My mood in moving

We just moved. When I first heard about it, I wasn't too happy about it. Because I had not seen the house before we moved, and because I had spent the beginning of my adolescent years in the old apartment (4 1/2 years) I wasn't sure I'd ever find a place to rival the old one. This despite the fact that the old place looked terrible. I learned Russian in that apartment. I went from 8 to 13 in that apartment. I learned how to take care of myself there. I got to where I could go around the city by myself whileliving there. I had many things happen to me in that apartment. I became a Christian in that apartment and was baptized while living there. My bedroom there had tons of flowers on the wallpaper, and I hated it. But it was the only home I have good memory of. I miss my view out the window, because I could see everybody go by on the sidewalk.

I was scared before we moved to the new place. I was afraid my room color would be ugly and that I would never feel at home. Once I saw the place, I was more excited, because it's really nice here.

What excited me the most was having a huge room all to myself. And now the place is getting to feel like home, event though I miss my old apartment.

Life here is more luxurious, bigger space, and lots more people around. But even though there are more people, we don't notice them and so it doesn't bother us like it did in the old place.

Back then it was really frustrating having people always underfoot, and I had to always tiptoe around them, and it was always very awkward.

The downside is I don't know anybody around here, but that will change. The good side is that I still can tutor my little neighbor, since we did not move far away. I just have to leave much earlier.

England retreat.

After a month long trip to France, our family returned to base camp in St. Pete and began to wind down, except that we didn't. Just as soon we arrived and unpacked, Mom and I began packing again. The reason for this was that within two (2) days of our return to headquarters, the mother and the daughter of the house needed to rush off to London for a four-day girls retreat for the CRM (our mission organization) girls. Talk about confusion!

After a wonderful (and we don't say that about every airport!) six-hour layover in the unbelievably gorgeous and luxurious airport in Stockholm, mom and I boarded the plane to London. As we flew over London, mom and I had the awesome luck to see ALL the sights from the plane, such as Big Ben, the Tower of London, the London Eye, and Parliament. We felt we could go home right then and there.
At passport control, our passport man happened to speak Russian and surprised us after reading our visas. The Tube ride to our destination was pretty slow the whole way, but what caught my attention was that wherever I went, I understood what was being spoken around me (unlike France) and I could read signs at a glance. I heard English everywhere! Upon arriving at the Tube/ train station, Mom and I went up the escalator and found our CRM friends. Finally after a long trip, we had arrived and were ready for the few days filled with fun and spiritual groups.

As part of out time together, we prophesied over each other and bonded into best buds. We talked about being a missionary kid, the ups and downs of that life, and how all MK's can relate to each other. Together we saw Big Ben from a double decker bus, went to Trafalgar Square, and saw the Royal Mews. I came away from the retreat feeling safe in God and have a a bunch of good friends.

Subotnick

A few Saturdays ago, our dvor (courtyard) had a big get-together for cleaning up. At 11:00 everybody gathered outside and started picking up trash and rocks. The kids were equipped with gloves and rakes and were sent to clean up around the buildings. Gradually, more and more of the residents came outside and started clearing away brush. This went on for about an hour and a half. Then they started grilling meat. While the kids ran around and played, the adults sat and talked. Once the children were served, out came the beer, and Daddy took a few sips, and I helped him. The sense of togetherness which we rarely have broke the ice between our family and the dvor. Everybody started accepting us.

The men proceeded start a game of throwing sticks, a game no one really understood, a game where they all had to throw stick and achieve a goal which no one really knew. The kids set up a cheering booth in used tires, each cheering for his own dad. With seven screaming children, including me, you can imagine the uproar. Daddy's blog about all this is here.

After that, all the grown-ups proceeded back to the table to drink more, and the kids went off to do whatever they pleased. There was absolutely no supervision for the kids - not an unnatural thing. What was awful was the fact that the kids were exposed to the grown-ups getting drunk right in front of them. They learn it's OK to drink. God showed us how much were there was needed, that drinking is not necessary, that children don't have to be like their parents.

Yuri's return

Many of you may have noticed that in the last "Prayers and Praises" of my dad's, he put a note that we had lost contact with Yuri. Well, we had lost contact with him from about the end of October, and in February we miraculously received word.

In order to understand how this all happened we need to go back to the school I'm attending. Because almost all the kids there have the Russian version of Facebook, I wanted Russian Facebook (Vkontake). When I singed in, I had the idea that we could find Yuri through Vkontake. My first try failed. Nothing seemed to work. However on our second try a miracle happened. When I open the window to Vkontake it opens to this groups page and from there I work my way to my page. This time, however, When I opened the window and saw some group's page, I saw to my absolute shock "Members," and there it showed three members, and among them I saw "Voronin Yuri." Me and dad clicked on him and sure enough it was HIM! Immediately I sent a friend request. The next day I saw to my utter joy that he had added me. Thank you God!! I dashed off a message to him telling him that we loved him no matter what he did and that he was always welcome in our family. To please come on Thursday as normal and if not call.

Next day he writes back saying he will call. Then a few days later he calls in the middle of a Skype with our grandparents in Georgia as we are talking to them about that we had "found" him. Dad's phone being right next to the computer, I pick it up and see "Yuri" on it. I scream and jump up and run to dad, yelling that Yuri was calling! (Thank you Grandma and Grandpa for letting me act like a crazy person as that happed.) Well he came on Thursday and has been coming ever since. Thank you God!! His now sitting in the other room talking with dad as I write. Thank you God for that!!

Please pray that he will stay with us.

My schedule for the week

This is my schedule for the week:

Monday: At a killing 7:00 in the morning I wake up/am awakened and stumble out to the breakfast table. After breakfast I go/am sent to do chores (make my bed, brush teeth, and tidy my room.) Mom, Kerith, Simon, and I gather in the living room for devotions. Simon goes to piano, and K and I study Greek and Latin. The day continues with rotations like this, and after lunch the boys and I go outside for half an hour. Once we come in, we continue school until late afternoon. At 5:00 I tutor a four-year-old boy named Andrusha until 6:00. After dinner we do homework.

Tuesday: Again I drag myself out of bed and eat breakfast as my brothers run out the door to school. Note: I DO have bed-head so maybe that is why the boys are running out the door faster than necessary. After breakfast I do my chores and join mom on her couch for devotions. At 10:00 she teaches her online class, and I work until 11:30 when mom finishes with her class. I have a break till lunch. I continue school until 4:00, and then I have a on-line class-- science (no I'm not the teacher). The runs until 5:30 when our family has dinner. Then homework.

Wednesday: The very same as Tuesday, but at 4:00 I have English online.

Thursday: I go to Russian school with the boys and do school work from there. Around 3:30 I come home and go straight to tutoring Andrusha.

Friday: The same a Monday, but at the end of the day we clean up for Saturday and have piano lessons. Sometimes I go to youth group, which missionary kids attend.

Saturday.

(This is to emphasize the nothing I do on Saturday.)

Sunday. We go to church in the evening or have home church. Other than that, I might do homework or something else.

Tutoring.

In the beginning of November I was hired as an English teacher for our neighbors' 4-year old son.
The father came to Dad and asked him we would be willing to teach his son English. He negotiated with Mom and Dad that I would teach twice a week an hour a day (I am getting paid.) Mondays and Thursday from 5 to 6. The first time there I was warmly received... by the Dad. The son (Andrusha) was what you'd call, um, not the best behaved. After the first several time his, uh, disobedience smoothed out. What was hard was that the Dad is not worried about Andrusha's behavior, including when that kid "runs away" claiming he is no longer "friends with anybody!" Dad just lets him and tells me not to worry about it. The father, however, is very friendly and gracious, and almost every time he gives me tea or something like that. And when I trek the ever-so-long-10-second walk he always stands at the door and watches me to insure safety.

In the apartment is just us three all the time, --he (dad), me and Andrusha -- except when the father left to go to the store once, and it was just us two. Andrusha is slowly starting to except me and listens to what I say. Please pray that I will be successful and that I can teach not just English, but the faith to the family.

Adoptive moms meet non-adopted orphans

Last Tuesday night the director the Harbor, Melinda, brought 2 women, Lisa and Carla, from Minnesota to talk with 4 Harbor graduates. Among the Harbor graduates was our very own Yuri and 3 other girls -- Ira, Natasha, and Nastya. Lisa and Carla each had adopted a child from Russia and raised them along with their own biological children. The adopted children have very rebellious attitudes and are displaying violent behaviors that are often found in Russian adoptives. Lisa and Carla had asked to meet with the Harbor graduates to ask a few questions about their growing up in the orphanages in the hopes understanding why their children are acting this way. The women also lead a support group for other adoptive families in MN who are experiencing negative outcomes from the adoptions, most from Russia. 

Seeing that I helped translate some things, I participated in the discussion to a small extent. What was nice was that Lisa and Carla had a list of questions with them so they would go around the circle asking questions. Some questions were: What was your daily routine at the orphanage? Did you feel loved? How did they (in the orphanage) think of you? What were yours dreams when you lived in the orphanage? (Yuri reported that his dream was to watch TV all night long.) 

The atmosphere was very open, and the graduates talked freely. One of the graduates (Nastya) told us that she had always been the girl to be put in contests the one who the director "liked". Why? She was the sugar daddy. The girl who gave the orphanage a good face. The girl who they show of but never let her get adopted. No these people (the orphanages people) don't really care for the kids. They just see them as the way to get money. Now maybe some do , but as a whole they don't. And the kids know this.The caretakers were mean and gave no freedom and told the kids in their face "You are a failure. You won't be anything." Those people were wrong! These kids are amazing, smart and are making a way in the world.  They are far from failures. Some kids believed them. Nastya told us that see knew that the caretakers were wrong and she would lead her room to punish the caretaker when ever the caretakers would do some thing mean.Such as pouring clothes detergent in the hall way.When the caretaker came he or she would get dumped with water so that he or she would slip in the hallway.they could not punish the kid cause they didn't know who did it.  Now this was no "naughty kids at the orphanage " this was for a reason and they knew it. They told us that they were cold at night and were always hungry. One girl said she was told that the cook was stealing food. She didn't believe them till she was 15 when she worked in the kitchen and saw it with her own eyes. They said that the kids would make fun of the cook when they saw him leave with big bag of food(the cook was fat). One the girl said that the director and the caretaker would say "Your mom is is a bad woman!" At 15 she was told that her mom was long dead.  The kids who did get adopted would spit in their face and say "I don't care. Hearing things that I all ready knew from the mouths of the kids them selfs was painful. You can understand why these kids (the adopted ones)would be violent.Probably cause their angry. I know I would be. I would angry, suspicious, and hurt. Pleases pray for Lisa and Carla and their kids and also for the orphans (in the orphanages and out) 

CRM World Conference

As all of you guys probably know, my family is a part of a organization called CRM. The organization is divided in to several groups all around the world. (Almost) every year the groups meet separately and every 4 years the whole organization meets together. This summer the whole organization got together in Malaysia - Langkawi.

Our flight arrangements to Langkawi were terrible, and the layovers

were simply nightmares. It was a relief when we finally arr

ived in Langkawi, but sadly we weren't able to get to our room immediately, because the previous guests had not left yet. We had been on the road at that point for 44 hours, and that was only the last of several disappointments along the way. While waiting for our room to open up, we swam in the pool, which felt very good, seeing that it was very hot and we had not been able to

wash the whole trip.

We were there a few days early to relax, but when the conference started, we had lots of fun. The children's program workers were really great and because of that encounters with God were not rare at all. Aside from being next to a beach, swimming in a pool every day and seeing friends every day, the best part about it was what we were learning. The children's program group taught us how to pray intensely, and during those times several of us saw things (like landscapes or colors), and once we told what we had seen, one of us usually would be able to tell what it meant.

I appreciated it because I hadn't been able to have as much intense praying before, and it was nice because there were other kids there, and so I wasn't alone in praying. I sometimes feel lonely at home when I pray, and that really helped me. I know how to pray more intensely now, and I didn't use to receive colors and pictures like I can now, and feel I have a stronger relationship with God. I feel that Langkawi really changed me, and even though I'll be 15 at the next world conference, I can't wait.

Baptism

Even though this is a little late, I got baptized in July - on July 4th at a lake with a big sign that said "No Swimming! " ( : It was near a metro stop that was not from our own metro stop. The pastor of our church had a group of 7, including me, meet at the metro, and together we walked to the lake. Because it was Sunday, many people were there just sunbathing, so we were not entirely alone. I was last of the seven of us and was nervous about the whole thing for no real reason. I think it was really cool that I was baptized on July 4th, on an American holiday in Russia. It was a religious experience, but on a day Russia knows nothing about. So I did it in Russia, where I had become a Christian.

It had been a rough day for me about two years ago when I was 9. Dad came in a talked with me.I told him that i wanted to accept Jesus. After that I had to get baptized so when our church said there would be a baptism I singed up.  I'll remember that forever.

Guest post: Kerith on pink and kissing

(dictated by Kerith, age 8 1/2)

Warning: only for boys to read (who don't like kissing)

It's rather hard to explain, but pink - an only girl's color - I count that can transform us boys into girls, or boys that like kissing. Why? Because the only place we boys see pink, is on - girls. We see it on bed covers, we see it on pillows, on shirts, we see pink patches, and everywhere in a girl's room, and worst of all - wallpaper! (Thank goodness my sister doesn't have pink wallpaper.) Usually when I accidentally touch pink, which, sadly enough, is very often, I feel this warm patch on the spot where I touched it. And it stays that way for a little while! It seems during that time, it is dissolving its powerful poison into us boys' bodies. I don't know what it does inside your body. I don't have the scientific materials to investigate that. 

Volume II: Kissing: what to do about it.

The way I count it, when you kiss, it sends atoms from your body to the next person's body. Sooner or later, in about 10 million kisses or more, there will be a hole in one person's body, and a big bump on the other. And also, when you see kissing, it seems to me it poisons my mind and makes me want to kiss. But worst of all - on the lips. Ugh. Usually with wives and husbands, it happens when one of them leaves to the office or a grocery store or something. Even a short trip down to buy some butter or something small. Kissing happens at bed too -but that's usually on the cheek from our mom. 

I'm starting a club to stop all of this. It's called the Girl Scouts. Get it? We're on the lookout for girls to capture them. So if you want to join, write me.

 

An honorary 6th grader - forever

Two weeks ago my class (the 5th grade) went to see Alice in Wonderland, the new movie. It was made by the same creator as another movie that was very scary. My parents didn't want me to see it, and I didn't want to either. We called Tatiana Vladimirovna, 2nd in charge, and asked if I could attend the 6th grade for a day. And since I had always wanted to be in the 6th grade, but couldn't, even though I am in the 6th grade by American reckoning, I was overjoyed that I would be in my dream class. My best friend is in the 6th grade, and the kids are more of my maturity level.

That day I had so much fun. But on Saturday, I cried, knowing that I would have to go back to immature 5th grade. The 5th grade didn't fit me, and the kids have not been nice to me, and it wasn't getting better, except maybe a teensy weensy bit. Not a lot of people get along, even though there isn't a lot of people. In the 6th grade, even though they may have little spats, they are all the same underneath and all act the same. The 5th graders are so different from each other that when they get in fights, they don't get resolved easily. I wasn't very much liked there. Not that I wanted to be, but I just wanted to be one of the 5th graders. (How do you blend in in such a small classroom? In a large class, there are more people with whom you can find a fit.) Anya is in the 5th grade, and she is not with Anita, remember? And there is Galya, who never treats me well. The girls ignore me, unless I do something accidentally to Galya, and then she gets all huffy. And then the 3 boys, who normally I don't talk with. They tease me most of the time, and the make fun of the teacher and yell at her, and I have seen one of them make a face at here directly behind her back. 

I talked with Dad, and tried to explain that I wanted to be in the 6th grade. I wanted him to at least understand and talk with the directors. He said he would pray about what to say, and I was subdued for the moment, glad that I had at least gotten it out there. Either way, even if I hadn't been put in the 6th grade, I would have been flexible and would have cheerfully stayed in the 5th grade. I think He was saying, you are going to have to trust me, no matter what. 

Actually Dad didn't have to do anything. The next Thursday, the 2nd and 3rd grade took a field trip to a children's home, and me and Mom and Dad were invited. Another mother was there who had asked me once why I didn't hang out with the other 5th graders. I had explained that I fit with the 6th graders better. She brought this up with Tatiana Vladimirovna. That's when the miracle happened. Tatiana Vladimirovna spoke up and said that she agreed as well. So without Dad even saying anything, I all of a sudden found myself the next day in the 6th grade. The night before, I was so excited, I could barely go to bed. 

I felt like God was saying, "you trusted me."

Going back to my old church

Recently, my family returned to our old church, and it was a very big shock. A lot of people were still there, and a lot of people had left. Some people that were on the praise team I had never imagined on the praise team. Some people were doing the same things, and others had changed so much. It was wonderful to see old friends and again it was a shock to see everybody almost three years later. A lot of my friends were gone. Knowing that some of them were gone and that we probably wouldn't see them again until heaven was hard to swallow. Then again, just being back in our old church was hard to swallow.

Right now I know that it will probably be a few years before I go back, and lots of people will probably be gone, but that doesn't matter. The point is that I really miss my old church, and it was wonderful to see people. I plan to come back to that church sometime, and right now that isn't going to happen. What really counts is the fact that it's always going to be in my memories.

My church hadn't changed in the way its fellowship went. We still same the same songs, and I still felt that we had some great singers in our church. right now as I look back on going back, I realize that I may be mad at God in some ways for allowing me to leave my church and friends. And then again, I'm not mad, because I know that where God has put me is the right place, and even though that I'll never constantly attend that church again, I'll still consider that my church, because I attended it for three years, and that will always be where "church" was.

Coming back to America was probably the hardest thing I had done in two and a half years, and holding a drunk's hand isn't' even an exception. I'd do that again a million times. But coming back to America isn't easy. Of course it isn't the people I would love to see the people again. I'd do that again a million times, probably a zillion times. But coming back to where I lived, seeing our across the street neighbors, seeing our old house, and seeing old friends is really hard, because they are now old friends, and yet they are still friends, but not people you will see regularly like most friends.

I'm getting off topic, but this sort of relates. See, when God put me in Russia, He had a big plan, and he know what I was going to feel. Even if at the time I didn't see it myself. Now fast forward three and a half years, and I almost understand why He wanted me to go through all that pain. Because it's written in the Bible that trials mature a person, not exactly in that way it's written, but it means that when you have a trial, suppose there's a bully at school, and he threatens you, and hurts other kids, including you, you may think it's the most rotten school in the world, but God is preparing you for something. Now you may not realize it, but God has a plan for you.

While I'm at the fact of moving and all this stuff, I want to say something that Dad has been urging me to say for the past 4 months: I have stress problems, and i let it out by pulling some of my hair. This does not mean you have cause to worry. Think it not contagious. I'm perfectly normal in a lot of normal ways. But could I ask you guys to pray for me? Stress problems can happen to anyone, and even though you pray about it, it can still come up, and only God can take care of it. I believe that God is already taking care of some things.

Moving on, I want to return to the fact that I miss my church already, and will remember you guys all the time. Not even my church right now can replace the wonderful memories you have left in my life. You all are amazing people, and even though I am pretty far away most of the time, you are not far away from my heart. You are pretty much in the center of it. And that raps up this blog of...well...um... mine.

Now excuse me while I go find the tissue box.

sniff.

Christina

After we finished our first quarter at school, we had a week's break. On the last day of school before the break, my friend Christina came home with me. I have found Christina to be a good trustworthy friend who has helped me on many occasions. 

I got to meet her when I first came to Russia when I came to the first day of school for the boys. She tried to talk with me, and unfortunately I could not respond very well. Every time I went to the boys school, I would usually see her, and every time I could speak a little bit better with her. Then when I went to school this May when Mother was gone for a week, we had a chance to hang together and get to know each other better. Now that I go to school again, we can talk and converse on breaks. She is in the 6th grade (the grade I would be in if I were in America) so unfortunately we are not in the same class.

It was Tuesday when she came over, and I had anticipated her going home on Thursday, but it turned out to be a day longer. In Russia people can do way more than a 1 day sleepover. I have gone myself on three-day sleepovers. 

Once we got home, we went to my room and painted each other's nails. Then we had dinner and before bed watched a movie. The next day we lounged around and played hide-and-seek. Since it was raining, we didn't play outside. Later that evening Dad had a man he works with came over who brought his daughter, and we all played together. 

The next day our Russian helper came over on her usual day, and she and Christina got along well. While Tanya ironed clothes, we would talk with her. 

The next night, another girl from my church came over, Anya. Remember her from my birthday party? Together we painted nails and made friendship bracelets. Unfortunately, that was the night Anya declared me to no longer be her best friend, because she had decided to be best friends with the popular group at church and that we were too different to be best friends. 

Christina and I went to bed around 11 and in the morning I took her to the metro to meet her grandmother. After such a long sleepover, I was finally glad to be able to stay in one language - not that I was incapable of speaking Russian for three days straight, but it does make one's tongue a bit tired.

Nonetheless, having a friend like Christina is a blessing because she is the kind of friend who can help me in situations when you need a friend. Compared to other friends, she is a winner at a good friend contest. She is better than a lot of Russians that I have met because she is kind, thoughtful, and caring. She helps me with homework. She doesn't change on a dime like some of the neighborhood girls. That kind cannot be replaced by someone else. God has strengthened our relationship through this long sleepover, and you can pray that this relationship would grow stronger. 

Private school

Recently I have been going to school four days a week. All summer we had been talking about me going to the boys' Russian school for the last few weeks before furlough. Even though I get teased often there, I have learned more than I myself can comprehend.

One thing I get teased for is the fact that I have to go to grammar and reading in the 2nd and 3rd grade. But for most of the time I am in the 5th grade. (note: Russian schools start 1st grade at 7 y.o., so while I am in 5th grade here, I would be in 6th grade in the states.) I used to get teased for my coat. I've learned to be more tolerant of the teasing through these situations. 

I've learned more words and to read a little better. I've learned a lot about Russian mindset, for example, if a teacher is absent and the kids skip that class, they will call the teacher and ask for homework. The teacher can give them the homework, but they might not at all understand it because the teacher wasn't there to teach the lesson.

Every day a different kid in each class is "dezhurny" (daily helper  [compare de jour - Lyle]). She or he will wipe up the blackboard after each lesson, mop the floors at the end of the day, wipe the tables after meals, and take out the trash. I've gotten to be dezhurny two times. 

School can be lots of fun, just so long as I am not late for the morning bell. No outside time for breaks when I am late. I hate that cause I get couped up inside. 

This week the cold has been going around, and our teacher has been gone. Lots of kids in other classes are also missing. On Friday it was only me and two boys in our class, which wasn't very fun being the only girl. It was really lonely.After school all the grades take a walk together -  a time where I can be with other kids who don't tease me. I like hanging out with 2 girls in the 3rd grade and 2 from the 6th grade. We play games together. For example, one person closes her eyes and she has to guess where she is when the others lead her somewhere and stop. 

Fickle Friends

Lyle, standing in for Lydia today. She asked me to write this one, as she's not in the right "spirit" to even talk about it, she says. It's been a hard month. 

We're learning that Russian kids are really tough to bond well with. They (I expect this is mainly girls) have a rule of thumb that you can have one friend at a time. The rest of the time, you are free to betray the trust of the other girls and treat them like dirt. So one day they are your friend and the next they hate you. For a girl like Lydia, it's been especially hard to bear. 

Even the girls at church are tough, in that they are generally quite immature and don't go out of their way to make an outsider feel at home. Lydia had a great overnight recently with some sisters, but they hardly talk with her at church. Another girl comes over to play when I work with her mother in counseling. Lydia is literally a few hours older than her, but this girl gets on better with Kerith because of her emotional maturity.

Diana and I are taking two very different but complementary courses of action. Diana is now on a warpath to find ex-pat friends. They are actually quite hard to find, especially with the diminishing missionary population here. We tried to avoid foreigners to some extend in the beginning, wanted to acculturate as much as possible, but we are now learning from the senior missionaries that no kid successfully makes it without close ex-pat friends. That's a shame, but it's the reality.

I'm a counselor, so Lydia and I have spent a lot of time talking and praying over these things, and she has grown leaps and bounds, though you hate seeing her have to go through what it takes to learn these lessons. She's letting go of her desire to have Russian friends for her own pleasure, and she is learning how to love them unconditionally and care for their souls as objects of God's reconciling love. She could have just pulled away from them, but she has shown tremendous resiliency in re-orienting her affections around God's perspective. It's a gift that I am confident she will reap the fruits of, as will many others, for the rest of her life.

V and Me

V. stands for Valery. Valery is the man who is always drunk in the building next to ours. He is almost always sitting on a bench in our courtyard, smoking and drinking. He's an elder man who often has other men his age sitting with him. Many teenagers and couples walk through and laugh at him like something funny to see on a sight-seeing tour. Many kids tell him to go home. A couple Saturdays ago, he was there again, very drunk. I was out playing nearby climbing a tree when I heard him cry out, and he fell to the ground with a thud. I hurried home and told Dad that he had fallen over, asking that Dad would pick Valery up again. Dad resisted, claiming that the last time he had picked him up, he had just fallen over again. 

I rushed back outside, the brothers following me. I watched Valery crawl like a baby to a nearby gate, pull himself up and stand. Simon, who had been watching beside me, ventured out and stood by Valery. Valery talked to him, and I, concerned for his safety, came over and stood behind Simon. Valery noted Simon's coat, buttoned all the way up, and asked him why his coat was buttoned up. I translated to Simon, since he did not understand drunken words. Simon unbuttoned his coat, but then re-buttoned it. I then told Simon to go get Dad, and he left. I never thought I'd do this, but I picked up his dirty cane that had fallen. I held it as he held on to the gate for support, and he slowly, like a child making his way around a pool, got to the steps to his building. When  he got to the steps, he had nothing to hold on to, so he slowly made his way up the steps. 

When he finished getting up the steps, the patio up to his door was sloped upwards, so it was hard for him to walk up. Steadying himself along the wall, one hand in front of the other, he made his way to the entrance. At one point he mumbled something that I couldn't understand. I finally understood, "Give me your hand." I was paralyzed with fright but realized that God would be with me, so I offered my hand. He took it, and I will never forget holding that hand. His hand was cold and dirty, and even from six feet away you could smell the liquor on him.  He held my hand very tightly and had me pull him up towards the door. When he said I could let go, I was so relieved I almost dropped him. Simon came back and told me Daddy was coming. 

The boys had been watching, and I urged them again to go get Daddy. Valery thought I was scolding them and told me, "Don't scold them." I told him that I wasn't, but kept telling Kerith to go, go. Once he reached the door, Valery started a conversation. "You're American, right? I don't know any American. I studied French for a while." I said that I didn't know any French. Imagine how hard it is to understand a drunk in Russian. 

Two men yelled from across the way that he acted like he was 5 years old. The other said he should be in bed.

Finally Dad arrived on the scene. Valery shook Dad's hands and looked down at the mittens he was wearing, asking about them. Valery said, "Your children...." Daddy finished, "helped you?" Valery retorted, "Wrong word... MORE than helped me."

I left, went home, and washed my hands with lots of hot water. When I came back, Dad told me that Valery had made it inside. I broke down and started crying and crying, telling him about giving my hand and the guys who were making fun of him. Dad told me that I had given Christ's hand, not my own. 

It was a moving experience, and through it God showed me what I'm here for. As shocking as it may sound, God wants me to work with drunks. If He had told me any earlier, I would have rejected it, but I'm now ready to do it.

My last words of encouragement you you: give Christ's hands to anybody's hand. 

No kidding, the hospital!

In order to get a new visa, we had to get certain exams done, which included going to the hospital. These came in two trips. I went with Mom and Dad on the first Friday where they had to get their testing done at one hospital and so I could get one of mine done. 

The next Tuesday the kids' turn came. We went to a children's hospital that was in the heart of the city. Going up to it you see fancy little buildings with classical Russian designs on the windows and roofs. The place had a lot of character, but was dirty. Our nanny, Tanya, went with us to be an extra set of hands. The hospital was actually almost falling apart. If you looked up in to the different rooms, you would see paint peeling off, just ready to drop on your head. Everything had to be hand-written. Nothing was done on computer. When we went back on Friday to check our TB tests, the checking was only 15 minutes. We had to wait three hours afterwards just to get the documents that said we didn't have TB. 

God works with friends

As I have mentioned before, I'm having serious friend issues; art school is one of the places where I have these issues. The neighborhood also is a trial sometimes. But what is quite fascinating is that in both places something weird happened. 

Let me back up a little. 

At art school I am most often teased by two girls, Julia and Tanya, and the main reason is because of my accent. The one girl who in particular seems to do it the most is Tanya. Recently she had started to not only 

tease me about it but fake an accent, as if it were very bad. It is not as bad as she acts, but the way she says it is very hurtful and it went so far as me having to tell my dad and my dad having to tell the teachers. It was on Thursday at painting class. On the way there I was with my dad; I told him of the teasing and what was really going on. I was very upset at the way I was being treating, because I hadn't expected to be teased just because of my accent. And he said he would do something. When we got there my dad spoke with the receptionist, who called my teacher, Polina Anatolievna (pictured right). 

The whole point of my dad talking with the teacher was to prevent further teasing by those two girls. 

The teacher caught me on the way to class and asked me to explain what the receptionist had told her, and I explained all the incidents of being teased, and she asked me if it had been going on on Thursdays. I said that it had started on Monday but had gotten on Wed. My teacher went and talked to my dad, and I went to my seat and started drawing what I wanted to paint. When my teacher came back, she went over and scolded Tanya for teasing me, and said that it wasn't good. I could see the reaction on Tanya's face that she wasn't listening, or if she was, that she didn't take it seriously. Afterwards, I caught her whispering things and making gestures towards me with Julia. Julia's expression afterwards I read as, "I'll go with that for now."

(Let me explain my previous relationship I've had with Julia Kim (pictured left). She was the other girl picked with me to go to the art contest. There she had acted best friends with 

me, but back in the classroom she was buddy-buddy with the other kids, especially Tanya. So most of the time she and I hardly talk at all.)

This entire time, Tanya's other best friend Lera (they even did homework together) had been looking at me with an expression that I could not read, having seen the whole thing. During the class I got up to sharpen my pencil. There was a sharpener there, and when I got there, Lera noticed I was having trouble figuring it out, and she showed me how to use it.  When I thanked her for showing me how to use it, she didn't thank me the normal way, which was, "you're welcome,"

 she said it with a truly "you're welcome" voice, as though she really meant it. Later, after class, we were outside waiting for our parents when Tanya and Lera came out. I had already been sledding on my bag of indoor shoes on a hill 3-4 feet high that had lots of ice on it that allowed you to coast a few feet further at the bottom. They came running to sled as well, but what was surprising what that Tanya yelled out, "let's go together!" The both allowed me to be in front, whereas they would normally argue over who would be in the front. But they were very gracious. I was very excited that they would treat me this way. 

The next Thursday, Lera and I sat together. In the middle of the class two other girls were sitting on the same stool, and it looked very funny, for it looked as if they had two heads and four feet sticking out the board on the easel. I poke Lera in the shoulder gently and pointed and said, "Look, a two-headed, four-legged girl." She and I both laughed, which was very surprising, seeing that it's very hard to make things seem funny in a different language. Tanya, sitting nearby, never once teased me. I'm praying for another good day at art school today. 

I'm very grateful to God for starting me off with a new relationship again. 

How much has Russia been through?

Yesterday was the 65th anniversary of the lifting of the German blockade against Leningrad. The blockade lasted nearly 900 day4s during WW2. On an average 42 people died every day during that time [Some estimates are much higher - Lyle]. Yesterday I went to hear a lady who lived during that time. She was 11 when it started and 14 when it ended.  

Interesting fact: they only got 125 grams of food a day. The used metal cups to put hot water inside. There was no t

ea or coffee. She said she very much respected these kinds of cups, because they would warm your hand as you drank. There was no electricity, and there were no candles, because they all ate them. She had a window overlooking the place where the city stored their sugar, butter, and flower to be distributed. But she watched it all burn up over a two-week period. There was no oil, but one amazing story she told was about her father, who collapsed on the sidewalk from hunger one day. A worker, dressed in workers clothes, came over, picked up her father, and dropped a drop of oil in his mouth. Her father was a preacher, and he said he believed it was an angel. Anything edible in the city was eaten. 

Last year, when my grandmother was here, I went to the Bread Museum,

 which explains the history of bread in Russia. One part of it was for the blockade. They had a small glass case with a piece of bread in it. It was made of dust specs, the wrong parts of wheat that you grind to make bread, and

 all sorts of yucky types of dust. Also with my grandmother, I went to the Leningrad cemetery. 

It had a small museum there, and we went inside. The most interesting thing about the museum was a little diary, made up of three or four pages, of a little girl's diary. On the first day, it said, "Mother is dead." On the second day, "Father and Uncle died." On the last day, it read, "All are dead; only I am left." No one knows what happened to the little girl, but one sad thing is that she might have died too. 

There were pictures at the Bread Museum of children looking skin and bone, barely any skin. You wonder if they ate the dead. One more thing the lady said: She was once at the train station; she was there with her mother and an older friend, when all of a sudden the Germans were firing upon them. Her older friend threw her into a ditch and covered her so that the Germans would not see her and shoot her. When it was all over, and the Germans had left, her friend got her out of the ditch and covered her eyes so that she would not see all the dead people. When her mother saw that her friend had kept her daughter safe, she knelt down and kissed her friend's feet. 

It hurts me to know that my country has been through so much. It makes me want to go back in time and help fight. But since I can't, all I can do is pray for Russia. My prayer is that Russia would grow to be a strong Christian nation, and that everybody who is depressed now would have hope. 

Tied up at the moment

Being tied up at the moment doesn't mean up in strings; it can mean other things too. In my case, I'm tied up about home issues. Right now, I want to see my friends, but also I want to stay here longer. I want to be able to be at home sometimes. But I don't have a good home. My home isn't Russia; my home isn't America. So how am I supposed to know which home is mine. I have a sinking suspicion that once I go back to America, that I'm not going to want to leave, and that once I get back to Russian I'm not going to want to go back to America either. The homiest place I feel now is when I am going to bed and when I'm with God. The tied up issue comes in when I don't know which home is mine, so I'm tied up about my home, even as odd as it sounds. You'd think that since I'd been in America longer than Russia, I'd want to be in America more. But no, that isn't the case. I might go so far as to say that I don't know which country I belong to.

At church, two families with kids around my age have come to Russia a few months ago. Now, believe me, I don't hold a grudge against them for coming, and I'm not mad at them for coming. I just feel a little awkward, because you'd expect me to want to hang out with them more than the Russians, but I tend to want to hang out more with the Russians. I sort of sometimes wish that my family was the only Americans there, because it was easier to handle things. Now that there are two new (American) girls in my class, the Russian girls see that I have someone to talk to, so it gets frustrating when the Americans try to be with me, when I want to be with the other girls.

The only problem is that the girls whom I am with at, say, art school, don't accept me as a friend, so I'm often lonely. (Russians have a problem with this, so it's typical, but that's not my point here.) My point is, I'm not recognized as who I want to be. I want to be recognized as a Russian.

Now that it's winter, I don't see the kids who live in my dvor as much as in the summer, except for one girl from the next dvor, Zhenya, who is being over-consistent with me. She will come over any day she doesn't have too much homework. The problem with that is that she has started to consider me her best friend, and told me so, and I don't consider her a best friend because she usually want everything in her control, and everything her way, and if I'm not able to play, then she will beg and beg and beg until my parents give us about a half an hour for play, and then when that time runs out, she will beg and beg and beg for another half an hour. I've been trying to get her to see that I can play with her all the time, but she is sort of not understanding.

Please pray for me in these situations, that I would feel at home in both places and recognized as who I want to be. And pray that I learn perseverance through the trials I have.