To Russia with Love (and Really Thick Socks)

The Harbor and Prison

“Why are you going to Russia?  Why would you want to go to Russia?”  Those were the questions frequently put to me, and honestly, to give you a true answer, it might take a few minutes.

 

For most of my life, I didn’t know exactly why I’d always wanted to go to Russia.  Or why, since I was about 8 years old, I’ve prayed for orphans and street kids in Russia.  I just have.  I felt some sort of connection to them, but could never put it into words.  I saved up my money in my purple fish piggy bank in hopes that it would one day it would be enough to buy myself a plane ticket. Instead, a few years later, the opposite happened.  I bought a plane ticket for a Russian boy to be with his mother here in the US.  All that to say, I never knew if I would ever go.  And then, a few weeks ago, we went.  My dream of going to Russia was finally happening.

 

Let me back up for a moment.  Let me give you an idea of what motivated me to pursue this.  This is what I knew about street kids and orphans: “At the age of 17, Russian orphans are moved out of institutions. Forced to make a way for themselves, most orphans don’t succeed. More orphans and street children exist in Russia today than in the years after World War II. 10,000 ‘graduate’ from the Russian state orphanage system per year. 8,500 of these fall into drug dealing, prostitution, other crime, and homelessness. 500 commit suicide.”

 

In college, I searched for an organization that specifically worked giving vocational skills, housing, and schooling to street kids and orphans.  And if it could be a Christian organization, even better!  However, my search was fruitless. Then, a few years ago, I heard about an organization called “The Harbor.”  They operate out of St. Petersburg, RU and do exactly what God had placed on my heart for all of these years.  Thus, we got involved financially.  The co-founder, Alex Krutov, invited us to come to the Harbor and see what they do there.  So we did.

 

These are a few of the things that I learned about them and about myself.  First, here are some of the more extraneous observations:

 

  1. Russian people walk fast, very fast.  Finally: people who walk my speed!
  2. Russian women walk fast, on ice, in heeled boots.  This is where we differ.  I walk fast on ice, but never in heels.
  3. Russian people do not form lines.  It’s more of a funnel mentality.  You must push and shove your way to freedom.  The little old ladies are the worst too.  They’ve had 70 years or so of practice and apparently, elbows of wrought iron.
  4. B.O. is normal.  If you are on a very fancy date with a girl and you have really strong BO that can be smelled from 10 feet away, no problem.  Thankfully, this particular type of smell has never bothered me.
  5. The city water tastes like some sort of meat.
  6. The stereotype of Russian’s never smiling is only partially true.  Never on the Metro: it’s a sign of weakness, and never outside–too cold.  That leaves indoors and special occasions wide open.
  7. And yes, the big fur hats are still pretty common.

 

While we were there, we met many wonderful people who have big hearts for the orphans.  We were able to see some of the classes that are taught at the vocational center, and also able to teach a few too.  Ethan helped in computer classes, and I gave a few piano/voice lessons and taught a cooking class (yeah, me teaching anyone to cook is the epitome of ironic).  No one had to get his/her stomach pumped, so mission accomplished 😉  We also helped out in some English classes and I was able to sit in on a hair cutting class with a teacher who looked exactly like Meryl Streep.  We got to also see some of the works of art created by the students.  They were amazing and we were hoping to bring some home with us to sell for them, but unfortunately, that never happened.

 

We also were able to hang out with the residents (who are 17 and older) and had several birthday parties with them.  One of the girls, Ira, reminded me very much of my sister and on the whole, when all of the residents were there interacting, it felt just like when my siblings and I  get together.  The same kind of joking, the way that it’s every man for himself, but a the same time, a close sort of bond–an intentional familial closeness.  As if to make the most of the moment.  In fact, this struck Ethan and I both how much these kids and my siblings and I have in common.  That’s when I realized, and Ethan pointed out later, that this is the reason I felt such a burden for these kids I didn’t know for all of these years.

 

From the time I was 12, I had a part-time job, taught myself in school, taught my younger siblings and cared for them.  In many ways, I raised my siblings and many times, took care of my mother too.  Even in college, I would still get 3AM phone calls from my siblings or Mom asking what they should do about a situation.  Although the term, “Self-made woman” might apply, I was certainly not alone.  Many mentors took me and some of my siblings under their wings and helped us become the people we are today.  And that’s what struck me.  These people who are working at the Harbor are the family–they are the mentors who are investing into these kid’s lives.  They are making a great difference for these kids because they love and believe in them.  God is doing a great work there.

 

So even though it’s hard to explain why we went, I’m glad we did.

What Dreams May Come

Yeah, that’s a title ripped off of a movie, but it sounds cool, so I’m using it.
For a long time now, people have told me that I needed to write down my dreams. I’m one of those people that on any given night, I’ll have at least two or three.

The night before last, I dreamt that there was a fence dividing good from evil. On the side of the fence where evil resided, there was a path. It was designed for those who wanted to test how pure in heart they were. If they could walk the length of the path without seeing the form of the black wolf, they were pure in heart and no harm would come to them. If however, they were not pure in heart, they would be devoured by the black wolf (who I thought was the devil) and forever trapped in this evil place.

I dreamt that my youngest brother Nicolas walked the path. He came to the end of the path, and counting his success too soon, had a moment of pride and suddenly the wolf appeared and devoured him. I was horrified and so terribly sad. I pleaded with God to send him back to us, but to no avail.

Not long after, one of my other brothers, Daniel, became frightened because he was being tormented by the evil that had enveloped Nicolas. He told me about it and I went to do spiritual battle. I prayed for what seemed like hours and nothing seemed to give. Finally, when I had almost given up, and thinking my heart was not pure enough to ask such things, God vanquished the evil. He sent Nicolas back to me.

Then, I saw several of my brothers (Philip, Daniel, Jason, Nicolas) at the age when I used to take care of them the most. I hugged each one of them and we exchanged words of love. Then, to my surprise, my brother Jeremy (who was about age 6 in my dream) was standing in front of me. I hugged him and held him very tightly. I knew what his future would hold for him and I knew that I would not see him for most of it. I held him and as I did, I saw him change into the man I last saw. At first he did not hug back because he thought the world hated him, but when he realized he was loved, he too hugged back and wept, knowing what he was worth.

Then I woke up.

The dream disturbed me because of the truth in it and because of the hope that it gives me. I’m no hero, and I can’t save them when they need saving, but I love them very deeply.

As a wise woman once told me, “Just remember, the God who took care of you all those years is the same God who takes care of them.” Oh that I might remain in this much faith.

Musings on the Art of Yardwork

(Editor’s note: Names have been changed to protect the perfectionists)
People always tell you to move into a house previously owned by anal people. We did, and everything was going quit well until…(dun, dun, dun!) we realized they were also extroverts! As trivial as this may sound, it is in fact, a lethal combination.

In many ways, moving in after these perfect housekeepers, neighbors and all-around humanitarians, has proved unexpected negatives for those of us that are a bit more laid-back. I like to think of myself as the ugly, unsocialized step-sister of the neighborhood; or, as Edwin Fletschbaum the IV that didn’t make it into Harvard like all of the Fletschbaum’s before him: a disappointment to the neighborhood standards.

Every time I run into one of our neighbors, they always feel obliged to tell me what wonderful people the Larsons were and add an almost (but not quite) inaudible sigh to make sure I understand how much they are missed. They remind me of how much time they spent in the Larson’s home and loved the decor and always came over for a good chat. Our neighbors are still in denial. It’s like when people automatically enter sainthood by dying–no matter what kind of ingrates they were in life, they’re still held in the highest esteem. The only problem is, the Larsons were the perfect neighbors*. And we’re the people who killed them and tried to take their place.

All this brings me to a story from yesterday. As I was cleaning up winter’s left-over party favors from the yard, with the birds singing alongside me and squirrels helping me rake up my pile of leaves (I added that last part for effect), George, taking his usual bicycle route, struck up a conversation with me that went something like this.

George: Hello there! I knew the neighbors who lived here before you. They were some good neighbors. We really miss them. They really took nice care of the place.

My thoughts: Yeah, I know, everyone keeps reminding me of that fact. A club for disappointed neighbors is being formed. You should join.

What I said: Yes, the Larsons are some really sweet people. (I did mean that part) You know, they live right down the road now.

Thoughts: If you want them as neighbors so much, you should take your bike over and visit them and see how nice their new yard is kept.

George: Yes, I know. And thank you for picking up the sticks in the yard, that makes it look much better.

Thoughts: What?! As if the snow didn’t just melt five days ago. He must have been on his bicycle everyday this week, looking at our yard, clicking his tongue wondering why we’ve let the yard go to pot.

What I said: Hehe, yep.

So here’s to imperfection! Cheers!

*Looking up the term “perfect neighbor,” it states: The Larson’s: sociable, neighborly, perfect gardeners.

Men and Women: A Common Sense Look at Submission

Why are men all in favor of a submissive wife but are attracted to women who know their own mind and are capable of making decisions for themselves?

This may seem contrary to the “Scriptural view” of women submitting, but I think that the supposed “Scriptural view” is really more of a “Man’s view on Scripture.” I agree that women should submit to their husbands, but I also agree that men are supposed to treat their wives as Christ treats the church. How’s that? Well, Jesus “submitted himself even unto death” for the church. Hmm, that’s strange. That sounds like Christ wants us to “submit to one another.” Why is this such a hard concept for people to swallow?

If we look at how Christ treated women, it’s pretty easy to see that he thought of them as people in a culture where this was abnormal. The woman at the well is a perfect example of this. He spoke to her, had a conversation with her–the lowest of the low–a whore, a samaritan, a woman. That was completely counter-culture.  The women at the tomb are another example.  In that culture, the word of women meant next to nothing, so the fact that they were the first to witness Jesus’ resurrection, and included in the final draft of the Gospels  is a big deal.

Mary and Martha. We always see this story as one of Jesus chiding Martha for not doing what was important and praising Mary for doing what was right. Have you ever stopped to think that Martha was doing exactly what was “right” in their culture by serving and Mary, what was inappropriate? Mary not serving and instead, being “one of the boys” was unacceptable and counter-culture.

Look at the women mentioned in the Bible. Deborah: a leader of Israel, appointed by God. Ruth: a woman who defied culture and stood for what she believed to be right. She defied culture (as did Boaz) when she pursued him. Esther: defied tradition by entering the king’s court. She could have been killed, but instead, she called the king to pursue truth and justice. In each of these situations, these women were able, through pursuing what was right, to bring a vision, a calling of truth to the men. In turn, the men they “persuaded,” did great things and had a broader view they did not previously have.

Many times, when discussing my ideas with conservative Christian women, the Proverbs 31 woman always comes up. I don’t know why. She’s the epitome of independence. She buys a plot of land, makes decisions about the servants, runs the household, does the hard work so that her man can have a good name at the gate. That’s a good wife–not a thoughtless, totally dependent one. It’s a great relationship–honor going in both directions. The husband honoring the decisions his wife is making and allowing her to make them, and the wife making the decisions that will gain her husband honor.

This is not to say that men should be subservient to women. Nor should women be subservient to men. Just the other day, I was told (by a man) that I was “a lesser individual (than a man)” and “should be subservient.” And yet, even he is attracted to the girls who have opinions and can think for themselves.

But perhaps women have been too kind in their arguments and retaliation. Why are men so afraid? Are they afraid that women will use the same strong-arm methods as they have for so many years? It won’t happen. Women work differently then men. Men and women are different, yet equal. Our strengths are sometimes different than men, but it’s still strength. For centuries, our power has laid in privately persuading because we did not have a public voice. We were not allowed to voice our opinions, so we persuaded those who did.

Women have come so far from where we were, thanks to the women willing to sacrifice their “feminine communication” in order to be heard by the men. There are stories after stories about the women who led the feminist movements, lead the way on women’s suffrage, fighting for the right to vote, and even today with women in business and politics. These women have pulled on the pants and set aside their way of communicating so that they could adapt to communicating to men. These women are usually thought of as being “bulldogs” or “pushy.” They have no choice. Hillary Clinton or Margaret Thatcher are prime examples. No one thinks of them in a “sex appeal” way. They think of them both as pushing through “the glass ceiling” with sheer will-power, brassy doggedness and determination. I use them as an example not because I necessarily agree with their political views, but because I respect how far they and others like them have led the way for other women. Not very feminine, but effective nonetheless.

From my personal observation of “good Christian wives” submitting to their husbands, there is much unneeded stress. The wife disagrees with the husband’s decision, but doesn’t want to be “a bad wife,” so she goes along with it holding it all in, slowly building up resentment and anger but thinking she’s doing the right thing. The wife starts trying to control every detail of whatever she has power over (she maybe sitting on the outside, but she’s standing on the inside). The husband feels pressure because he has to always make every decision and it always has to be the right one. Those are a lot of decisions to make in a single day: especially if one involves kids in the mix. Eventually, it all comes to a head and it’s never pretty. Sometimes it’s many years later.

Submitting to one another is another way of saying LISTEN to both parties. Be a team. Communicate.

What are your thoughts?

The Out West Trip

So, to begin this thing, we’re back from our two week trip out west. We went through about 7 states that were new to me, and found that all of them were pretty darn cool.

Some of the trip highlights would include:

1. Being chased by a very large, very brown Grizzly bear.
We were hiking to find some hot springs we had heard about and after crossing a very freezing river, we came upon said bear. We froze and he started coming toward us. So, we slowly started walking away and he decided that looked like a fun game, so he kept following. Finally, as we picked up our pace, we went around a bend and he couldn’t see us anymore, so we booked it back across the river at lightening pace.

2. Driving through a very large tornado reading Longfellow/Tennyson out loud.
I was driving through this amazing storm while Ethan was reading heroic poetry next to me. However, the rain/hail and wind became so loud, it was no longer read but shouted. It was awesome and random!

3. Seeing the gigantic sulfur springs and wondering what it looked like under the boiling waters.

4. Seeing two wonderful people get married after a Jane Austin sort of relationship.

A Year in Brief (the dry version)

As many of you know, this year has been one of changes.

In May of this year, I finished up my teaching career at Veritas Academy and began teaching private voice and piano lessons full-time. I did this so that I could have flexibility to take care of my family in GA, if needed (little did I know what a blessing this intuition would be).

In June, Ethan and I went on a two-week trip out west. It was amazing! Who else could say that they were chased by a grizzly bear, drove through a tornado and slept in the back of their truck in a Wal-Mart parking lot?

At the same time, we were in the process of buying our dream house. Stopping at every available Staples in the middle of Montana, Wyoming, North and South Dakota, and filling out more paperwork.

Finally, at the end of July, with all of the paperwork finished, and the mountains of red tape wrent asunder, we bought the house. A few days later, I got the call that Mom had passed away.

In September, I decided at the last minute to enter in a half-marathon. This was the first time that I had ever run 13.whatever miles. The longest I had run before was 10 miles but boredom always seemed to set in at around 6 miles. I’ve never run any type of race before because I was always embarrassed to run with other people, so this was a milestone for me (even though my time was nothing to brag about).

In October, we were finally able to move into our new house (with the help of many wonderful friends). Also, in October, I finally wrote down three of my songs with lyrics. This too is a new step for me.

At the end of November, Ethan and Math-U-See moved to a new warehouse (big deal–no really, it was a big deal).

So as this year quickly comes to a close, I look back very thankful for all my wonderful friends and family and to God for his abundant grace. Thank you.

Sh-Sh-Shopping

Every year, I partake in a particularly evil tradition that most women enjoy and men secretly do too.  I speak of clothes shopping.  I relegate this dirty deed to only once a year, because at the end of 2 hours, I’m ready to join a nudist colony…Okay, not quite, but you get my point.

So what makes clothes shopping so evil in my book?

  1. Everything is all the same or gothic.
  2. It’s unattractive. Just when I think that fashions could not be any less attractive, I stumble upon some that are so hideous, they make the even the 80’s big socks, pink tights, baggy shirts and huge crimped hair look appealing.
  3. It’s not the Goodwill prices I normally like to pay—Hello, my name is Anna and I’m a total cheapo (Hi, Anna). I used to find really great outfits back in the days of my Hotlanta Goodwill, but here in Amish country, denim jumpers embroidered with colorful cows are not my style.
  4.  It takes a whole lot of time to weed through the stuff that all looks the same anyway.
  5. There is no in-between.  There are the mid-life stores, and the teeny-bopper stores.  I’m neither one and both.  I like low-rise pants but not too tight.  I like simple, classy blouses.  Not risqué, not fringed.  Just plain.
  6.  The stores play annoying music.
  7.  IF, I happen to find something I like, the chances are, it will not fit.  The arms and legs are too short, the waist to big, and the shoulders to tight.  Yes, I think I’m more closely related to the primate than most.

The solution?
Like every entrepreneur I’ve ever heard of, they see a market that’s not meeting a certain need and fill it.  So, I will name my brand, Tall and Skinny: unabashedly politically incorrect.

The Troublesome X’s

As most of you know, I like to run.  Here in Amish country, I’ve learned the importance of drawing out maps for myself.  Not because I get lost, but because I have, through trial and error, found that some roads are much more treacherous than others.  On my happy little map, you will see roads, a few houses scattered along the roads, and little x’s with daily percentage marks.  These little x’s tend to dictate where I run depending on the time of day and the day of the week.  Why?  Because these annoying little x’s are dogs.  And, if you should so wonder, I don’t know the names of any of these dogs, so I name them for their looks and personalities. (Tip: NEVER, EVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, SHOULD YOU TURN YOUR BACK TO A DOG)
On Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday from 4-7:30, “Spot” is let out into his front yard to wander.  There is only a 30% chance that he will bark, follow and attempt to nip if, and only if, you are going south on the street.  However, if he catches you going north on his street, you have only a 15% chance that he will not bite you in the face.

Everyday of the week, from 12-3, “White Fang” awaits the casual passer-by.  He’s a gargantuan crafty one that you really have to watch out for (95%).  He likes to hide in nearby rusted-out cars and wait until you’re almost past him to come at you.  Then he leaps like a lioness at you with teeth bared.  I usually avoid his street unless it’s later.  I have been lucky enough to sneak past him while he’s not looking because I’m pretty sure he’s hard of hearing.

Along this same road, there are four other menaces.  “Shiva the white wonder,” “Bear,” “Tido,” and “Buster.”  “Shiva” is lovely but a terror.  Thankfully, “Bear” is always in a fence, and the other two are punting size.

On another street, there are two dogs, (20%) “Rover” and “Jed.”  They act mean as long as you give them the stare down (I have found that giving them the Davy Crockett stare works fairly well).  After you do, they keep barking and slowly back away.  Heh, a dog whisperer…

So today, as I was running, “Crème Puff” came up and ran with me.  For having such a disproportionate head to leg ratio, he was decently fast.  He chased every passing car as we went along.  Finally, a red car passed, slammed on its brakes, and backed up.  The passenger side door of the car swung open and I heard “How did you get out of the house?” ring out loud and clear.  I turned around to look and I got a cold stare from the woman who was now holding the beloved “Crème Puff.”  “He’s followed me now for about a mile,” I said, “ I’m glad you drove by.”   “Yes, me too,” she said as she held her dog in the You-can’t-steal-him-from-me pose.

It’s Fun to be a Loser…of course, winning is nice too.

Let’s just say, I’m not a winner.  Never really have been.  In fact, I’m more of what you might call a professional loser–defeat with a smile 🙂

So tonight, for the first time in my history of Settler’s of Catan, I won a game against Ethan.  Yes, Mr. Jedi Master himself in the cardboard world of Catan, was taken down at exactly 9:58 PM on October 4th, 2007.  I write this not to brag–well who am I kidding?–but to simply have it written down that in my lifetime, I beat him at least once.  So why am I so ecstatic?  Let me briefly account to you my past memorable defeats and wins in the gaming world (including some physical activites).

We’ll start with my wins since they are far fewer.

1. Arm wrestling– I won the tri-college women’s arm-wrestling tournament.  I have only lost once in my life to a girl (who was a concert pianist and cheated) and have beat several guys (I just know how to pick the guys, that’s the key).

2. Scrabble–I know how much those Q’s and V’s are worth and devoted those portions of the dictionary to memory.  Okay, that’s a total lie.  It sounded funny though.

3. Checkers with Ethan (only once)–It was late, we were tired, and I used the mind-control technique.  I don’t think I can get him to fall for it again.

Memorable Losses…Where to begin?  I’ll just stick with three.  That way its looks like I’ve lost as much as I’ve won 😉

1. Mini golf or real golf–Anytime a golf ball is involved, there will be much mayhem.  Those darned windmills and waterfalls.  Of course, there was that one glorious fluke victory in Florida.

2.  Bowling–Have you ever rolled your ball into the lane next to you and gotten them a strike?  Be very impressed.

3.  Uno–I don’t usually win unless I cheat.  Cheating does make it more fun, but if you’re the only one cheating and you still come in last place, cheating tends to lose its luster.

What’s my point in typing all of this useless gibberish?  Just to inform you that

I WON IN SETTLER’S FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER!!!!!!!

Our Trip to Bandung, Indonesia

The Long Commute

In the beginning, I liked that bathroom.  Its marble floors cool to the touch, and well-placed miniature bars of soap, gave it such a shnazzy hotel”esque” feel.  Judging by the Jayakarta bathroom and room, one would never guess that this place was smack dab in the middle of third-world poverty.  Shacks surrounding the outer perimeter of its lagoon-like pool, it was a posh oasis in the middle of this tropical desert.

(The hotel pool)

Not until the end of the fourth day did I begin to change my opinion of the lovely bathroom.  Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself.  Let me tell you about those things of importance.

As many of you know, Ethan, Pop (Mr. Demme), and I, went to Indonesia to do some teaching.  However, our adventures did not really begin there.  They began at the Dulles airport in Washington.  Upon our arrival to the ticket counter, Pop discovered that he had accidentally grabbed his old passport.  Being two and a half hours away, and our flight leacing in only two, this created a bit of a problem.  Thus, we split up.  Mr. Demme decided to come a day later and meet us there in Indonesia.  So, with that, we headed off on our 14 hour flight, then our 7 hour flight to arrive to our first destination in Singapore.

Can you say clean and orderly?  I’ve never seen a city like it before.  It was the nicest city that I have ever been to.  On the second day of our stay there, we finally saw one homeless person and a few pieces of litter.  While there, we met some lovely people and had dinner with them and their two extremely bright children.
To skip ahead, we then headed out for Indonesia and due to a delay, we waited at the airport for 5 hours.  Needless to say, I got a lot of reading done.  For time sake, and because this is getting dull, I’m going to speed things up a bit…

Day 2 in Indonesia.
Each morning, we awoke to the beautiful calls of the nearby mosque.  The people that we worked with (from the company) are truly amazing.  They all love being there because they know that they have been called.  They are people who love to have fun and love people.  Ethan and I were honored to get to know them.  The locals are very friendly, laid-back people.

On day three, it was Valentine’s Day and Ethan’s birthday.  That was the day that I began to despise the bathroom.  Perhaps it was my frequent commute to it or perhaps it was that the cool marble floors now seemed frigid.  I don’t know.  Let’s just say that I wasn’t the only one blessed with what the local’s call “Bandung Belly.”  Ethan and I both had it.  As the day wore on, the endemic blessing became epidemic among us “Bulehs” (pronounced boo-lays meaning white foreigners).  Pray for Ethan as he’s still got it.

Day four, feeling better, but still not 100%.  We did alot of teaching that day.  It was very enjoyable.


(At the Volcano)

Day five was interesting.  We went with some guys from the company that lived there as kids and hadn’t seen each other in 30 years.  They swapped malaria tales and near-death jungle experiences as we drove up to the volcano and hot springs.  On the way there, we stopped to taste a local delicacy called “Durien fruit.”  It’s the local equivalent of beer.  It wasn’t as bad as everyone said that it would be.  It was however, aptly described as having the taste of both moldy cheesecake and wet socks.  Yum!  We made it to the top of the volcano and it was very cool to look down and see the inside of the volcano smouldering.  We continued to the hot sulfur springs and boiled some eggs and ate them.  I’m not really an egg person, but when in Rome, right?