balancing our response to change, loss, gain, and all the joys and grief that come along with that is a constant challenge. And how to keep your heart open through it all? I remember a woman I knew way back when I was a college student in Ohio. She and her husband were a Navy couple: they had already moved something like 25 times in their marriage. They had a little ministry to us young married couples, and although Trish meant well, and was friendly and generous with us, no one could get past arm's length with her. She kept everyone far away from her heart, because she knew that sooner or later--probably sooner--she was just going to have to say good-bye to them again. In the end, her "ministry" was stunted by the defenses she had built up against loss. We don't want that to happen here, but it's a delicate business trying to keep the calluses from building up when so much change is always going on.
Vladimir has been out of work since we came back from Austria. It's hard for him to find something constructive to do all day, but he has been fairly good about staying sober. This week, he's gone to his dacha (summer home) in the mountains to do some repairs. The roses are in full bloom here; the strawberries in the garden are almost past, as well as the first crop of cherries from the trees behind the house. We've moved on to mulberries now: it's the season when there's always fresh fruit to make compote (juice) or turnovers or pies. Being June, the mornings and evenings are still fresh and cool, and even midday doesn't yet bring the suffocating heat that will come next month. It's a good time of year to live in Krasnodar. Still, it's also a great time of year to live in Maine or New York, and I fight homesickness nearly every day. Sometimes I get more used to it, but it never really goes away. It's always just another reminder to live step by step, keeping my eyes on Jesus and not on all the "could-have-beens" around me. There's joy in that, but it's a difficult joy.
