summer houses and local trains

Summer’s here in Siberia.  Dacha season is open. Dacha is a Russian word for a summer house. People hardly ever (=practically never) use it for just chilling out and spend days working on their little plot of land growing and taking care of vegetables. Those who don’t have a car get to their Dacha and back to the town on Elektrichka, and electric train that runs locally.

You can meet all kinds of people on Electrichka. My mom doesn’t have a Dacha. But today I visited some dear friends in their Dacha. As I got on a night train to get back I was glad to find the cars practically empty – what can be better of enjoying a village scenery from a train at the sunset (the sun sits here after 10 pm and is beautiful). I picked a bench, but  right after me came an older lady and so we sat together. I hesitated whether I should take another seat to enjoy some solitude but decided to stay and maybe chat with a lady. Talking to older strangers (well older than me, my mom’s generation people) is one thing that I enjoy here. So we had a chat about her dacha, and lilacs that my friends’ little son gave to me, and about what we do, and our families, and the struggles that her grandson has growing up without a father.  Yeah, Russians go deep with strangers on a train. That’s why I love talking and hearing their stories, and yep, sharing mine.

The lady got off at her station in about half an hour. Before she left she told me to tell my mom that there’s a retired people hang out happening every Sunday in the center (where all the cool kids used to hang out hoho).

 


Then I heard  someone sing behind me. I assumed someone was drunk and sweet, and I turned back- only to see no drunken, but an older couple sitting together, so sweet, the singing was coming from the good looking husband. I smiled and turned back. He stopped singing. I looked at them again and asked “Please sing some more”. The lady smiled and looked at ther husband “He sings ina Theater” she said.  “Oh then please sing some more!” He said- another time…” They started talking about songs, how old songs were so melodic and beautiful unlike songs nowadays. I knew what they meant, and asked to sing them together. They smiled and continued sharing some stories. Now, it is so rare to see an older couple seemingly enjoying each other’s company in our country (a grandson growing up  without a father remember, it is so common in Russia). 





the pic is from the web, not mine,
but it totally illustrates what I'm talking about :)



 They looked so beautiful together, and they were smiling…. “Hop on  this train tomorrow at the same time” – the man said as they were getting off,  and he smiled . And I smiled. I love riding Elektrichka in the evening and talking to strangers. It helps me to remember the real things about Russia that I love.



Dads, this one is for you.

There are many dreams I remember seeing even as a child. There's one that stands  especially vivid,  I saw it when I was 7 y.o.. I'm in the playground of my pre-school, all alone. Then I see my father walking towards me. He came to say goodbye.  I embraced him and started crying. I woke up in tears...  My father was leaving indeed – our family was moving to another part of the country, and he was going a month ahead of us.  So a couple weeks after that dream I was standing on a railway platform, embracing him and crying. 

A year later my sister and I were standing at our  new house embracing our father, all three of us crying.  He was leaving again. This time to never come back.  I remember running back to the house looking for something I wanted him to keep.  It was a card I had made for him for a Father's day that year. It was the last Father's day card I ever made.

I sent him a letter when I was 20.  That year I found courage to put the heavy load of pain, hurt and difficult memories at the feet of Jesus.  As the New Year approached I sent him a card where I expressed love that God put in my heart for him.  I didn't notice any visible change for better in my father  in a few interactions that we had with him in the next few years, but since then I started living in freedom. Forgiveness led me to experiencing the love of my Heavenly Father.  His love healed my heart that had been crying all those years for a father whom I forgot what it was like to have.

When people challenge my faith in God I can't prove them anything but I can defend the hope that I have in Christ. Knowledge doesn't heal hearts.  Relationships do.  I have a relationship that healed my heart,  and now I have a Father. 

On this Father's Day I want to thank the fathers that I met on my way. Seeing each of you interact with your children, especially daughters, was something God used to stir my heart and touch the hurting places, give me hope and heal me.  I was watching you holding your children, and almost every time I sensed God saying to me, until I believed in it – “See, this is how I hold you in my arms. I always loved you. And I always will.” Thank you for loving your children, Dads, I have much respect for each of you.  Your relationships with your children have blessed more children than you know. I am one of them. Keep loving, Dads.  Your love is life giving, it enables children to experience the love of God.  I didn't have  a dad like you, but you all in different ways pointed me to the only true Father that I have.  You guys rock!

As I write this post, I'm thinking, in particular, of my “tatko” Vitalik,  my African dad Peter, Bob Gilster, Rob Thomas,  Sergey Aleev, Ivan Kulikov, Roman Rubcov, Sean Sanborn,  Jim Weikert, Robert Baerg, David Bute, Victor Evpak, Dan Bray, Micah Wood, P' Ek, Russell Sanche, Dave Houser, Brian, and my very special Papa Smith.   May each of you be secure in the love of your Heavenly Father, as I have came to know more of it through you.

one epic morning

Introduction. Chiang Mai, Thailand. On February, 14 Tim and I went to the post office where we were supposed to pick up an invitation letter for his visa application. Tim was leaving for Malaysia  at 9:10 the next morning. No letter. The post office manager Mr. Coke said that he'd send his postman or even go by himself to Lampung, a town nearby where the post center for Northern Thailand was, and that he would do it at 5 am!  He took our phone numbers and promised to let us know in the morning of his mission complete.  Relieved, we went on our first Valentine date.

February, 15.

8.00.  We came to the post office at the opening hour. Mr.Coke was there. The letter wasn't. No one had gone to Lampung for our letter. Surprise - surprise!

8:05.  Mr. Coke sent Tim to the airport.

8:10.  Mr. Coke and I jumped into his car to go to Lampung.  Talking about personal connections! He drove like crazy, we had two close calls to getting into an accident.  It was like in a movie! I was distracting myself by texting Tim telling him that I love him. La-la

8:25.  We rushed into the post center. Mr. Coke grabbed a bag with EMS post for Chiang Mai. We rushed back into the car. He gave me a dull screw driver to open the bag.

8:27.  I tried and I tried but still no success with opening the bag with the screw driver. Mr. Coke took the matters into his own hands while still steering. 

8:28.  Mr. Coke opened the bag!!!!.... No letter......

8:29. Mr. Coke called on the phone yelled at someone really angrily as he was turning back to Lampung. FYI it's a REALLY bad manner in Thai culture to yell at someone.

8:35. We ran into the office again. Found the letter set aside on a desk. Turns out, someone had indeed given some instructions to take special care of that letter.

8:36. We're back in the car.  Speeding up the Highway on the way to the airport.  Two more close calls, one truck almost smashed us, to the side of the bridge. I screamed. We kept driving in silence.

8:57. I ran into the airport. Tim leaned through the security line to get the letter and give me a hug (such a man he is!). Thirteen minutes before the plane was to take off, my Tim went on board.

8:59. Back in the car, I sighed a sigh of relief and we both started laughing. Mr. Coke pet me on a  head ( a no-no in Thai culture) and shook his head, laughing. We headed back to the post office. On the way, Mr. Coke told me that the big truck which almost smashed us, it was not his (Mr. Coke's) fault. I nodded and said “yes, yes, I know”.

Afterward. Back at the Post Office, Mr. Coke brought me to the Post office master who was having a morning tea. I wai-ed (bowed) to the old man  many times with gratitude...

I had to take the motorbike we arrived on back home. In my three+ years in Thailand I had never ridden a kick start bike, preferring automatic for the simplicity of it. Mr. Coke helped me to start the bike and stood there watching me practice shifting and trying the breaks.  I saw worry on his face.  “Madame you sure you ride?”  “Oh yes, Mr. Coke!”  he came closer as my  bike “jumped” again.  “Madame  you sure you ride?”  “Yes. Mr. Coke! Thank you very much for all your help!  Bye- bye”. 

9:45  I made it home safely.