Daytime Fire

One day recently I decided to take David for a walk while Andrei was cooking dinner. It was actually after 7pm, but pretty much felt like afternoon, with there still being plenty of daylight.

David led me to a playground that had just been rebuilt, featuring a pirate ship, train, and other various climbing structures. He was ecstatic, and enjoyed looking through the "portholes" of the ship as I pretended to be a fish on the other side.

Then I looked up and saw black smoke billowing out of one of the windows on the first floor of the building that overlooked the playground. I couldn't see or hear anything coming from inside; no one seemed to be trying to put it out. Somebody's home was on fire. Several neighbors were on their porch balconies, but no one seemed alarmed. Diagonally to the apartment on fire, a man and woman stood on their second-floor porch, hanging over the railing, smoking. It was as calm a summer evening as ever had been.

I exchanged looks with a few other adults on the playground...was this really happening?

Then I looked to my left and saw two fire engines approaching, just as casually...no siren or anything. They silently drove right over and up and onto the edge of the playground, parking right next to the pirate ship play structure. The neighbors kept hanging over their porch railings, and the kids kept playing. I was sort of in shock. I guess I would have expected them to evacuate the building, or something. But I didn't see anyone coming out.

As we all stood there gawking and corralling our children, the firemen climbed off the truck and the air was filled with the sound of axes shattering windows. The hose came out.

Several minutes passed before I realized we weren't getting the whole picture. Of course...we were actually looking at the back of the building, the entrances being around the corner in the other courtyard. I managed to get David to come with me "for a minute" to see if anyone had indeed made it out. My heart sank as we came around the corner and I saw an ambulance parked outside. But maybe it was a good sign that it wasn't rushing away.

I'd seen enough. I grabbed David to say a short prayer before we walked away. He could not be dragged away from the playground, so we stayed awhile longer. I glanced up at The Window and saw a disheveled-looking older man stumble into the charred remains of whatever room it was, pour a beverage, and take a sip. Evidently he hadn't been convinced to go to the hospital. Or...what if he had just lost someone?*

We played some more, and then went home.



*A local news station reported that there had been one person injured, but none perished.

New Venue

On Sunday I visited our new church location for the first time. The funny thing is that there are only so many Protestant church buildings in the city, and along with the Orthodox ones, they were given some other purpose during Communism (I'll get to that later). Now that the church properties belong to the Church again, we attend a range of events in these few buildings. We got married in one, attended weddings in another, went to a concert in the one further down the street...

The meeting hall we're renting now is the one with the gymnasium floor, up at the top of the stairs, where we once sat to hear a poetry recital, as well as attended a Santa Lucia celebration. That's how I remember it, anyway.  And now I'll spend my Sundays there.

Since so many congregations share the space, no one's really taken ownership...not completely, anyway. I don't know all the details and I'm sure that efforts have been made to fix it up at least a little. But it's pretty run-down. Our conversations have been abuzz with discussion about which repair job is most important. Many wanted to focus on the floor, but the floor doesn't bother me. If you went to my church growing up, you know that the sanctuary always doubled as a gymnasium. Ugly, but familiar! So it made me feel right at home. BUT...I keep needing to be reminded that the gym floor in this case is a symbol of oppression and persecution; of a time when churches (in an architectural sense) were not used for worship. I can understand the need to wipe out that memory...to diminish its power, maybe? But at the same time, why not leave it there so that we can cherish freedom all the more? I'm not going to get involved, though. ;)

Can't decide where to embed this,
so I'll just plop it here!

Trusting

Summer plan reveal: In honor of my dad's 70th birthday this year, we thought it might be meaningful to gather in Scotland, the home of his grandparents. There's a Wales/England contingent too, but we eventually settled on the St.Andrews/Fife area.

I've been really excited and have been eager to get back to the UK since paying a visit there in my college days and before that as a young teen. Andrei and David have never been!

I'd been thinking it would be a "simple" trip since it's much closer than the U.S. (and fewer time zones) and we can speak English! For once it would be on "our" side of the ocean.

But of course it isn't as close for everyone else, and we all need passports, and the babies all need carseats, and....Andrei needs a VISA.

I guess I sort of knew in the back of my mind that Andrei would need a visa, but I was just thinking of it as something to check off, like when I would get a visa for going to Russia. Then at some point we realized that the UK is not in the Schengen zone. Andrei has gotten visas to Estonia and Finland, and technically could have then entered other Schengen countries on the same visa. But his Finnish visa won't do in this case.

Meanwhile, as it came up in conversation, we were suddenly hearing from Russian friends that a UK visa was HARD to get. That it was harder to prove that one didn't plan to overstay a visa. And I kept wanting to think that didn't apply to us. We're an American family going on vacation, and Andrei just happens to be Russian. But the fact is that our family does have travel limitations, and I have to kind of come to terms with that.

Goodbye to a beloved author

In searching for words to eulogize Elisabeth Elliot, all I want to do is quote her many, many words of wisdom! And of course, the scripture passages that she based her life on. I mention her here and here.

But what to pick? Maybe I will, instead, recall a few episodes from my life in which she played a role.

1) 10 years of "Passion and Purity": I was introduced to this book in college. By then my beliefs and values were pretty much formed, but were beginning to be challenged, so it was comforting to find affirmation among the pages of Passion and Purity. I had some attempts to "convert" friends to this way of thinking, including in Russia later on (see below). After I met Andrei, I had 6 years to wait, but of course I didn't know that at the beginning or even the middle! Even though the situation was a little different, I reached for my copy again and again. And after hearing Andrei's side and reading about Jim Elliot, I still find similarities that I can relate to about that particular period.

2) In Congo: This is more about Elisabeth Elliot's daughter Valerie. Back in my "Africa" entries on this blog, I mention my brother's wedding, which was officiated by Valerie's husband, Walt Shepherd. The whole trip was rather surreal (especially living in Russia at the time), and to gaze upon Val and picture her as the little blond barefooted child in The Savage My Kinsman was also incredible. They were actually just finishing their time in Congo, so with the wedding and everything else, you could feel the winds of change as various people present were in different life transitions. Thoughts and prayers go to Valerie and her family during this time.

3) In Russia: When I moved to Russia, it turned out my good friends had been quite moved by Elisabeth Elliot's writing, and were translating Passion and Purity into the Russian language. I was given a copy when it came out. :) And then passed out copies to friends. Meanwhile, the couple stayed in touch with Elisabeth and her husband, Lars. Once I sent along a letter to Elisabeth with my own "passionate" questions. The answer was, shall we say, in her typical fashion. ;) But I was actually surprised to see that it had in fact been penned by Lars. I wasn't quite sure what to think of that, but then later on, I met them in person! Those same friends in St. Petersburg facilitated Lars and Elisabeth coming for a visit. Some other single girls and I (and a married co-worker) were at the ministry office when they came by for tea. I think we were a little starstruck. Elisabeth must have been in the beginning states of dementia, and I remember looking into her eyes once and thinking...these are the eyes that saw all those things she wrote about. A living testimony. Then she was falling asleep, and Lars was chatting with us. He was quite friendly!

4) Everyday inspiration: The two blog posts I mentioned above are one example, but whenever I pick up one of Elisabeth Elliot's books and just thumb through it for a few minutes, rereading quickly, I am immediately given so much to mull over! I only have 3-4 books of hers, but there is much meaning behind those simple, straightforward words. Certain enough to challenge my thinking for the whole day.


If you have a memory or favorite impression to share, please leave a comment and/or link! :)