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.