Love Ruined My Life (Part 2)

written by Laura

[This is Part 2 of this story. In case you missed it, here is Part 1.]

So, I was hating all things Russia. And crying in public. And probably (to those that had not experienced my day) looking like a totally spoiled American crying about my food.

This was not the image of myself that my mind conjured up when I saw all those vision-casting, inspiring, montage videos set to music that are supposed to spur a passion to “go to the nations.” In my mind’s eye, I was full of energy, boldly speaking truth (fluently in the native language), and having a great hair day.

In reality, I was a hot mess.

But GOD!

Thankfully, this was not the end of my story, and God’s story in my life.

God is a God of redemption and He did not bring me across an ocean just to choke back tears, and choke on clouds of cigarette smoke in a Russian hotel restaurant in the middle of the night.

He was working. He was about to throw me a curve ball (or a change-up?). This seemingly insignificant 10 days would forever alter the course that I had thought my life would take.

We ended up being stuck in Nizhny for about 2 days. In talks about travel plans, someone mentioned an option of forgoing the re-scheduled flight (four hours of travel) to our original destination and instead embarking on a 27-hour train ride.

Hmmm, let me think about it. Yeah, let’s take this emotionally fragile American, who knows no Russian and squish her in a tiny hotbox on wheels with strange people for 27 hours and see what happens. I knew better.

The only things I really remember about these two days is meeting some sweet Russian friends (who we still keep in touch with), sleeping through a four-hour Opera, eating McDonald’s, and committing some big cultural faux pas. Not really the things "go to the nations" videos are made of.

At long last, we flew into (still snowy and icy) Perm, Russia. Lovingly called “Big Perm” (at least by me).

I had never laid eyes on this city, but my blood, sweat and tears during the past few days had endeared me to this place, as if it must be worth fighting for. There must have been some reason that the enemy did not want me here. Since that time I have learned that it was many reasons, but they weren't just about me. God was doing something in this city and the hearts of these people, and He just used one tiny step of faith (that felt like a huge step) to lead me into what He had been doing all along. The stakes were high, but God prevailed, and here I was.

We connected with a local team of Americans who had been living in Perm for almost a year. They introduced us to their local friends who knew English and also made arrangements for us to teach a week long English class each evening during our stay.

Each day we did a lot of walking (all over the city), and talking (speaking English in an awkward combination of loudly and slowly with lots of animated hand motions). We definitely stood out as Americans, as we were all dressed like we were about to hit the ski slopes with our big down puffy jackets and hiking boots. Russians typically dress as if they just stepped off the runway and women have a keen ability to walk briskly on solid ice in 4-inch stilettos.

As the sun (and the temperature) dropped quickly each afternoon we would get on a bus to “School Number 77.” Former Soviets don’t get really flowery or creative with names of schools and government buildings. The one exception was a building we passed each evening on our way to the school called “The Blue Tower of Death.” No lie. It was right on the main square. I never did get a straight answer on why it was called that, but I never went in either, just to be on the safe side.

The buses were packed full of people, and the windows were covered with ice, so one person would have to look for our stop and let us know when to throw elbows (while saying “excuse me,” because we are so polite) and fling ourselves out the doors before they closed and we were separated from our group and whisked off alone into the icy motherland.

I enjoyed teaching the English classes, but even more the hang out times after where I could get to know the students. After class, we always walked to a nearby restaurant called SFC (short for Southern Fried Chicken) that was pretty much a fast food knockoff of KFC, but I was happy because they did not have any squid options.

I am not sure exactly when it happened. I really wish I could pinpoint the moment. But, I fell in LOVE with Russian people. Those sneaky Russians! At first, they (disclaimer- sweeping generalization) seem cold and unfeeling, but as you get to know them, they are some of the deepest, warmest, and most loyal and loving people you will ever have the privilege to know.

I met many great friends on this trip, but the one that I feel like God extra lovingly purposed for me to cross paths with was this one:

Dasha and I weren’t supposed to meet. She wasn’t one of the students in my evening English class. She told me later she barely passed the basic English test to attend the classes at all. I did not even have a conversation with her until almost the end of our trip.

I don’t remember actually meeting her. I just remember walking in the dark, freezing cold from School Number 77 to SFC on our last night of classes. I looked over and she was beside me and we started talking. We have never stopped since.

God gave me a sweet and unexpected gift in her friendship. Over the years, she has grown from a friend, into more of a sister. We have experienced seasons of inexpressible joy, as well as deep sorrow. Tears, laughter, truth speaking, grace giving, tea drinking, pomegranate eating, true life-long friendship.

I simply cannot imagine if I had missed out on knowing her.

In the span of the last 48 hours of our trip, God more than redeemed the first 48.

He gave me a love for a people, and a specific person who (at that time) did not know Him.

As a result of this trip, we decided to go live in Russia for a year because we felt God was leading us there.

But, I went gladly because of Dasha.

The Taste of Love

Written by Kelly

One of my favorite ways to express my love to my family is by cooking for them.  It is a labor of affection to work in the kitchen putting together favorite meals or dishes that I know they enjoy or to provide nutritious food to fuel them for the day's activities.  

One of my new favorite healthy meals to prepare is Stuffed Turkey Peppers.  

Stuffed Turkey Peppers
From Clean Eating Magazine

Ingredients:
1 cup cooked long-grain & wild rice
1 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
2 cups onions, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 lb lean ground turkey
2/3 cup low-sodium natural tomato juice
1/2 tsp Italian seasoning
10 grape tomatoes, halved
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
4 assorted sweet bell peppers (red, orange and yellow)
2 oz part-skim mozzarella, shredded

Directions:
Add oil and onions to a large saute pan over medium-high heat.  Saute onions for 2 minutes, then add garlic and saute for 1 minute.  Add turkey, juice and seasoning.  Cook until turkey is cooked through, about 10 minutes.  Add tomatoes and black pepper, cooking covered, for 5 minutes.  Preheat oven to 400.

Fill a large pot half-full with water and bring to a boil.  Cut tops from bell peppers and remove all seeds.  Add peppers to water and return to boil.  Cook, covered for 4-5 minutes or until tender.  Remove peppers and dry on paper towels.

Add rice to turkey mixture.  In a glass dish, stand peppers and fill with turkey-rice mixture.  Sprinkle with mozzarella.  Bake for 15 minutes.

I usually serve them with roasted potatoes and a salad.  

It's a great way to serve an impressive dinner that is full of nutrients for your family or just yourself!

Sweet Reminders

Written by Erin

True Confession. I was a little bummed last week when I read Laura and Kelly's sweet nothings about their husbands, both whom I adore and are quite worthy of their doting. I want a partner and a teammate. Seeing a good marriage in action should point us toward our highest Love, but it doesn't negate the longing for a person in the flesh to do life with.

Normally, I don't get too consumed with Valentine's Day because I think if you're married, every day should be Valentine's Day.  Loving and cherishing someone isn't just a one-day event each year. It is a commitment all the days of your life after you say "I Do".  I'm probably idealistic, but I don't care. My husband better get ready. He's got a lot to live up to. To all my potential suitors, don't freak out. I'll give you a lot of grace:)  All humor aside, I understand marriage is not always flowers and romance and sweet nothings. Reality is, it's hard. But in the highs and lows and the "hard but good", deep security and joy permeate.

One of the blessings and greatest gifts of the single life is the ability to pick up and visit friends whenever I want. I kind of love that gift. No, I really love it. I love to travel and I have the freedom to do it in this season of life. It is quite possible I will one day have to give up some of my galavanting, but until I get a ball and chain (I say that lovingly, I promise), I am free to love on those near and far as time permits. God has given me friendships that span my lifetime and I am so grateful for each of them. I pray for a rich, full, and honoring single life and praise be to God that He has seen fit to answer that prayer in unimaginable ways.

I spent last weekend with long-time friends in Knoxville, Tennessee.  We go back to weekend nights at College Suites during our college days where dance parties and memory-making shenanigans reigned supreme. Carrie, Melissa, Sarah, and Rachel are four women that make me laugh the hardest. I never want to leave them because they make me feel alive. I live a little more fully with them around. Driving away from Knoxville, in the midst of a beautiful snowfall, God reminded me that He deeply loves me. He knows me and He's provided exactly what I need for this season of life. He is withholding no good thing. He will love me lavishly if or until that ball and chain comes.

Love Ruined My Life (Part 1)

written by Laura

*This is the first installment of this story, second part to come next week.

I sat in a small room in the middle of Russia, very crowded cosy with lots of people. We had just landed that morning for a summer mission project in the city where the Romanov family was killed by the Bolsheviks.

We were meeting for introductions about the city and other things that I couldn't stay awake for. I was slipping in and out of consciousness (in a jet lagged way), but I jolted awake when I heard these words spoken to the group...

"Congratulations, you have just ruined your life!"

I was confused at first as my foggy brain tried to process this.

They went on to explain that now that we were here, that we would never be the same. That God would imprint this place and these people onto our hearts in an eternal way. We were now and forevermore knitted together with a place, people, language, and culture that was not our own.

I smiled as I realized the truth of this statement in my own life. How God had taken a small town southern girl and awakened in me a fierce love for His people in another nation. In a way this didn't just happen overnight, but in a way it did.

It all started innocently enough. Hubby and I had been married only 6 months (we were in our senior year of college) and the director of our campus ministry and his wife invited us to their house for dinner. I was so excited to spend some time with their family and Hubby was probably just excited to eat a dinner that wasn't burned or made up largely of Campbell's cream of something soup.

They fed us a yummy dinner with their sweet family. They told us they were going to live in Russia for a year (we already knew this through the grapevine). We told them we were really going to miss them (still clueless as to what was coming). Then after dessert, they dropped the bombshell. 

Then they asked us to COME with them!

I politely listened (smile and nod) while wondering if they're crazy to think that I would be good for this. I look over at Hubby and he is almost foaming at the mouth with excitement (big smiling, big nodding). Hold.the.phone. What? We had never considered this. Not even in the "back of your mind, but knowing it probably won't happen" considered.

The rest of that evening was a compete blur. I think I remember giving the old "I'll pray about it" response. My translation- "heck no, I would never in a million years think this was a good idea, but since I'm a Christian I guess I have to pray, but unless I see it spelled out in the night sky I'm thinking this can't be God's will for my life."

Fast forward three months and the "I'll pray about it" turned into "okay, I'll go for a week and see what I think".

The circumstances surrounding this week long trip were something that should only happen in a movie. The postal service lost our passports with our Russian visas (to this day they have never been found) just two days before we were supposed to leave on our transcontinental flight.

We contacted our senator, since we figured it would be pretty tough to get into another country legally without this key item. He pulled some strings (but really it was the Lord's work, lets give credit where it's due) and got us an appointment with the special issuance passport agency in Washington DC (conveniently also where our flight was leaving the country), and the Russian embassy in one day.

We left Columbia at 6 am for DC and when we arrived we were picked up by our campus director's friend (on what happened to be her first day off in months) who whisked us all around DC on this crazy adventure. We were in and out of the passport office (passports in hand) in one hour! This is where diplomats get their passports y'all! We had no business being there. Our passports say "Special Issuance Passport Agency" under place where they were issued.

At that point, it was lunchtime and we begin to think this crazy thing may actually work. But, we still had a flight leaving Dulles at 5 pm, and had to make it to the Russian embassy, through rush hour traffic, to the airport in time to go through security for an international flight, etc.

Then, we arrived all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the Russian embassy only to explain our situation to a stone-faced Russian man (I call him Boris in my mind) who quickly informed us that, "things must be done in the RIGHT way!" And we were getting the distinct impression that evidently the way we were going about it was not "the right way".

I had never experienced Russian culture before, but let me tell you, we were on Russian soil and they made sure we knew it. They took our passports, closed the window in our faces (wanted to say slammed the door, but it was actually a window) and told us very gruffly, "come back at 3:00".

So, we did all that we knew to do. Being good southerners, we went to eat.

We ate, prayed, made phone calls, and had some choice words for Boris that we shared with each other.

At 3:00, we went back to face the music. Buzzing the intercom beside the locked gate with a mixture of hope and dread, we heard nothing but static on the other end.

After what seemed like an eternity, we heard a Russian voice. They unlocked the gate and Hubby went into the building. I waited in the car praying because I knew that the Lord was truly our only hope for making this happen.

Hubby comes running out in a full sprint waving something in his hands. Our passports! I can tell by his expression that they also contain Russian visas!

We race to the airport, and are invited (by airport workers) to cut in front of the security line that wraps around the entire interior of the airport. We sprint from there to our gate and make it on board just before the plane doors are closed. Whew! It makes me tired just remembering it!

We though the adventure was over.

Then we have been in the air for about 14 total hours. We can see the light of our destination city in the distance. Finally. 

But, what's that, the pilot comes over the p.a. system and says that we won' t be able to land in our city because it is too icy and snowy on the runway. (I am thinking that with it being wintertime in Russia, I felt like they would have known this and had some sort of a plan!)

The plane turns around and heads to another city.

We arrive in Nishny- Novgorod and are put up by the airline in a hotel. I am starving by the time we finally get there from the airport.

I walk into the restaurant in the hotel and they serve me up a big slimy squid "salad". A pile of squid tentacles on a lettuce leaf really.

I was holding it together, until this moment.

I am so done with this trip.

I vow to myself that I will never EVER come back to Russia.

(I ugly cry into my squid salad.)


To be continued...

One Who Understands

Written by Kelly

In the past year I have suffered great loss, experienced heartache and many trials.  One of the greatest battles I have faced through all of it has been the isolation these trying times has caused me to feel. 

“Nobody gets it.”

“They haven’t been in my shoes.”

“They haven’t been here.  They don’t know how it feels.”

When we are going through something very difficult it is easy to think no one else understands or can identify with our pain. As I have been living through my own pain recently, God has opened my eyes to see how naively unaware I have been to the depth of pain others around me have gone through.  Until now I did not recognize my own blindness.  This life is one filled with pain.  Christ never promised us a life of ease and comfort.  I have witnessed family members selflessly and tirelessly care for loved ones who are living through debilitating disease, other family members themselves daily battling chronic pain, and friends who month after month face the heart wrenching struggle of infertility.  We all individually have lives filled with pain that we are living through in some form or another. 

For myself I have so desperately desired for others to be willing to enter into my pain with me and hold my hand on this road. It is so easy to become embittered and angry and point the finger at where others fail.  But I have realized that I have failed. 

I have failed to reach out to others experiencing their walk of pain. 

I have failed to move outside of my comfort zone to offer comfort to others.

I am learning every day to stop expecting people to “get it”.  To stop wanting people to fully understand what I am feeling.  I have realized that it is impossible for me to fully grasp the full realm of pain that those around me are facing, because I have not walked in their shoes.  I don’t have to fully understand them and they don’t have to fully understand me in order for us to reach our hands of love out to each to other and walk these roads of life side by side.  I just have to be willing to enter in, to be ok feeling awkward and unsure of what to say.  It is enough to be a warm hand to hold or shoulder to lean on.  We are called to bear these burdens of life together.

I have also learned through this time of grieving that there is One who understands.  In the Garden of Gethsemane we see that Jesus has faced great sorrow as well.  He understands when we feel like sorrow is pressing the life out of us.  He understands the words I cannot utter because of the lump in my throat.  He understands the unexpected tears that flow.  He understands that sick feeling in my stomach and the inability to sleep at night. 

He understands.

In her book One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp speaks words of life to me.

“Only the Word is the answer to rightly reading the world, because The Word has nail-scarred hands that cup our face close, wipe away the tears running down, has eyes to look deep into our brimming ache, and whisper, ‘I know.  I know.'”

Dear one, I just want to remind all of us that even when we feel like no one gets what we are going through.  That no one could possibly understand our pain.  There is One who understands and walks with us.  He knows.  He gets it.

In Sickness and In Health

written by: Laura

I feel very blessed that when I was thinking about what to write for this series I had many experiences of people showing love to me to choose from.

Since it is Valentine's day I wanted to share a story about Hubby showing love to me.

Still difficult to choose one. 

The ones that keep coming to mind are ones that show his sacrificial love to me when I am at my worst. These times are the ones that mean way more than any gift or date night ever will. 

First, a little background information.

I am one of those people that doesn't get sick very often, but when I do it's always a doozie.

Hubby is, at his very core, averse to any medical anything-getting shots, giving blood, even walking into a hospital. He has come a long way in this, but knowing this helps me appreciate this story even more.

It was a Thursday. We were on our second trip to Russia to have court and pick up Little Man. 

We passed court (aka we are officially parents!) that morning and spent the rest of the day running errands before coming back to the apartment we were renting for the afternoon.

We had plans to go out with our Russian "friends" (in the American sense of the word) that we had known for an entire 48 hours for a celebratory dinner. 

About 15 minutes before they were supposed to pick us up, I started feeling just a little bit off. I told Hubby that I would lie down for a few minutes and for him to call our friends and that maybe we could go in about 30 minutes.

Within about 5 minutes it became very apparent that dinner was a no go. I ran to the one bathroom in the apartment and it was B.A.D. I don't want to get too graphic, because I've already lived through it once (barely) and I don't want to gross you out completely, but just know that it was LEVEL 10 BAD. Whatever you are imagining that to be, it was happening. This went on for at least 24 hours.

At one point I was just lying on the floor outside the bathroom in the fetal position because I didn't have the strength to make it to the couch. I was getting cramps in my legs from dehydration and was about to have to go to the hospital.

Sweet Hubby vacillated between helping me to the bathroom, cleaning up after me (remember level 10 bad), calling everyone he knew to call both in Russia and America to get advice on what to do, comforting me, carrying me into the shower, and many more things that I probably can't remember. 

In sickness and in health. 

Hubby fulfilled his vows (and then some) that he promised on a warm, rainy June Saturday many years before. On our wedding day, he probably wasn't thinking about my impending Chernobyl-like food poisoning 8 years later in the middle of a Russian one room apartment. 

As much as I loved him on the day we got married, my love for him has grown exponentially as I have seen him love me in the hard times and the good. 

And seeing me in Level 10 sickness and caring for me without complaint as he had to wipe my vomit off the floor. That is a real man. That is sacrificial Gospel love. That is better than the sweetest card or the most beautiful flowers. I hope that each of you get to experience that kind of love (maybe even without the food poisoning!).

The Best Kept Secret

Written by Kelly

In honor of Valentine's Day this week we decided we would each write about the experience of receiving love.  Feeling loved does not look the same for every person.  It is not always displayed in the same way.  And yet some expressions of love touch us so deeply we are forever changed.  

This year David and I will celebrate our 10 year anniversary.  It has been a long road since that Saturday afternoon all those years ago when we stood before our family and friends and made sacred vows before God to love, honor and cherish one another until death do us part.  

Once entering this covenant, I discovered a dirty little secret about marriage that you don't always take time to consider while busily planning your wedding. Wanna know what that secret is?

Marriage brings out all those dark ugly places of ourselves that we can successfully keep hidden during the exciting period of dating.  During the months of discovery and falling in love we all work very hard to put our best self on display.  We primp for dates, try new hobbies, and do our best to be in a cheerful mood at any given moment.  

But once we say those two little words, "I do," something changes.  Little by little the veil lifts and our real selves begin to emerge.  What is mine belongs to another now and the whole idea of personal space goes out the window because everything is now shared with another.  

The not-so-pretty faces of selfishness, unforgiveness, a hot temper are revealed.  All those places hidden inside of ourselves take center stage.  I find that some days I don't even like myself.  

And yet, over the years something profound has happened.  Despite all of my flaws and wretchedness I have looked into the eyes of my beloved David and found that I am not met with contempt or disgust, as I would expect.  Instead, he looks at me full of love.  

His forgiveness knows no end.

His commitment to me stands firm.

His words to me are "I'm not going anywhere."

I long ago expected him to run for the hills when he witnessed firsthand what I call my "crazy".  

But with each passing day his love grows more deep because he is not loving the false persona that I display.  Instead he is choosing to love the real me.  The one that is full of junk and eaten up with sin.  He has seen me at my most despicable and loved me in the midst of it.

It overwhelms me to receive this kind of love.

It has changed me.  Is changing me.

It points me to my first real Love.  It gives me a glimpse into the mystery of the gospel.  It has taught me about a neverending, never giving up, always and forever Love.  

This love is marriage's best kept secret.

source

A Radical Love

by guest blogger: Emily Evans

Last September, my grandmother celebrated her 90th birthday. She is the first person who taught me about Jesus, and she has prayed me for every single day of my life.   My grandfather died 27 years ago, long enough for babies to be born, grow up, get married, and have babies of their own (statistically speaking anyway).  

When I found out that she had a number of suitors and at least one proposal in the decade following my grandfather’s death, I asked her why she didn’t remarry. 

She told me she hit the jackpot the first time; there was no way she could ever find a man who equaled her first and only love.

My grandmother was 25 when she met the handsome Army medic, which practically made her a spinster in rural North Carolina.    

Together they buried a daughter and raised a son.  She still lives in the 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom house they bought 53 years ago. 

No fancy cars or expensive vacations.  No weekly date nights or “me” time or mission trips or blogs.

They lived simply and gave from what they had been given.  

They were radical Christians without ever thinking about it.

My grandfather was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis early in their marriage, so it fell to my grandmother to support the family.  She never complained, but considered it a blessing that she was able to serve in such a way.

Today we so often measure people by what they give us and we measure life by what we have.  Even some of the loudest voices in the Christian community think a man's masculinity is defined by his ability to provide for his family.  

But my grandfather gave his wife everything that mattered--a heart for Christ and a desire to love and serve her faithfully as long as they both lived.  I don't remember much about him, but he looms large in my imagination, a giant of the faith who had a kind word and a smile for everyone.

To me, their marriage is the stuff of legend.

I know that Scripture says there is no marriage in heaven, but I can't help but think that the day my grandmother is called home, my grandfather will run to meet her, and he'll take her to their Creator, who will look at them and say, "well done my good and faithful servants, for in all the love you gave each other, you loved me most of all."

Emily Evans (soon-to-be Haydysch!) lives and works in North Carolina.  She loves good books, chocolate chip cookies, and the beach, and thinks college basketball is winter's only redeeming quality.

Valentine's Fun

written by: Laura

Valentine's day is fast approaching, and I wanted to make a little gifts to send to Little Man's class for his friends.

I usually put WAY to much thought and effort into things like this and end up spending all of my allotted time for said project on Pinterest and come away feeling paralyzed by the amount of different options and inadequate in my crafting, mothering, and general Proverbs 31ing.

I love Pinterest and the amount of creative ideas out there, but I do feel like it leads to the comparison game and perpetuation of the idea that if you don't handcraft every element of your child's birthday party from scratch, then you don't really love them, and they will end up in many hours of counseling someday trying to undo the damage. Maybe I am the only one that feels this way, but I feel like I have fallen into this trap before and been so busy getting things ready for Little Man's party that I don't actually get to enjoy him. Which is the point, right? 

But that is another post for another day. 

All that to say, I purposely did not scour the Interwebs for the perfect cutesy Valentine's gift that would take me hours to put together. Partially because they are going to 4 year olds, and also because my time is limited.

I actually just went to the store that shall not be named (Walmart) in search of something simple and fun. 

I stumbled upon an amazing deal-- watercolor sets for 10 cents! I grabbed all of them and was done with it. The gift bags actually cost me more than the gift. I almost didn't buy them, but I am going to be out of town for a few days and knew I wouldn't have any more time to shop for them. 

I was thankful that I didn't actually have a plan because I was able to capitalize on a great spur of the moment deal. 

It was something that I knew the kids would love and that Little Man could actually have a hand in helping with for his friends.

So, I am not saying that you should copy this exact idea, because depending on the amount that you need, it may not be cost effective if the paint sets aren't on sale. 

I just want to encourage you to feel the freedom from "Pinterest pressure". 

And I would love to hear your ideas for fun Valentine's gifts too.