A good day at the office

Most people here require a good deal of explanation from me when I have to say that I don't have an office - that my work is all over the city. But then, since when is anything I do ever easy to explain? My office here in Russia, as it mostly was in Richmond, is wherever and with whomever God wants me to be. I like it that way.

The other day was notable, because I saw some elements of ministry strategy that, by faith, I see coming together for something big. The first moment was at the boys' school, where I meet twice a week with Pastor Igor for mutual coaching. Today he was coaching me, and we discussed the upcoming Biblical Problem Solving class that they have so enthusiastically embraced, as well as the coach training that we both have had and want to introduce to the church.

I gave expression to a thought that had been swimming in my head - that I could see a day when both the counseling training and the coach training being implemented on a citywide scale as part of a larger unique process for leadership and discipleship training. We had a great talk about the possibilities.

Later that day my office moved to the south into a coffee shop. There I met with another key pastor in the city - key because he is well connected, well respected, and has a track record of multiplying leadership through church and ministry planting. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss ways I could help him with his new school of missions - though what that looked like, I could have only guessed. He showed me a curriculum that someone had drawn up for him of classes to be covered in the course of the three month training. He showed me the list and asked my opinion. I hesitantly expressed concerns that it was highly academic, without attention to the practical side of ministry, nor the development of self that is so crucial for good leadership.

Not only did he agree, he outlined what he would do differently that gave the school a whole new thrust:

• development of students' personal relationship with God
• application of biblical principles into real life
• models for multiplying leadership (as opposed to churches - they have a vision for places where churches have to go totally underground)

I could not agree with his model more enthusiastically. When I shared with him a summary of the Biblical Problem Solving and coach training classes, he immediately saw them as filling the need he has. "I know what I want, but I have never been one to take the time to put it into a system." he explained.

Was I pumped! Now I could continue to focus on the one thing that God had already assigned me, but it would have application in a wider sphere of application. And maybe that dream of a discipleship training center was not crazy after all! Stay tuned...

Diana visits a baby orphanage

Every Saturday morning the Harbor director, Lyuba, and a few of Harbor residents (in turns), engage in their own ministry to the community, spending a few hours at one of the 70+ orphanages (housing 100-120 orphans each) in St. Petersburg. The main objective is to give these young adult orphans experience in playing appropriately with babies and toddlers. Adult orphans who become parents have a high rate of orphaning their own children, and the hope is that with some experience under their belt, these potential parents from the Harbor will stop the cycle of abandonment in their own lives. A secondary objective is to enrich the lives of the babies and toddlers who so desperately need physical contact and stimulation. I'm excited about being able to invest in impacting both sets of young people at once.

Lyuba has invited me along on these visits with the intention that I might supervise this outreach on my own some day, but this first visit was only Lyuba and me. Wondering what to expect in terms of physical conditions of the building or the children inside, I only knew that there were 134 children from birth to age 3 living in this "Dyetsky Dom" (Children's Home) and that four different doctors, who rotated weeks, were the key to allowing me into the Dom. Lyuba has built relationships with these doctors and many of the staff, since she is a regular face at the Dom. I was an unknown, and orphanage directors and the doctors can be unpredictable as to whether or not they allow foreigners in "their" facility.

The Dom's neighborhood is unpleasant -- a large factory chimney pumping thick columns of smoke skyward sits just next property. There is a large communications tower nearby, several warehouse-type buildings, and a prison decorated with razor wire. The Dom is large and yellow with a high fence surrounding the grounds. Once through the guard house, I was pleasantly surprised to see plenty of brand new playground equipment dotting the wide strip of grass that encircled the edges of the property along the high fence. Evidence of remodeling, such as scaffolding and building materials, also lay about. We walked past a couple of staff workers pushing several strollers with babies all bundled up for their daily walks. My heartstrings started to ping.

Inside the Dom was dim and quiet. With 134 babies in this place, I expected a little activity! The hallways were empty, but we could see into rooms, like a hospital nursery, where very young babies slept. Lyuba hunted for the doctor or some administrator to alert them to our visit. My hopes of actually touching any babies was dwindling. Lyuba had even said that there was a possibility they may not allow me access to the children because I do not have my current vaccination record here, and even so, I do not have all the vaccines they would require. But this is Russia, and there rules, and then there are rules. I needed to stay quiet and see what rules the doctor du jour enforced.

Finally we found the doctor, a soft-spoken grandfather-aged man, who seemed pleased to meet me and interested in why my family moved here. Having three children was a surprise to him, as it is to many Russians, but I got the impression that this fact was in my favor for interacting with the children here. With three of her own, she must not be scoping around for more! During the long chat in his office, I continually wondered if we would actually play with some babies. Finally, we stood up and Lyuba told me to leave my purse and coat. Aha! So we were on our way to play.

Our first room had eight babies from 3-8 months. Two were in walkers rocking back and forth to music. A staff worker sat on a couch playing with one, and the other five lay in a large playpen on their bellies; I couldn't tell if they were all awake or not. We could pick up any one we liked. How could I just pick up one? I reached into the playpen and scooped up a baby. His name is Daniel (Dan eel). As soon as I cradled him in my arms, he broke into a heart-stopping toothless smile and cooed. I was mush. Daniel and I talked to each other almost constantly, as he searched my face with his big, blue eyes. After 25 minutes or so another worker emerged from an adjoining room to start preparing the babies for their naps. After Daniel headed off for his nap, I held Vika, a darling 8-month-old girl who snuggled her head on my shoulder as I sang to her. Once all the babies were down, we headed to another sector of the Dom in search of more babies.

As we wandered the halls, I noticed remodeled rooms with bright murals, new shelves with toys, plants on windowsills, and new replacement windows. Clearly the remodeling was on the inside too. Some floors had a new laminate-type covering, but others had old, buckling linoleum. Lyuba pointed out newly painted halls and approved of the refurbishing. Each group of children live together in a "corpus" with sleeping room, playroom, and kitchen. Some areas even had two playrooms or an enclosed porch.

The second group the doctor assigned us to were eight AIDS babies, ages 1-2. Lyuba and I arrived as staff awakened them from naps and brought them to the lunch tables. Four children sat around a very low table on their own chairs. Long bibs draped onto the tabletop. Workers placed large, shallow soup bowls on top of the bibs, and the kids dug in! No high chairs, no finger foods, no help feeding. Each child managed an adult sized soup spoon and shoveled the soup without spilling a drop. In just a few minutes, they went directly to the play area -- this time an enclosed porch is a few bins of toys and several individual play areas with low padded walls.

It became apparent that diapers are not changed between nap and lunch, nor between lunch and playtime. I pointed out a few times that certain babies had very full diapers, but the workers only waved off the concern. Little Anya had only "spilled water on herself," for example. Yeah, right. The rule must be one change before nap. Period. Even Lyuba didn't understand this policy.

For 45 minutes we played with these babies, so they had plenty of time to charm me. A few were very distant and had little facial response. A few gingerly played with stacking rings and balls. Only a couple could walk, and three just didn't move from a sitting position at all. The delays were immediately obvious, but something else was odd, and I couldn't put my finger on it right away. Yes, the silence! A room of eight toddlers should be loud! These dear ones barely made any vocalizations. Lyuba and I talked to them and offered toy after toy. Slowly they started to respond. Little red-headed Anya proved herself the social director by removing toys from bins and then distributing to everybody. Seryozha commanded attention for more stacking rings with short grunts. One little boy, who looked the most ill, sped around the room pushing anything with wheels. The need for diaper changes eventually began to suffocate us, and the staff finally appeared to relief us -- and the babies!

The subsequent Saturday Lyuba and I, plus two young men from the Harbor, played with two different groups of babies. Along with more playtime, we even bundled up a few tots and took them outside for their daily stroll. I particularly remember two little boys in the first group -- Roman and Maxim. Roman practically jumped into my arms and occupied my lap for a long time. He enjoyed listening to me chatter away in a mix of Russian and English. Maxim wandered over and stood next to me placing his head tenderly on my shoulder. He was content to just stand and rest. In the second group, teeny tiny Lena and curious Olya kept me busy with stacking rings and balls.

As we played, I could only think about what lies ahead for these dear ones. Lyuba says that of the 134 residents here, she would be surprised if even one were ever adopted. Why? It's the system, designed to make adoption so difficult. So, what did I really bring to these babies by visiting these two Saturdays? Maybe a small change in their routine, a bit more attention and stimulation? As I played, I tried to enter the moment with them in love and offer up a prayer for each little person I touched for God to watch over and draw them to Himself.

And next Saturday, I will do the same.

My first cry

Even as early as March when I came here in advance of our big move to scope things out, I began asking God as I would walk around to break my heart for the people and give me His perspective and passion for seeing people - and the whole city- transformed by His love and grace. The only real emotional time I had then was at the very beginning, when I stood in line at passport control, knowing that the next time I did so would be with my whole family in tow. Powerful.

But not the same thing. So I keep praying. The other day I got a glimpse of what God wants to show me. Walking from the metro station to the boys' apartment at the Harbor to teach English, I passed a set of dumpsters where an older lady was digging through for whatever she could find. As I passed, I noticed that she had found two unbroken eggs. Within 20 paces, it was as though God said, "not so fast there. Don't you have something in your bag to give her?" I had just bought a few things, but I was looking forward to enjoying them, so I argued a bit with God before deciding that I better just be obedient rather than face God having done nothing.

She was so busy she didn't even notice me approach, but I asked her if things were tough. Her face lit up as she spun around with the most radiant smile as she began to speak. "I wonder if the "oligarchs" could make it on 3000 roubles a month" (about $120). I had just read an article about how many retired individuals get exactly that each month, so I was already primed to appreciate her situation a little bit. "I'm just doing what I have to to to get by," she explained, still smiling. Would she take some cottage cheese from me? "Well... I guess so. Thank you." I asked if she couldn't work, but she said at age 73 there is nothing for her to do, so she goes out in the daily, as does her husband, to collect what they can, including cans and bottles for recycling. Thinking about him is what broke her smile, and she began to weep quietly and return to her work. It seemed best not to keep pressing the conversation, so I merely asked for her name, explaining that I wanted to be able to pray for her. She turned back towards me and replied, "Galina... you know, I really do feel that God is watching over us and taking care of us," she added, returning to her work, poking around with a metal prod to uncover the next morsel that He would provide.

With no more words to say, I quietly moved on, an uncontrollable sobbing welling up within me that gripped me until I got to the apartment.

Paying the rent

Busy days here are days in which you get three or four things done. Take the day this week in which I paid the rent, and 8 hour ordeal. How could it take 8 hours?

1. 8:15. Take the boys to school (45 min.)
2. 9:00. Coaching appoint ment at school with Pastor Igor (more later).
3. 10:00. I know it's going to be a big and tiring day, so I sit down to plan it out. I have to:

• Track down an ATM that gives dollars, because my rent is paid in dollars. Such ATM's are hard to find;
• Pay the rent;
  
• Get some school books for Kerith.

So I go to the metro station, but before boarding I first make a call or two and consult with others along the way by phone to help me so that I could minimize metro stops and walking time in conjunction with my other errands. After a half hour or so of research, I find a good route, starting with a train station on the other side of the city with an ATM that gives dollars.

1. 10:45. Leave.
2. 11:30. Arrive at the train station. Grab a bite to eat and search for the ATM; God himslef lead me to it, because the ones I thought gave dollars were out. I had given up and left when I asked someone for help finding the book store. He suggested I look back in the train station where there was one. There was not, but right across from where it should have been was the right kind of ATM. Thank you for small victories, Lord!
   
3. 12:15. Walk to a book store to get Kerith some school books.
   
4. 1:15. Walk to the bank.
   
5. 2:00. They inform me I can only pay at the branch where the account was opened. Argh!
6. 2:15. Head up to that part of the city.
7. 3:15. Pay the rent at the bank. Of course, it's not as simple as walking in and paying. There are documents to show, much paperwork for them to fill out, and multiple departments to visit.
   
8. 3:45. Go get the boys at school (45 min.)
9. 4:45. Head home.
   
10. 5:30. Arrive, my feet killing me. I can go hours at a time without being able to sit down.

Our Neighborhood

Would that I could report already some budding relationships with our neighbors. I'm afraid that is not happening yet. I have heard Russians described as like a nut that is hard on the outside and soft on the inside. Americans, by contrast, are like a peach - soft on the outside and hard on the inside. we've managed to have one actual conversation with our next door neighbor who owns a Georgian restaurant. You better believe we are headed there soon!

Otherwise, we are working on moving from no eye contact to hello to a hello back to a few words exchanged. Pray for us that we can build those bridges.


What I can show you so far is the look of the area around our home, which was a major factor in our deciding to move here. It looks very different from anywhere else in the city, more like a European town in some respects. And in fact, the houses here were built by German prisoners of war who were not released immediately after WW2. The first picture is of the side our our building. Our windows are the first three from the left.

The view is from a Kindergarten next door that our kids like to frequent as much as possible after the school day ends.















The next two shots are of the view from our door into the courtyard surrounded mostly by other buildings like our own. The lady across from us spends a ton of time outside tending the flowers and plants she has planted. Such care for a public area is highly unusual here. Diana wants to meet her and help her out next year. The place is much cleaner and more presentable since even we first arrived, since they just finished paving what had been a nightmare to navigate. Another neighbor took it on himself to paint himself some lines and color his curbstones in a curious way.



The next shot is the one exception to the style of buildings surrounding our courtyard, a home being built by and for two families.



That house faces the road behind us, which is much more quaint and quite than the road we are on, so we love to walk back there.







There is a nice small park across from us on the busy street, though.




























On a nice day, we like to walk home from school with the boys, which takes only about 50-60 minutes and takes us through and island called "Central Park" that is very beautiful and also has a few places to play.



















I took a few shots the other day when it was foggy that I liked. I sometimes walk home alone after dropping off the boys through the park and pray. It's pretty awesome.

Let's do laundry

"All right, Lydia, let's figure out this washing machine," I proposed one morning shortly after our move to the new apartment.
I had just gotten used to the large washer at our temporary place, and now I needed to learn this new European model. (This is the kind where you open the lid from the top and open the drum manually before loading.) But, hey, it's just a washing machine. How hard can it be?

I consider myself a well-educated person.
I have three degrees from three universities.
I enjoy logic and puzzles.
I have a good sense of direction and spacial intelligence.
I could not, however, figure out this blasted machine.

Our "khazhaika" (owner) told us this was practically new and left the multi-language instruction manual for us. Great! English was towards the back, following Polish, Serbian, Czech, Russian, Arabic, and a host of other tongues. I diligently read the manual learning where to add laundry soap and find the power button. But what about all the mysterious "icons" on the selection dial? I recognized the universal symbol for cotton and wool, but the up-teen others baffled me. I needed a decoder ring -- or at least another machine manual as the one in my hands gave no indications about the symbols. I read, "See guidelines for selection knob". Well, where was that? I was lost.

I decided to rely on my higher education and cognitive powers to start a load anyhow. Both failed me -- twice!!

The first load ran only 15 minutes. Gee, that's fast, I thought. Well, of course the load runs fast when you set it on the last spin.
The second load ran a bit longer, but with no water. I guess that happens when you neglect to turn the water faucet on.
The third load was more of a success, but I know the temperature was not correct. (Note to self: learn Celsius)

Ultimately, the laundry did get washed, and I have run several successful loads since then. The key was actually finding the "guidelines for the selection knob" sheet that was left on a bedroom windowsill. My decoder ring! What a difference it makes when you speak "washing machine" language.

Of course, washing is half the battle. Next comes drying...

We do not have a drier. Most people do not. We hang on racks, and now that we have heat from one radiator, I drape over that. The challenge is the dampness of our apartment. Imagine trying to dry out your wet clothes at camp in the woods, and you'll come close. I am forever feeling articles of clothing to assess their level of dryness and rearranging on the rack to get better access to our newly purchased heater. Folding then comes in spurts -- one "crispy" pair of socks now, a stiff shirt or two in an hour, etc.

So there you have it: a peek into my domestic life. I've made friends with the washer and learned patience with the drying. May you also make a friend today and learn some patience. :) Diana