Becoming an honorary 6th grader

I'm in between 4th and 5th grade, but recently I was in the 6th grade. Let me explain. Dad had been asked to teach the 6th grade at the school where my brothers go because they had been having problems getting along and receiving new members of their group. This was a Christian school, and I was surprised that kids even needed help with that. Dad thought it would be a good idea if I came too. He decided to take us to a park on an island.

When we were on the island, we walked to a specific spot. Dad was going to teach trust in this area. We did "trust falls", which are games where one person stands behind another, and the other has to fall back and trust that the person behind will catch him. We did that for a while before Dad taught us a little lesson on needing to trust people, and we moved on. (Note: I am being ignored at this point. Nobody has talked or looked at me, even though I know a few from church.)

We got to the next area where some pipes were lying around not hooked up yet. The group was supposed to make their way across the top of one pipe without falling off. We had a couple of minutes, and after a couple of tries, we finally made it. After we had finished, we came back to Dad, who asked if anybody felt that their ideas had not been listened to. One girl said that had happened to her and started to cry. We sat down to talk about it. I don't know what happened then because Dad was too busy to translate, but it took over a half hour for the kids to figure out that they had to say "sorry" and apologize to the girl who had cried. (Note: I am still being ignored.)


We next came to a large river where we were given a certain amount of time to get the entire group of ten across in a boat that could only hold two. That game we did not complete since we ran out of time. I didn't know how to use a boat; I was not included; and I was helpless, since Dad had told me that he had "forgotten" English for the day. (Note: I am still being ignored, even when I asked for help.)

We next got to a large concrete cylinder, and Dad told us to get in. We had to get out of the cylinder without touching the top rim, which was very difficult. Everybody thought that since I was the smallest, I should go out first. I didn't want to go out first so I just firmly said "No, I don't want to. Nyet, nee xhochu!" The kids persisted, first being nice, then reasoning with pressure. When I was left with two boys, they tried asking me, "Why don't you want to come out?" I said, "I want to be last." While they were trying to talk me into leaving again, a much older boy came up from behind and tried picking me up and throwing me out. He is the one on the right in the picture. I struggled to get out of his arms until he let me go with a loud groan. Finally I was the only one left. While I was trying to get out myself by holding on to two girls hands and walking up the side, I touched the top by chance. Dad says the entire group should have had to get back in at that point, but since we had been doing it an hour, Dad let just me go back. I climbed in and let a bunch of people help me like they thought might be best. Finally I succeeded, and that ended the day, mostly. (Note: Even though I was ignored all during the day, after this challenge, the kids started to talk to me, even the older boys. This was a great example of how being stubborn can help sometimes.)

Even at other places, like church and the school, where I see those kids now, I am still not ignored. I have been sometimes very stubborn and only now did I realize I could be that stubborn. I don't know whether this is good or bad, but it certainly has helped a lot. I think I did it because I had been ignored the entire day as a way of saying, "I'm not a small baby that needs to listen to everybody." God told me later on that the way I got their attention was an OK way, but I could have done it some better ways.

Dumb Ways Russia Works

OK. Silly title, but it's really true (like this crosswalk). Everywhere, it's dumb. Let's get to it. The other day at the train station, my mom was trying to go through a turnstile with her ticket. It's possible to go through with someone else, which she was trying to do with Simon. But before she could even get her ticket in the slot, a lady on the other side, who was not even a worker, said, "don't go through over there; come down over here." Mom looked right at her and said, "Why?" The lady just looked at her and didn't answer. Mom repeated, "Is this not right?" The lady didn't answer again. But in the end, Mom did have to go "here."

Another time at the train station, the lines were enormously long, and we were waiting to buy tickets. Just then a lady called out, "come over to these machines where you can buy your own tickets." We headed over there. There were already some people there, but they were not having much luck. Their money was not fitting into the slots. If it did, it would come back out. They would flip it over, stick it back in. No. It wouldn't work. So finally, we just gave up. It was time for our train to leave, and we had to just take the subway. Dumb ways of Russia.

Dreams and Hopes of teaching English

I've always wanted to teach English but have never gotten the opportunity. But since we have come in contact with Orphanage #46, a chance has come for me to do it, and as soon as I heard that I was able to, I was very happy. I never really thought that I would have the opportunity, so you can imagine my surprise at being able to assist my mother in teaching an English class.

The first few times I couldn't go because I was very sick. I was first sick with fever and dizziness, which then turned into Chicken Pox. Then there were a couple of stomach bugs. So if you were to ask me how I was doing back then, I would say very poorly.

I wanted to teach English so much that I had begun to ask my parents if they would go and get me some kids from #46, because I had worked out the lessons and the plans. Here's what they were: they would come around lunch time, and we would have lunch at my house. Then we would go to my room and start out with roll call. Then we would get to the lesson. Lessons would start with the alphabet and pronouncing the letters. After snack and a quick five minute break, the second hour would be putting sounds together to make works. That would be how the class would go. After putting sounds together and pronouncing the words, we would all have dinner at my house, and they would go home. During the meals and breaks we would get to know each other. Thinking about this all always made me impatient for it to happen.

I got to go with Mother for the first time yesterday. When we first got there, two girls came in first - Fareeda and Masha. Next came two Natashas. We started off with cups and cubes. Mother would say, "put the cube into the cup," or "put the cubes underneath the cup." The class went well - not like other classes, Mother said, because the ones she had been at previously had been loud, and not a lot of people paid attention to her.

I was there to observe and not help yet, said Mother. But I did get to participate in some things. After a while, a boy named Dima came and Mother brought out Bingo. I played with them and got to call out the numbers of the balls. I think Natasha #2 won. The boy Dima was very good at reading, and he read the first page of the book she brought, "Sylvester and the Magic Pebble." I went around taking pictures.

When they noticed a bad cut on Mommy's arm, I drew a picture on the board to help them understand what she was telling them about how she got hurt (she tries not to speak Russian with them). I showed a picture of stairs with a stick person flying on her back downward with her hair streaming out behind her. Mom laughed but told me to erase it.

Now that I see the way the children act and their ages, I don't know if I can do a class. They are unruly; they have no respect for grown-ups, sometimes even my mom. Since they are 12 and up, most of them, I want to be about their age, or they may not treat me like someone who is teaching them English. They may treat me like a little kid playing dolls. I hope that in the future I may be able to have that happen still. I want them to be able to grow to have a relationship with God and to know English.

For you kids' homework

I got this note from a friend, and Dad suggested I post my answer.


Lydia,
This is Ethan. I needed to get some info for school on what it is like being a missionary.
Here is what I need:

I need to know about what your family's goals are as missionaries,
and how your family's lives are different from other families.
Also about your travels.

My family's goals are to help with the orphans and raise leaders. Raising leaders, from my point of view is supposed to be my Dad. He is raising them, as in, he is teaching them to help them to teach the class over again and so on and so on and the leaders part is when people are raising each other up in Christ.
There are about 10,000 orphans in St. Petersburg, and a lot more in the rest of the country. I want to teach the orphans English with the Russian I know, which is a good amount. Other than that, I am not really sure what we are going to do with them yet. We aren't sure, because God hasn't told us yet.

Our lives are different from other families because

• it's hard being away
• it's yucky
  
• we don't have a car
• it's cold
  
• we go to a Russian church
• we live in an apartment
  
• I feel very much adapted in my new home
• we live in a totally different country

It's really difficult at first. You feel really down that you are here. You feel like giving up 15 weeks of dessert just for a plane ticket back. You forget about it during the day, but at night, lying in bed, it's really hard. Once you get used to it, though, it's really not so bad. If you ever read my blog, you can find out about how I feel now. Read carefully!

Life here is terribly dirty. In the street cars, there are cakes of wet mud on a rainy day. Litter litters the streets. Cigarettes and beer bottles litter every step.

We don't have a car. We have to walk to the subway, and it takes about 20 minutes to do that. To get to church, we take a very short train with stops. We use un-private taxis called marshrutkas. We use buses that are so cram-jam packed that you get bumped and pushed and shoved when you get out, no matter how many times you say, "excuse me, I'm sorry," they still push and shove even if they see you coming out, they still come. The Russians have a very sad background from the Soviet Union, and they feel they have to push and shove to get their way. It's all about, "get me in! I don't care if you are still coming. I still have to get my way!"

It's really cold here. It sometimes get to -14 Celcius. In America we would be shivering. Over here, we play outside without scarves, gloves, and hats in this weather. It's snowing, actually, right now. A normal winter temperature for us is 0 or below.

Most of my Sunday School I don't understand. Most of the teachers cannot speak enough English to be able to explain what is going on. I have to wait until the end, which is, it seems, forever.

We have no backyard. The only place we have to play is a little courtyard in-between our apartment buildings. The only things pretty are painted tires, dead plants, and dead trees, sawdust, cigarettes, and beer bottles. There are trash cans in the courtyard, but no one ever bothers to use them. They just throw them anywhere. Lots and lots of construction is always going on, and it is deafening when you go outside.

Please be praying for the Russians, because they have a very sad background, and most of Russia is not Christian.

When we got here in Russia, about a month later, we needed to turn around and go to Hungary, but we also stayed in Austria before and after we went into Hungary for a missionary conference. Then about a month ago, we just returned from being in Finland for a couple of days. We travel here by bus or by plane. I like traveling in Europe because most of Europe is very pretty. Next time we go to renew our visas (which is why we went to Finland), it will either be to Estonia or Latvia. Please pray for us as we do our traveling so that we will always stay safe.

Spiritual and Literal Privileges of a Second Person

You may be wondering why the title of this entry is so long. I will explain why. You should know what a privilege is; I expect most of you do. What I want to write about are the ways I am finding my way around in my mind and in my city.

One privilege is the art class, which is about a half a mile from here. I have just recently been given the privilege of walking there by myself, and I am close to being able to walk home by myself. Another privilege relates to a "detsky sad" (Kindergarten) nearby that I can take the boys to and from to play at its playground. Let me explain: you are probably able to go to places very freely by yourself - including you children. So I don't expect you exactly understand the big deal about being able to walk a half a mile. Let me say that I grew up in a neighborhood that was very quite, but I was not even allowed to walk a half of a half of a mile. So now I am walking on a very busy street, crossing all by myself, without my parents worrying.

Now, for the spiritual privileges. Recently, you may have learned, I have started to speak the language a litter easier and start to feel at home here. Before we went to Finland in January, I was all upset. I did not want to go to Finland. I wanted to stay in Russia, now my home. And you may say, "you have deprived my home country; it is no longer your home." That is exactly what I mean; I have deprived it. As I was singing in Russian this past Sunday at church, I realized that I didn't want to go back to America. I wanted to stay right where I was. And that feeling has grown ever since I knew I had it in me. Second of all, though I may not be able to speak the language fully yet or pronounce things correctly all the time, I feel as though my language has grown a bit. Before I wrote my entry, "Feelings," (pt. 1) I was saying only, "I don't understand" in Russian. Now, after "My Feelings" (pt. 2), I feel that I am speaking it fully, though I cannot, though others can understand me and they correct me so that I understand more. This is a spiritual privilege because it is in me, not around me.

The Second Person part means that I feel like I am a new person, because, though I cannot exactly name it all, I feel that something inside me has changed. I think that if I were in America, I would never have had this feeling. In America, every day after the day that I knew that we were moving seemed like a day of dread. Since I knew that we were having to pack more and more, I felt that my life was being ripped apart by the sudden notion that I had to leave where I had grown up. And now I feel at home, and if I was called out of the country, I would feel even more again like my life was being ripped apart.

When I first heard we had to go to Finland to renew our visas, I knew there was no way out of it, but I was still mad. I was as mad as a horse at a fly that bit him in the nose. Knowing that I was going to come back soon helped make it easier as it got closer. When I got to Finland, I felt better, though, because I had gotten through the hard part of leaving our new home.
When I came back from Finland, I felt even more at home. You know the feeling, when you have gone on a trip and you come home, you feel at peace, at rest, happy at home. That's what I felt, but even more, because during the last times of my being in America, I traveled a lot. So when I came home, I always felt at home, but not totally at peace, because I would have to go again - I would have to leave forever soon. So now when I came back from Finland, I felt so at home that I was surprised, but it was a good feeling.

My Art Class

My parents have enrolled me into a new art class. It's down the street in a tiny yellow building. I can walk in about 5 minutes. The other art class I was taking at the International Academy was just crafts, and it was a Metro stop away and then 20-minute walk. I wanted a real painting art class, and I've found it just down the street. I had to buy a popka, which is a small suitcase that is very flat, and I put my painting in it so they won't get crumpled.

My teacher is Victoria Alexandrovna, a woman with long blonde hair in her 30's, I'd say. She usually wears a brown shirt and speaks a little English. She does not speak a lot with me though unless I really need it. She taught me how to use dark paints and make them look lighter without using white -- spread it around is the trick.

When I went there the first day, the teacher told my dad that the students had already wanted to be my friend. So when I got there, the students helped me and smiled at me and stood over me when I started painting. Even during the class a girl did not draw what she was supposed to, but used her pastels to draw a picture of me. Their attitudes towards me made me feel like I was appreciated. (see picture at right.)

My friends are Liza and Lyuba. Lyuba is 9, and on the first day she walked up to me and used her English. She said "Hello" and "What's your name?" and asked my age. I speak to her and everybody else in Russian.

I have painted fruit on a plate (see below), the Russian Santa Claus "Dyed Morozh" (Grandfather Frost) with his helper "Snegulyechka", and a pitcher with a cloth coming out of it and fruit around it (see top).

The session ended for break and will not come back for a couple of weeks. I am looking forward to the day when I return.

For my mom's perspective on this class, click here.

My feelings, part 2. An interview with mom

Mom: Lydia, it's been two months since your blog entry on your feelings. Are your feelings about Russia different now?

Lydia: They are getting better -- very much better actually. My language is getting better, and I'm happy about that.

Mom: Before, you could only say "I do not understand". What kinds of things can you say now?

Lydia: Oh, lots. I can discuss where I live and what Metro station I'm at. I'm learning words for clothing and furniture. You might even say I can talk with other kids now. Better than before.

Mom: What do you think is helping you the most in your language?

Lydia: Well, for one thing, I take a dance class. Even though an American is teaching it, she does speak Russian sometimes, and going to church and listening to Russians speaking also helps my language. Today at church I was walking from one class to another, and I got to talk with a girl. I'm pleased to say that I understood almost everything she said.

Mom: Dad and I invited somebody each week to help you. Can you describe those experiences?

Lydia: My teacher is called Nastya. Every Monday night she comes. I get to go out on walks with her, and we talk and draw, which she likes to do and so do I. When she comes, she doesn't bring a workbook; we talk and play. No sweat.

Mom: What kind of games do you play with Nastya?

Lydia: We play games like Uno, only I have to do it by saying the colors and numbers in Russian. Every time we play hide and seek. I have to count in Russian too. We always count to 40 or something like that. Most of the time we get to draw, which is what I like the best. It's kind of like a double class -- art and Russian.

Lydia with Nastya at our computer. Nastya is a Harbor graduate. See our newsletters for more about The Harbor.


Mom: What are some of your frustrations?

Lydia: Sometimes my frustrations are being in crowded places, which I'm not used to, like in the Metro. And it is also tough to get from one place to another when the snow blows in your face. I guess you could say that even though my language gets better, my feelings do not. Some days are good; some days are not.

Mom: What's a bad day like?

Lydia: On a bad day, I feel gloomy and mopey. It feels like my room is crowded with thoughts of home. It's very hard sometimes.