Joyful All Ye Nations Rise

Today I don't feel at all like writing. But I have a feeling this week will be so busy I won't have a chance. So I'll try to get you up to speed...

I spent the week of December 18th-25th with the Oroszi family. Tuesday I went to the clinic in Mukachevo, then helped with Anna Oroszi's English classes on Wednesday and Thursday. She teaches grades one through nine, and in the two days I was visiting I think we saw every grade except the first. Besides wanting her students to practice English with a native speaker, Anna wanted them to realize that native speakers do actually exist, and English is not some sort of dead language. The older grades had been given the prep work of writing out questions to ask me...I don't think I've ever spoken so much about my favorite colors and animals in my life. I also gave some of the older grades a little speech about how we celebrate Christmas in America, and played word games with the younger grades. Sometimes these games weren't so easy. In one my job was to think of different words, and the kids had to decide whether the words were associated with Christmas or not. The only Christmas words I could think of on the spot were things like "tinsel" and "mistletoe." Not exactly in the vocabulary of fourth grade non-native English speakers. The children were sweet, though...eager to learn and to know my name so they could find me on Facebook! Kids these days...
On Friday Anna and I went shopping in Mukachevo, and bought our train tickets to Kiev. On Saturday morning we caught a marshrutka to the mountains for a weekend of hiking and picture-taking. Anna's boyfriend Sasha is from a village in the mountains, and was guiding a group of photographers on a trek. The same group apparently does a hike like this annually, but this year us girls were allowed to tag along. When our marshrutka arrived at the village where we were meeting Sasha, a man was lying on the ground semi-conscious, the side of his face torn and bloody. Nothing like a warm welcome. Don't get excited, though, my nursing skills were not required at all...Sasha and another guy who was with our group are both doctors, and they stabilized the man (and protected him from his intoxicated friends who were trying to help) until an ambulance arrived. Then they wiped the blood off their hands (and their first aid kit, and the car...), and we set off to buy some groceries. Business as usual.
We stayed in cabins in the mountains, and on Saturday evening hiked to a nearby waterfall, now frozen. It was beautiful, and although the professionals scoffed at our amateur cameras, I think Anna and I took some pretty nice pictures. We ate dinner at a little restaurant associated with the cabin complex, and I tried saslik, a traditional Hungarian pork meat marinated and skewered like shish kebab. I also tasted some cow stomach, which I think is a Ukrainian specialty. It was chewy and in some kind of white stew form...stomach chowder?
Sunday was our long hike...about four hours up to one of the mountain peaks. Maybe I haven't missed enough buses lately, because by hour three my legs wanted to resign. There was almost no snow at the base of the mountain, but as we hiked the scenery seemed to progress from fall to winter. Due to fog we didn't always have the best scenic views, but the frosty trees and our immediate surroundings were still gorgeous. I think the low visibility added to the fun when we approached the peak, where there was no trees, brush, or horizon...only white. A snowy desert. On an incline.
Sunday night Anna and I hitched a ride back to her house, where I spent Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. We decorated their Christmas tree, went to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day church services, and received many groups of caroling children on Christmas Eve. The "angels" also left us presents under the tree on Christmas Eve, including a warm sweater for me! And bacon chips!
On the afternoon of Christmas Day I caught the bus back to the orphanage, where my joy in seeing the girls again was shadowed (not overshadowed, just shadowed) by the knowledge that I had to leave them again the next day. The morning of the 26th Gitka's husband Sasha picked me up to stay with their family for a couple of days. The days with Gitka and her family (Sasha and their two boys) were truly restful...no pig slaughter this time, just Hungarian movies and old home videos. I was so tired on the afternoon of the 26th that I could hardly keep my eyes open, so Gitka insisted I take a nap. I felt a little ashamed...but it was wonderful.
The morning of the 27th we walked into the Kisdobrony gypsy camp and gave several injections, mostly flu shots. Nothing like making kids cry to spread a little holiday cheer! They recovered quickly, though. That evening we drove into Mukachevo for the annual New Year party at the clinic. It was quite a shin-dig, with lots of Ukrainian jokes about doctors (from what I understood). I was reunited with the Oroszis, as well as Judit, my favorite English-learning Ukrainian nurse. That evening Sasha and Gitka dropped me back off at the orphanage, and I spent the rest of the night and the next day playing with the girls and trying to organize things before the imminent week of craziness.
Oksana (my fiend from Kiev) arrived in Mukachevo on Saturday the 29th, and we've spent the last couple of days with the girls. We have a few new Ukrainian girls at the orphanage, and I think it's been nice for them to speak Ukrainian with Oksana...most of the girls here speak only Hungarian.
Tomorrow morning Oksana and I will catch a train to the mountains to ski for a couple of days, then we'll be in Uzhgorod for one day, then in L'viv for a day. L'viv is supposed to be a beautiful old city, and I'm excited to finally see it.
I know this isn't the most exciting or thoughtful blog post. There's so much more I could say...about the terrifying tree swing in the mountains, singing English Christmas songs on the bus, entertaining carolers, or visiting homes in the gypsy camp. But I'm tired, tomorrow morning will come too soon, and I think I've covered the main points...if nothing else I have a journal of events for myself. So I will close with this thought...

The Hungarian version of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" is also a popular song for the advent season here. And this year I heard the Christmas story in Luke chapter two that my dad always reads aloud read instead in Hungarian by Pal Oroszi. In some ways the familiar melody and tradition of reading the Luke passage together made me miss my family...but mostly it was a comforting reminder that my family back home and my Hungarian family here were united in celebrating our Savior's birth.

"Bid thou our sad divisions cease,
And be thyself our King of Peace.
Rejoice, Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee oh Israel."

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord."
Luke 2:11

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and much love from Transcarpathia!

Numbering the Days

The bad news is, this post might lack creativity and some general writing skills. Sorry...it was written over a period of about a week, and might not flow so well. The good news is,  there's a lot of information here! Or maybe that is also bad news for you. That's okay too.

Where to begin...Let's go back to Friday November 30th, a couple of days before my last post on giving thanks. No actually, the afternoon of the 29th would be better. That afternoon I found out that there would be no class at the preschool the following day...a day off! I decided to use it to visit the Nehemiah Center, a Christian nonprofit and language center in Uzhgorod. I had stumbled upon the center's website online and offered to visit if they could use the help of a native English speaker. They invited me to come anytime...so Friday I again boarded Ishtvan's marshrutka, but instead of getting off at the gypsy camps made the complete one hour (approximately 20 mile?) journey to Uzhgorod, this region's capital. It was my first time traveling to Uzhgorod by bus and in the daytime. When we arrived Istvan informed me that the normal return buses would not be operating that afternoon. Thank you, Istvan. Good to know. My options for getting home were to leave with Istvan in half an hour, or to take a different bus to the city of Chop, and then another bus to Nagydobrony. I decided to brave the buses. But first I would have to brave the taxis...
When I spoke with the director of the Nehemiah Center the evening before, she had promised to send a car for me when I arrived in Uzhgorod, since I was unfamiliar with the city, and the center is quite a distance from the downtown area. I arrived in Uzhorod earlier than anticipated, and wandered for awhile. Uzhgorod is a bit bigger than Mukachevo, and feels more sprawling and industrial. I crossed the river that runs through the city, and called the director of the Nehemiah Center at the time we had arranged. No answer. I waited awhile and called again. Still no answer. And then I realized Hungarian time had once again made a fool of me. I had completely forgotten about Ukrainian time, and had called the director an hour late. Rats! So much for first impressions...
Tetiana the director eventually called me back, and we decided it would be easiest for me to take a cab to the center. I flagged down a taxi, handed my phone to the driver so Tetiana could give him an address, and arrived at Nehemiah a few minutes later. That afternoon Tetiana gave me a tour of the center and explained some of their work. In addition to teaching English and German classes they host conferences and summer camps, teach a Montessori-style preschool, and help to care for abandoned babies in the Uzhgorod hospital. They also operate a hotel/guesthouse and restaurant that generate some income for their projects. Talk about a mix of everything! During my visit Tetiana invited me to stay for a few days to help with classes and visit the babies in the hospital. I tentatively agreed, and we planned on the second week in December. In spite of the numerous taxi and bus transfers, the trip back to Nagydobrony was relatively uneventful...almost easy. A Christmas miracle!
The next day I attended a Christian medical conference hosted at the orphanage and organized in part by Dr. Pal. There were about sixty people at the conference, mostly doctors and medical students, with speakers from Reformed, Catholic, and Greek Orthodox congregations. There was Ukrainian and Hungarian translation...I'd like to say that my Hungarian and Ukrainian are good enough now that between the two I understood nearly everything...but I don't think they used "Nice to meet you" or "Is this the right bus to Mukachevo?" very often. My Hungarian must be improving, though, because one doctor that I sat with at dinner told Jolika that he felt bad for not speaking with me earlier...he didn't realize that I knew Hungarian so well. Who knew learning "thank you," "a little" and "good" could be so effective?
I spent all of the next week with the Oroszis, staying in their home and going to the Mukachevo clinic with them every day. They are so kind, and I loved being with their family. The food there was amazing, and Jolika tried to teach me some traditional Hungarian recipes. My potato peeling skills are improving. On Wednesday, after we had all carefully cleaned our boots, St. Mikolas came and filled them with candy and presents. He brought me chocolate, tangerines, jewelry, a hat, a scarf...so many good things, and it was so much fun to celebrate the holiday with the family. The presents continued when later in the week Olena, a neighbor of the Oroszis, made a surprise visit and brought me beautiful doilies and decorative cloths that she had made by hand. I had only met her once the night before, and was surprised and touched by her gifts.
The week in the clinic was tiring (early mornings) but very good. I was able to rotate through different areas including reception, phlebotomy, EKGs, CT scans, and endoscopy. CT scans might have been my favorite. Judit, the nurse, actually let me program and do the scans. Judit is also studying English, and we had such a great time practicing languages. Her native language is Ukrainian but she knows Russian and Hungarian as well, so she could understand my strange mix of languages.
I spent the weekend with the Oroszis as well, attending a Christmas party with them on Saturday, and church with them on Sunday. I left them to go back to Nagydobrony on Monday, but plan to see them again soon.
It was so nice to see my girls when I returned to the orphanage on Monday. I was told that some of them cried on Saturday and Sunday when I still hadn't returned from Mukachevo. I had been excited for the following week at the Nehemiah Center in Uzhgorod, but after returning to the orphanage it was hard to leave the girls again.
I returned to the Nehemiah Center on Tuesday, where my main activities were helping with the preschool during the mornings and afternoons, and with English classes in the evenings. I was also able to make a brief visit to the babies in the hospital.
I seem to be becoming quite an experienced preschool teacher. Nehemiah's preschool is in the process of implementing a Montessori-style, very hands-on and structured curriculum.
I'll try to put a link here if you're wondering about Montessori: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montessori_education#section_4.
From what I understand the staff at Nehemiah are sort of practicing and developing the new teaching method with their own children and a few others, with the hopes of someday expanding their methods within the community.  
The preschool was very small (four or five children), quiet, and orderly. The kids were from Ukrainian families, and it was fun for me to hear little kids speaking Ukrainian. I like the Hungarian language more and more every day, but there's something I love about the sound of Ukrainian and Russian. Two of the older children also spoke English well, and it was nice (but also strange) to be understood so easily.
It's funny, because when I was with my preschoolers in the gypsy camps, I thought that the most beautiful children in the world must all have dark skin, black hair, and big brown eyes. This week, though, my Ukrainian children all had blonde hair and blue eyes, and were every bit as beautiful. The kids in Uzhgorod may be blonde and a bit quieter than the children in the gypsy camps, but in many ways they are the same: eager to love, to sing, to feed me imaginary lunch, to pretend to be dogs...
So much to say, and not enough time...I'll try to wrap up the rest of my time in Uzhgorod. English classes were mostly with students about my age or older, which was fun. In one food-themed exercise I tried to describe tacos to the students, and they thought they sounded like the same thing as pizza. They REALLY need some Mexican restaurants over here. Midway through the week the water broke (something about a sudden geyser?), so we had no showers, no flushing toilets, and no coffee. I had my first salo, a Ukrainian delicacy that is pretty much slabs of pig fat. And I don't mean bacon. I mean pure, white fat. The med students I was with described it as the compressed product of pig liposuction. Thanks guys, sounds delicious. "You don't eat fat in America?" they asked when they saw my hesitation. "Not like this," I replied. "Well what do you do with all your fat then? Export it to Ukraine?" Nope...Crisco.
I made one brief visit to the hospital, where I saw the abandoned babies the center helps to care for. I don't know the full story of these children, just that child abandonment seems to be fairly common here. There were three babies at the hospital when I was there, probably around a couple weeks old. I held them and helped change them, and couldn't help but think of my girls at the orphanage, some of whom were similarly abandoned at birth. One of the babies had no first name, and I thought of my Szila, who told me she was named by the Ukrainian doctor at the hospital where she was born, not by her mother or father.
On Thursday night I gave up my room to a group of 70 children who arrived at the hotel, and camped out in the office with a couple of other staff members. Getting back to the orphanage on Friday required the same old taxi, bus, marshrutka routine, but this time involved lots of waiting outside in frigid temperatures. The excitement of the marshrutka ride almost made up for it though. I'm not sure what was going on but everyone was unusually jolly...even the people sitting on laps who had to duck down when we passed police.
Saturday I attended my first pig slaughter with Gika's family, but thankfully I missed the actual slaughter part. It was fun to spend time with her family, and I did help with the meat processing, which was...well...interesting. At one point they eagerly handed me what I'm pretty sure was a lightly salted raw pigs ear. Even the salo hadn't prepared me for this, but I didn't think about it...chew, swallow, repeat. Later a guest stopped by and rolled part of the pig skin and ate it raw. This place is crazy.
Sunday I attended not one, not two, but three gypsy church services with Sandor, the pastor and local missionary to the gypsies. The services were interesting, and I especially loved the singing. The gypsies have such strong, beautiful voices. The churches were usually full, and at the smallest service we had about 35 people packed into a twelve foot by twelve foot room.  It was fun to see the children in the camps again, especially those in Telek that I've spent so much time with. My littlest Sabolcs came and sat next to me and started doing the hand motions for "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," a song I taught the preschoolers when I was desperately trying to think of something new to keep their attention. We had only done the song one day, over two weeks ago. He's four and he remembered it. My heart about melted. I would rather he remember "Jesus Loves Me" or "King of Kings," but it's something...
So. Wow. I think you are caught up on my life. Today I went Christmas shopping and got some much-needed rest. Tomorrow I head back to Mukachevo for the week to be at the clinic and visit Anna's English classes. Have I mentioned Anna before? She's the oldest daughter of Dr. Pal and Jolika, teaches English, and is really, really great. This weekend I'm supposed to go on a mountain excursion with her, and next week is Christmas! I can't believe it.
It feels like I just arrived in Ukraine...I love these people and this place, and I'm just beginning to adjust to being here. Yes, I still miss my family and friends. Today I felt horribly homesick, and being away for Christmas will be the hardest. But I also don't want to leave Ukraine. In mid-January I will meet my sister in Turkey for a couple of weeks, and when I return I will only have a few days to pack and to say goodbye. So God-willing, I have one more month here. One more month of  marshrutkas, cabbage, Hungkrainiaussian language, fat slab snacks, time-zone confusion, gypsy songs, preschool smiles, orphan kisses...One month doesn't seem like enough. But I plan to make the most of it.

"Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom."

"May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us- yes, establish the work of our hands."

-Psalm 90:12&17

Giving Thanks

I seem to be getting behind on posting...but last week was a holiday, so I think taking a week off was acceptable.

Since writing that sentence I've been staring at my screen for half an hour, trying to figure out how to tell you about the past couple of weeks in a somewhat organized fashion. I think a daily account is out of the question. So instead, in the continuing spirit of Thanksgiving, I will tell you about some of the people and things I am feeling especially grateful for right now. So here they are, in no particular order.

People and things I am feeling especially grateful for right now:

Zsuzsa
I'm sure I've mentioned Zsuzsa before...but just to refresh your memories, she's the local Hungarian-Ukrainian-English-Dutch-speaking wonder-woman that I first met when she was doing some translation work for a visiting group from Holland. I occasionally see her at the gypsy preschool in Telek, where her sister teaches. She's also rescued me from the side of the road multiple times.
On Saturday the 17th, she let me tag along to her English class for Hungarian speakers in Beregovo, a city about a one-hour drive from Nagydobrony. The class itself was fun...it was wonderful to be around English speakers my own age, and interesting to observe their learning process. The teacher was excited to have a native English speaker present, and often called on me to help with pronunciation and activities. I think I was usually helpful, but sometimes...For example, when she asked me to explain to the class the difference between "I will do something" and "I'm going to do something," I didn't have much to say. Did I miss that day in middle school English? I'm not sure I've ever thought about that in my life. And then she asked me to demonstrate the shifting stress in words by pronouncing "advertise" and "advertisement..." Wait, what? Oh, British English..."AdVERtisement."
But enough of that tangent. In addition to the class I greatly enjoyed spending time with Zsuzsa, hearing about her past experiences, her current work, and her hopes for the future. Inspired by the plethora of Dutch people that volunteer in this area of Ukraine, she spent a year volunteering in The Netherlands, and is now employed by a Dutch organization that works in the area. I am grateful for her kindness and generosity, her English skills, and also her uncanny ability to show up in remote villages where I have missed the bus. 

Learning how to say "sit down" in Hungarian
This one is pretty self-explanatory. I spend a lot of time with preschoolers...

The names (and children) "Anita!" and "Sabolcs"
I know you probably can't fully appreciate this. But bear with me here. These names are the best. First you should know that the Hungarian version of the name Anita is only distantly related to the English version. Stress is all on the first syllable instead of the second, and it should nearly always be approached as an exclamation : "AH-ni-ta!" It's almost okay when Anitas are mischievous, just because it's so much fun to yell their name. Maybe because they're accustomed to having their name shouted so often, the three Anitas that I know here are very feisty, and (although difficult to manage in the preschool) some of my favorites.
The name Sabolcs (pronounced Sah-boach) is best to say when you need to express consternation. This is usually done by stressing and drawing out the first syllable (SAAAH-boach). It's just as fun as shouting "Anita!" and apparently consternation also breeds feistiness, because the two boys I know by this name can hold their own against the Anitas quite well.

Great food finds
I did not have any Thanksgiving turkey, but I did discover a great chicken sandwich at the market in Nagydobrony, and an amazing bakery in Mukachevo this week. Also, for better or for worse, I've discovered Ukrainian chocolates. There's one in particular that I think I could be developing an addiction to. Maybe the picture of a poppy on the wrapper is supposed to be a warning...

Technology
Really, I am grateful for all of you...but I am also grateful for the technology that allows us to keep in touch, and for being able to talk to my family for the first time in a month via Skype calls last week. I don't usually like to talk on the phone much, but I think I talked with (or maybe talked to) my sister for about an hour and a half. Thanks Beth :)

Dedicated postal workers (and Grannies) of the world
I got my first mail this week! Two cards from Granny, in my hands nine days after the postmark dates. Not bad at all. Some of you have asked for my address, so now that it's been tested, I'll post it here. Any mail is much appreciated! Pictures or fun things I can share with the girls are especially nice, but I'm not picky.

Irgalmas Samaritánus Reformatus Gyermekotthon
Nagydobrony
Csongor Út 119
UA- 89463
UKRAINA

My girls
I am still very grateful for the time spent with my girls here at the orphanage. They've begun asking me about 87 times a day what they should give me for Christmas: "Cara! What you present?" I'm just wondering what I will give all of them (if you have any good craft ideas please send them my way!). Last night we drew Christmas pictures. The scene with the shepherds and angels turned out well, but somehow Mary ended up being green and baby Jesus developed a case of chicken pox. Oh well...Jesus very well could have had chicken pox at some point, right?

Jolika Oroszi
Words cannot express how grateful I am for this woman. I've mentioned her before but in case you've forgotten, she's the wife of Pal Oroszi, the doctor who arranged for me to come to Ukraine (and another person I'm very thankful for). Jolika is also a nurse, and when I'm at the clinic in Mukachevo I am something like her shadow, except slower and more awkward than a normal shadow. She helps me to understand the community and how the clinic operates, while teaching me nursing skills and Russian. She goes out of her way to speak English with me, her fourth...no...I think maybe her fifth language. She made me a birthday cake and let me practice drawing her blood (but not at the same time), and puts up with the inconvenience of having an awkward shadow so gracefully.

There are many other people and things here that I am grateful for, but I think I will wrap this post up. Most of all, I am thankful that "neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." I'm thousands of miles away from most of you this holiday season, but
the ultimate source of my thankfulness and of my joy in celebrating Christmas is unchanged. His love is undeterred by long flights, Ukrainian buses, poor Wi-Fi connections, and my own flaws and inconsistencies. And for that, I give thanks.

If Only Ukrainian Buses Were as Easy to Catch as Ukrainian Colds...

Most of this post was written on Wednesday, November 14th. I have since caught a couple more buses successfully. But I will keep this post in its Wednesday version...
Also, (as always) I love hearing from all of you! Thank you for your prayers, comments, messages, emails, and love.

In my last post, I think I mentioned that I was figuring out the buses here. I take it all back. Today was not my day for catching buses. Or yesterday, actually. My record for catching buses in the past two days is 2/5. Why am I failing so miserably in this subject? Let me start at the beginning...
This past Saturday I met up with Dr. Pal and three American staff members of The Luke Society, the organization that founded the Mukachevo clinic and helped arrange my visit to Ukraine. We traveled to the gypsy camps in Telek and Kisdobrony, so the Luke Society team could see some of the progress being made in the camps. Gitka also met us in the camps, as well as Sandor, a local pastor to the gypsies. We toured the preschools I've been working in as well as the churches, and with Dr. Pal translating were able to hear Sandor's perspective on change within the camps. The contrast between the gypsies of the past that he described and the gypsies that I know today was striking. For example, Sandor told us that when he was young someone would have to sleep in his family's greenhouse at night, to keep gypsies from stealing all of their produce. During our tour of one of the camps, Sandor brought us into one of the gypsy churches. There he showed us money given by the congregation, kept in an unlocked drawer, within the unlocked church. He assured us that everyone in the camp knew that the money was there, yet no one was worried about it being stolen. Things are also changing for the children of the camps. In the past these children either did not attend school at all, or attended for only a few years. Now, however, with the help of preschools, after-school programs, and many dedicated workers, they are almost completely integrated into Ukrainian public schools. Of course...there is still a lot of work to be done. The pregnancy rate of young teenagers in the camps is very high, and exacerbating the problem, the Ukrainian government pays families for each child within the home. But seeing and hearing about some of the changes in the past several years was encouraging.
What does this have to do with me being lousy at catching buses? Honestly, not much. But I thought it was very interesting. And I think I can tie it in...
While we were making these visits, Dr. Pal asked me when I'd like to visit the Mukachevo clinic this week. I really hadn't thought about it yet, but Tuesday sounded like a good day, and I'm not sure, but I think we came to some sort of agreement on it. Monday, when I next saw Gitka, I told her that I was going to try to take the bus to Mukachevo on Tuesday. As luck would have it, she said she was also going to Mukachevo on Tuesday morning at 8:40, and could take the bus with me. At first I wasn't sure how to respond to this. There is an earlier bus, at 7:40, that I had been planning to take. Here I should explain (maybe I have before?) that although my village and all the surrounding villages unofficially go by Hungarian time, Mukachevo and the clinic go by Ukrainian time, which is an hour later. So by taking the bus at 8:40 Hungarian time, allowing at least 45 minutes for the ride and walk from the bus stop to the clinic, I wouldn't arrive at the clinic until about 10:30 Ukrainian time. To me, this seemed kind of late. But then, I wasn't exactly sure which bus stop to get off at in Mukachevo or how to get to the clinic, and it would be nice to go with someone, even if it was a little later than I had hoped. So I agreed to go with Margit.
Tuesday morning I was just getting ready to go to breakfast with the girls at about 7:45 Hungarian time, when I got a phone call from Szabina, one of the preschool teachers who speaks a bit of English. "Cara?" Long pause. "I don't know how to say it...bus Cara." From these few words I understood all I needed to know. Gitka had meant Ukrainian time, the bus I had originally wanted to catch. I grabbed my things, threw on my jacket, and ran out of the building to the bus stop. No one was waiting at the stop. Not a good sign. Somehow Sabina had become the go-between phone person for Gitka and I, and I called her back: "Cara, you are behind the bus!" I was afraid of that. Choking back tears, I assured Sabina I would catch the next bus, and ran back to the ophanage.
Once in my room I broke down and cried, for what felt like so many reasons: frustration from living in a place with two time-zones and three languages, from feeling helpless and misunderstood, from feeling like I was letting down Gitka and Dr. Pal... But as I cried I realized I was also angry. Angry at God for putting me in this difficult place, and not making everything easy. No, easy isn't the right word. I wasn't expecting easy. But this reality of difficult felt like more than I could handle.
I dried my tears, once again grabbed my things, and headed for the bus stop. Somewhere in that sequence I also dropped my cellphone on ceramic tile, and scrambled to put it back together. It didn't improve my mood. This time I managed to catch the bus without problem and arrive safely at the right stop in Mukachevo, where Gitka was waiting to walk with me to the clinic. I spent a short morning at the clinic, then dashed back to the bus stop to catch the bus to the orphanage. I had heard different stories about the afternoon bus schedule, and in spite of wanting to stay longer at the clinic or explore Mukachevo, I decided to take the bus at 12:20 (Ukrainian time), the time Gitka had scribbled for me on a napkin. Catching that bus was no problem.
If you're keeping track, that makes my bus record 2/3. Since you know my current record is 2/5, you must be expecting to hear that Wednesday was a bad day. And for catching buses, it was. But in all other ways, it was a great day. So please don't quit reading yet. This post is not all whining.
I woke up Wednesday morning feeling much better. The sun was shining, and the sky was blue. I had taken a long nap on Tuesday afternoon, and spent the evening with the girls. The girls here have a way of grounding you, and making you reevaluate the things that you thought were important. I also spent some much-needed time in prayer and reflection. I realized that six months ago, I had hoped and prayed to be in Ukraine. God had given me the desire of my heart, and I had been reproaching him for it. My faith is sometimes so weak.
But back to Wednesday. I was supposed to help with the gypsy preschool in Telek. Ishtvan, my dear bus driver that I thought I knew so well, decided to leave 10 minutes earlier than usual, while I was about a block from the stop. Some of the locals that I usually ride the bus with assured me that it was indeed him, and we were in fact stranded.
Without any other options, I decided to walk. It's probably about three or four miles to Telek, but the weather was beautiful, and the scenery through the villages is nice. I made it to the preschool in just over an hour, and was surprised by how happy I was to be there and to see the children that I hadn't seen since the previous week. The kids mobbed me, asking for "Angolu!" songs and giving me plastic bowls of imaginary "levesh" (soup) to devour so I could tell them that it was "finom" (delicious).
After a good day with the kids I hiked out of the gypsy camp toward the Telek bus stop, and had just turned onto the road with a view of the stop when I saw the bus pulling around the the corner and away. Oh good. Apparently I had missed the announcement that this was National Early Bus Day in Ukraine. Or it could be that the announcement was in Ukrainian...same effect.
But the sun was still shining, and it was still a nice day for a walk...even a second walk. I retraced my steps. Maybe it was the effect of the sunshine, or maybe they're getting more used to my face, but on my walk back people were almost eager to talk with me. Usually I get nods or stares, but this walk was different. On one stretch of road an old man on a bicycle who apparently knew who I was stopped to say hello and ask why I was walking to Nagydobrony instead of taking the bus, pointing at a bus rumbling by that...wait a minute...looked suspiciously like my bus! Oops. But too late now. Up the road a gypsy woman and her daughter stopped and asked where I was from, if I was working at the preschool, and whether one of the regular preschool teachers was still sick. Next a couple with few teeth but many words hobbled to their front gate and introduced themselves as Latsi Bachi and Morica Neni (Uncle Latsi and Aunt Morica). Latsi Bachi told me about his three diplomas in teaching, football, and something else that I could not understand in any of the languages he tried. In Kisdobrony I met Gitka's son David, and some of the Gypsy kids who recognized me and practiced a few words of their English. About a mile or two from Nagydobrony I was picked up by Zsuzsa, the Hungarian/Ukrainian/English/Dutch -speaking wonderwoman I met with the team from Holland a few weeks ago. She was with two men from Holland who are
staying in the guesthouse at the orphanage this week, and they dropped me off directly at the orphanage.
In summary, I missed a few buses this week, but it was okay. I made it to the clinic. I made it to the preschool. I walked many miles, but I saw beautiful things, and met some characters. It was better than riding the bus. As I think about it now, it seems like my time in Ukraine could be something like my recent experiences with the buses. Things here might not always (usually) go as planned. I might be required to do things differently than I had imagined. It might be frustrating. It might take a lot of effort. But in the end, I think it will be okay. It might even be better than what I had hoped for.

"'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the LORD. 'As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'"
-Isaiah 55:8-9

Work in Progress

Note- As I reread this, I'm realizing it's not the most upbeat of all posts. It's not meant to be a downer...I'm just being honest about some of the challenges I'm experiencing. So know that I still love it here, the people continue to surprise me with their wonderfulness, and I am learning very much every day.

I've decided that this week I am not going to tell you what I've done every day. Mostly because I can't really remember, but also because it probably wouldn't be very exciting to read. So I will give you some highlights, then try to summarize a bit.
Oksana, my Ukrainian friend who I worked with on Mackinac Island last summer came to visit from Kiev this weekend. She had a thirteen hour train ride Friday night, and I met her in Mukachevo on Saturday morning. The bus into Mukachevo was the first Ukrainian bus I had ever taken by myself, but everything went surprisingly well! I managed to catch the correct bus, pay the fare, get off in the right place, and find the bus station, where I met Oksana. This probably does not sound impressive, but for me it is great progress.
Oksana and I had a good morning exploring Mukachevo, including Palanok Castle on the outskirts of the city. It was so nice to see a familiar face, and have someone to laugh and joke with in English (not to mention a Ukrainian translator!). In the afternoon we caught the bus back to Nagydobony. Maybe here I should clarify what I mean by the term "bus." Many of the buses here are more like 12-passenger vans, converted into 22-passenger vans. And maybe "converted" isn't the correct term to use, because it's not like they add an extra wing or a second level. Such was the case with this particular bus. Oksana and I squatted in the back aisle, tumbling onto each other and the unhappy people around us for half an hour as our driver raced down the road. Maybe here I should explain what I mean when I use the term "road." Never mind...just don't imagine smooth blacktop. Anyway, in spite of being jostled around "like potatoes" (Oksana's words) and being unable to see where we were out any of the windows, we managed to get off at the bus stop by the orphanage.
Oksana of course loved the girls, and the girls loved Oksana. We shared birthday cake with them that Oksana had brought from Kiev, and went to church with them on Sunday. Oksana had never been to this part of Ukraine, and I think she was surprised by how Hungarian it is. We go by Hungarian time (very confusing), and most of the children did not understand Oksana when she spoke Ukrainian. On Sunday afternoon we caught the bus back to Mukachevo, saw more of the city, and walked to the train station, where I saw her off. Her visit was too short, but I am very grateful to her for coming...not to mention for bringing me peanut butter, which is pretty much nonexistent here.
Dr. Pal picked me up from the train station on Sunday and drove me to his home where I met his children David, Esther, and Dora, and had an amazing dinner. His wife Julika had prepared about twenty different Hungarian dishes, and I of course tried them all. When I thought I absolutely could not eat anything more, the family came into the dining room singing, with one-and-a-half birthday cakes. The half cake was left from Esther's birthday the day before, and the other cake was for me. I was so surprised, and touched by their thoughtfulness. I hadn't even mentioned that my birthday was this week. Somehow I managed to make room for a piece of cake, which was creamy, chocolatey, and everything a birthday cake should be.
I stayed with Dr. Pal and his family Sunday evening, then went to the Mukachevo clinic with he and Julika early Monday. I spent most of the morning with the nurses scheduling patients at the front desk. As soon as the clinic doors open in the morning, patients flood the reception area, mostly to schedule lab work and appointments. The nurse I was sitting with explained the computer system and scheduling procedures to me in great detail...in Ukrainian. Ukrainian, Russian, and Hungarian were constantly being spoken, and my head began to spin just with the effort of trying to figure out how to greet patents. Dobriy Dien? Jo Napot? Or how I should say thank you...Kosonom? Spasibo? Dyakuyu? I have a tremendous amount of respect for the people here who are able to shift between two, three, or sometimes four languages seemingly effortlessly. The two nurses at the desk scheduled about one hundred patients for lab wok that morning...and most of the time I had only a vague idea of what kind of tests they were having done.
During the past week I've continued to work with the preschools in the gypsy camps of Kisdobrony and Telek. There are about 10-15 children in each preschool, and most of my work there has consisted of teaching English colors and numbers, singing songs about Jesus, handing out bread with jam, checking for lice, and learning the Shoogie Boogie (Hungarian version of the Hokey Pokey). The kids like to hear English, and often shout "Angolu!" at me when they want to hear a song in English. I'm learning along with the kids, and now feel pretty confident about Hungarian and Ukrainian colors and numbers. We're still working on seasons and days of the week, but I'll keep you posted.
At the Kisdobrony camp Kati, one of the gypsy women who teaches at the preschool, usually invites me into her home for lunch. From what I've seen the house has no running water and only a wood-stove for heat and cooking, but Kati always fixes me something to eat, and introduces me to the numerous family members who pop in and out of her home. I've met her husband, sons, daughter-in-laws, and grandchildren, and they're such friendly people...always eager to communicate with me, and to laugh. Also, from what I've seen they can peel potatoes like nobody's business. For the great entertainment of all I once tried to help...I can't be sure, but I think Kati asked me something along the lines of whether we have potatoes in America.
I'm still spending most of my evenings with the girls here at the orphanage. Tuesday was my birthday, and they showered me with hugs, kisses, and gifts: teddy bears, slippers, a scarf, a pillow embroidered with my name, toothpaste, a banana, cow salt and pepper shakers, a stuffed antelope...you name it, I got it. They're such generous girls, and I feel so unworthy of their gifts.  I'm realizing more and more that loving them isn't as simple as I had thought it would be. There are 70 girls here...how do I choose who to spend time with? Or how do I justify ever spending an hour by myself? And I want so desperately to be able to talk with them...not just about their favorite colors and foods, but really talk...to hear their stories and their dreams, and to encourage them. I'm not sure that will ever be possible, but I recently found an English-Hungarian parallel New Testament, and I've been showing them Ephesians 1:16: "I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers." Love always perseveres, and I'm working on it. 
In some ways things here are getting easier. I'm figuring out the buses, adapting to Ukrainian currency, and adjusting to the food. And I'm finally beginning to feel a little bit useful, especially in the preschools. In other ways, things are more difficult. I've been here over two and a half weeks, and the novelty is beginning to wear off. This is my home for the next couple of months, and it's cold, very muddy, and isolated. I haven't seen a single American since I've been here, and I miss being able to talk to family and friends any time. I even miss talking politics! I tried to strike up a conversation about the election with one of the girls, and it went something like this:
Me: "America...president, ma (Hungarian for today)"
Girl: "Igen (yes), you birthday today. Present."
Not exactly what I was going for, but not her fault.
Things are also not all that I had expected. Although I love the gypsy children and the girls at the orphanage, I'm not doing or seeing quite as much medical work as I had hoped for. Somewhere lingering in the back of my mind is the question of how this is furthering my career. But this week as I was rereading some of my old journal entries I came across a quote I had copied from an article by Timothy Dalrymple: "Christians in American culture struggle with a sort of vocational schizophrenia. We want to make a difference while making money, to be remembered for serving the forgotten. We want to give our cake to the poor and sell it too." I think so often I am guilty of this...good actions with motives rooted in pride and selfishness. But that's not what I want my time in Ukraine to be about. I'm here to serve, and I firmly believe that God has placed me here. The true test of obedience is now. The work is not glamorous, and no one is here to pat me on the back, or say what a good thing I'm doing. In fact, I still often feel so inadequate and useless. But for now I will tramp through muddy roads, wipe four-year-old noses, learn as much Hungarian language as possible, Shoogie-Boogie like a fiend, and take each day as it comes...trying not to think about how it will all look on a resume someday. No guarantees...I'm human. But I'm working on it.

"Now finish the work, so that your eager willingness to do it may be matched by your completion of it, according to your means. For if the willingness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has, not according to what he does not have."
2 Corinthians 8:11-12

"But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."
Matthew 6:33-34

Beginning

Whoa, I know...another ridiculously long post. But it covers a whole week in Ukraine! And I feel like there's so much more I could have said...I like the part at the end, so you can always skip to there. Still no pictures, but I hope to post some someday soon.
Also, I do love hearing from all of you! Hint-hint...comments, questions, Facebook, email, pony express...

I think part of me has been putting off writing this post. Yes, it's busy here and finding a period of time to write a long note without a dozen 11-year-old girls coming to tap at my tablet is difficult...but I think it's more than that. I'm not sure where to start...how to describe this place and these people...how to explain what I'm learning and how I feel about being here when I'm not even sure myself. But I think I owe you an effort. So here goes.
I wrote my last post on the train from Budapest. After writing that post I switched trains in Zahony (Hungary), and crossed the border into Chop (Ukraine). At the Chop station I waited in a short line at customs to officially enter Ukraine. As I waited I prayed that they wouldn't search my bag, the way they were every other person's. No, I wasn't smuggling drugs or illegal fireworks...I just really, really didn't want to unpack and repack my entire bag. The fierce-looking customs woman I was assigned to barked at me in Ukrainian as I hauled my bag onto her table. "English?" I asked faintly. She stopped, eyed me, then with a terse smile replied, "Why not?" She asked me a few questions in English about where I was going and what I would be doing, smiled at my answers and looked at me like I was a crazy person, then waved me into the next room without even opening my bag.
I bewilderedly scanned the area as I stepped into the waiting room, and almost immediately heard a kind voice say my name. The voice belonged to Pal Oroszi, the Ukrainian doctor who had arranged for my visit, and as I shook his hand I saw that his eyes and smile matched his voice (was that line too cheesy?). This was a good man, and he was here to help me.
Dr. Pal walked me out to his car, insisting on hauling my giant bag. We pulled away from the station and as we drove through the countryside he explained some of the history of this area of Ukraine. Although I don't remember all of the details anymore, during the past hundred years or so this region has been a part of Hungary, Czechoslovakia, the U.S.S.R., and of course now Ukraine. The people here still consider themselves Hungarian, and although the official language is Ukrainian (and is understood by nearly all), Hungarian is the first language.
The day was beautiful, probably in the 60's, with the sun shining. The countryside was flat and open, and as we bumped along the rough road I saw that most of the land seemed to consist of small farms. Men were out harvesting crops by tractor and by hand, and we passed gypsy families on horses and in carts.
Dr. Pal drove me directly to the orphanage, and the rest of the day became a blur of faces and strange names. I met the director of the orphanage and his son, women who work at the orphanage, dozens of girls who live at the orphanage, and not one but two nurses named Margit (that seemed like an unnecessary trick to confuse me). The room I was given was nicer than I had ever expected with two beds, two chairs, a desk, my own bathroom and shower, and even a TV with a couple of fuzzy Hungarian channels. In the afternoon Dr. Pal took me to two gypsy camps in the neighboring villages of Kisdobrony and Telek, where I met the second nurse Margit (Gitka), a gypsy pastor, preschool teachers, and other gypsies in the camps. When we arrived at the first camp we were invited into one of the gypsy homes, where Gitka was giving an IV antibiotic to an older woman.
Since the Roma in this area are no longer nomads, the camps are more like small villages on the edges of villages Many have no running water or sewage system, and some are without electricity. The houses I have seen are cramped and dirty. Young children go to the bathroom in the street, along with the numerous dogs and cats present in each camp. Yet the people I have met in the camps are friendly, quick to smile and to laugh. They know and trust Gitka, and as her friend I have been welcomed into their homes, where they try to communicate with me through Hungarian and Russian. The children are beautiful and like most children, are always ready for a game or a joke.
Dr. Pal left me on Monday afternoon, and I was given Monday evening and Tuesday to settle into my new life at the orphanage. The orphanage is officially known as The Good Samaritan Children's Home, and was founded (in the late 1990s?) by some sort of Dutch organization. Since this area of Ukraine consists almost entirely of Reformed congregations, it receives a huge amount of financial and volunteer support from Dutch reformed congregations. The orphanage has its own guesthouse, farm, and bakery, and is home to roughly 70 girls, ranging in age from about five to twenty-five. Many of the girls here have physical or mental disabilities, while others simply needed a home. These girls are already near and dear to my heart...I will write about them more at the end of this post.
On Wednesday I visited The Luke Society Clinic in Mukachevo, where Dr. Pal works. He gave me a tour of the facility, which was larger than I expected, and extremely BUSY. Although visits to this clinic are not free for Ukrainians the way visits to government clinics are, the expertise and quality of care in the clinic make it popular with Ukrainians throughout the region. Compared to the U.S. prices are extremely low...just enough to cover the cost of supplies and the salaries of doctors and nurses, which are about $250 and $200 per month respectively. A colonoscopy at the clinic costs about $5. Ukrainians have been reluctant to pay for screenings such as colonoscopies and mammograms, so by keeping these costs low, the clinic hopes to increase the number of Ukrainians who seek this preventative care. They also distribute coupons for the clinic to local churches to distribute to those in their communities who may be most unable to pay for care.
After visiting the Mukachevo clinic I rode about 45 minutes with Dr. Pal and Dr. Laszlo (another doctor from the clinic) to a smaller satellite clinic in a different village. There I got another tour of the facility, sat in on a couple of Dr. Pal's patient visits, and ate a lot of traditional Hungarian foods to celebrate a birthday of another doctor. Strangely enough, I also discovered that one of the women I met at that clinic is good friends with Anika, a Ukrainian student I met on Mackinac Island two years ago. It truly is a small world. Or it could be that Anika really gets around.
On Wednesday night I called Gitka, the nurse I am supposed to work with here, to try to figure out where and when we would meet the next day. The problem is, I only speak English and a very tiny bit of Russian. Gitka speaks Hungarian, Ukrainian, Russian, and less English than I speak Russian. Have you ever tried to talk over the phone with someone who speaks a different language? Other than a telemarketer? I wouldn't recommend it. We finally figured out that I would ride my bike to her house the next morning at nine, which would have worked well if my bike hadn't disappeared the next morning, and if I had remembered with more certainty where her house actually was...
Anyway, I eventually made it. That day and the next (Friday) I visited gypsy camps with Gitka. Gitka and I have an odd relationship...we use a lot of gestures, pictures, and strange combinations of English, Russian, and Hungarian...but somehow (other than over the phone) it sort of works. I feel like she and her family have sort of adopted me. I've picked corn with her and her husband, I've played with her sons, I've met her parents and their cows, and I've visited the cemetery with her family to decorate graves. I don't know how she puts up with me...I don't think I could. She is a such a gracious person. I am so grateful for her and her family's kindness.
Although Gitka and I visited gypsy homes on Thursday and Friday, not much of our work was really medical. We helped at the preschools in the camps, where the goal is to teach the children hygiene and basics like colors and numbers, so that they have a chance of entering Ukrainian state schools and possibly someday leaving the camps. We did head checks at one preschool, and about half of the kids had lice. Gitka sprayed their heads, but there really wasn't much we could do. My head started to feel very itchy, though...
This week I met some of the people responsible for establishing gypsy preschools, a group of about fifteen Dutch folks staying in the guest house next to the orphanage. They invited me over on Thursday night for chocolate, drinks, and wonderful ENGLISH conversation! Several of them spoke English very well, and I think I spoke more English that night than I had spoken the entire week. They invited me out to dinner with them on Friday night, to celebrate having built two Roma preschools in the week they had been in Ukraine. They really are an amazing team, and great at what they do. Some of them have come to Ukraine for building projects eight or nine times now in the past several years. We had a lovely dinner (I have to say, better than the orphanage food...), and they introduced me to some native missionaries and a translator who had helped their team. Since the group from Holland always stays at the guest house they were very familiar with the orphanage, and able to clear up some of my questions about the place. They also gave me their contact info and phone numbers of some locals, so I don't feel so isolated. They left early Saturday morning, and I was very sorry to see them go.
On Saturday I walked to the local market, spent time with the girls, and had dinner with a group of locals at Victoria's apartment (Victoria works at the orphanage and speaks some English). This morning I walked into town again to the single church in Nagydobrony, where an old babushka (actually she'd be called a "mama" in Hungarian), grabbed my hand, led me inside, and shared her songbook while I tried to stumble though Hungarian hymns. Today is Monday...I was planning on heading to one of the camps, but I've decided to take the day off to rest and allow my immune system to kick a nasty Ukrainian cold.
So...there it is. You're pretty much caught up on my life, except I haven't yet talked about the girls here.
In a nutshell...they're amazing. They're quick to love and eager to be loved, even by a stranger who doesn't speak their language. And they're so easy to love. They're sweet girls, who look out for each other and for me. They make sure I have enough to eat at each meal, they loan me their bicycles, and they teach me Hungarian. Slowly I'm learning their names...Timea, Tunde, Judit, Bella, Morica, Yulika, Anita, Ruslana, Slava, Sila, Vicki, Angela, Sveta, Valentina, and so many, many more. And slowly I'm learning their stories...two girls abandoned naked in the street as babies, another separated from her brother and brought to the home after her father was killed, and another unable to walk after a fall from a tree and incorrect treatment by Ukrainian doctors.
Sometimes I feel so helpless here in Ukraine...there's so much I can't communicate, and so much I'm not sure how to do. But I know how to love these girls. We can't always talk, but I can play with them, tickle them, laugh with them, hug them. They hang onto every smile, every touch. They come sit on my lap, braid my hair, and give me kisses. I feel like Wendy when she goes to Neverland with Peter Pan and meets all the Lost Boys, except my children are girls and infinitely better. So when I feel frustrated here, especially about language, or about not doing as much nursing as I'd like to be doing...I've started to remind myself of this:

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging symbol. If I've been given the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge but have not love, I gain nothing,"

So loving these girls...I think it's a good place to begin.

Budapest

Note- This blog post was written on scrap paper during my train ride from Budapest to Ukraine on October 22nd. So you're not quite up to date, but I will write about Ukraine soon! And I know this post is sort of a novel...except with a lousy main character and not much of a plot...but you don't actually have to read it! It's just that I don't get to express much in English anymore....

I'm sitting on the train right now, or rather a train. I can't really be sure which one, although I'm hoping it will take me to Zahony, the Hungarian border-town I need to be in to cross into Chop, Ukraine. Anyway, enough about trains for now...I thought I'd take some time to write about my weekend in Budapest, and post it in my blog at a later date.
I guess I should start at the beginning...My flights (Flint, Chicago, London, Budapest) were fairly uneventful. I watched most of game 4 of the Tigers-Yankees series in the Chicago airport before catching my flight to London. The large man whose seat was supposed to be next to mine caused some sort of ruckus before we took off and was kindly escorted to a seat at the rear of the plane, leaving me with an extra seat all to myself. A window and an aisle! Almost first-class. In London I had to go through security again (the most thorough pat-down of my life), and then it was on to Budapest. During the flight I chatted with a man from Boston about his family in the U.P., and memories of Mackinac Island.

GOOD NEWS--An official train person just came through, checked my ticket, and did not make me get off the train!

Where was I? Oh yeah, flights. I got my first view of the city as we flew into Budapest. It was absolutely gorgeous, with the winding Danube (although more brownish than blue), elaborate old buildings, and rolling hills of Buda. I proceeded through customs with no problems, then waited at the luggage carousel. And waited...and waited...no bag. Thankfully (was it wrong of me to feel that way?) two other people had the same problem...both Americans and one who lived in Budapest, had had the same issue before, and knew what to do. We went to a help desk, filled out some forms, and I tried to remember what color my bag actually was so I could give them a description. Green right? Or maybe blue... One lady would not accept my hostel address as a valid location to deliver the bag, and I tried to tell her (barely holding back tears) that I had no other place...no permanent address in Budapest. The American guy who lived in Budapest jumped in to help me, explaining that my hostel was actually in Budapest on Oktober Street, and I hadn't just written the month in English. Once that confusion was cleared up they gave me some papers for my hostel receptionist, and promised to deliver the bag sometime (no ideas when).
I exchanged currency and took a shuttle from the airport, fearing for my life and the lives of pedestrians as the driver whipped through streets, around corners, and over sidewalks. During the ride I chatted with the gentleman wedged in next to me, a retired doctor originally from Michigan. The driver delivered me directly to my hostel's front door, where I buzzed in and climbed a long dark staircase that felt like it belonged to an abandoned building. My hostel was a beacon of light at the end of the tunnel, though, and actually turned out to be quite cozy.
I checked in, then set out to see Budapest before it got too dark. My hostel was only a few blocks from the Danube, so I headed straight (okay well, it's possible I got lost...I don't remember now, but more than likely) for the river. I walked the beautiful Chain Bridge, crossing from the flat Pest side of the River to the hilly Buda side. From there I wandered up to Castle Hill, where I had a spectacular view of the river and city. From what I understand, there is no castle on Castle Hill, although apparently there used to be. There is a pretty awesome "palace" but I've heard no royal family ever actually lived there. Budapest can be confusing.
On Saturday I did a lot more wandering (and getting lost) in Budapest, and found Nyugati Station to buy my train ticket to Ukraine. Since I wanted to make an international journey, I had to buy both an intercity and an international ticket, from agents speaking no (or very little) English. The process took some time, but eventually I was able to purchase tickets, feeling about 55% confident that they were the correct tickets. During the rest of the afternoon I explored Margaret Island (like the Central Park of Budapest), did a free walking tour of the city, and walked around a bit with some Mexican girls I met on the tour. That night one of the hostel employees helped me figure out which tram line would take me to the church I wanted to attend in the morning.
On Sunday I woke up feeling exhausted. Every muscle in my legs ached from walking many miles Friday and Saturday, and I dreaded the thought of purchasing tickets and navigating the tram. But I also very much wanted to be at church, worshiping with Christians in this strange city. I forced myself to get up.
Yes, figuring out where and how to catch the tram was difficult, as well as finding the street I needed once I got off the tram, but I will spare you the gory details. I will just say that more than once I wanted to give up and go back to my hostel or sit down and cry. When I finally found the building where the church was supposed to be located, the front door was locked. I wandered around to the back, which was more of a parking structure, and in desperation started climbing a staircase. After about the first flight of stairs I heard music...singing! As I continued to climb it grew louder, and the louder it got the faster I climbed until I burst into a room with about 200 people worshiping and singing familiar songs, in English! I felt so relieved I nearly broke down and cried on the spot.
Toward the beginning of the service visitors were asked to stand, introduce themselves, and tell where they were from. When I said I was from Michigan, a nurse, and headed to Ukraine to work, a little cheer went up from one area of the room. At the end of the service I met the source of the cheer- two ladies, one from Michigan and the other an American nurse working in Kiev. The nurse, Pam, has lived in Ukraine about eleven years, and organizes and provides basic care and teaching, in a role similar to that of a home health nurse. She was incredibly supportive and gave me her contact info, telling me I could call her absolutely any time. She even told me if I ever had a long weekend free or wanted to get away for Thanksgiving, I was welcome to come stay with her in Kiev. What a blessing! The church service itself was refreshing, but meeting Pam felt like a miracle. On the train ride back into the city I met three other ladies who teach/student teach in Budapest. The student teacher, Natalie, was also very encouraging and said that if I ever wanted to visit Budapest again and needed a place to stay, I should let her know.
For the rest of the afternoon I continued to wander the city, checking out other major monuments on my way to Szenchenyi Baths, one of Budapest's famous thermal spring complexes. Szenchenyi is a huge place with indoor and outdoor pools of every temperature, saunas, and lots of old men in speedos who sit in the baths and play chess.
Getting to the train station this morning was the worst ordeal of this adventure so far. What should have been a simple trip developed into a nightmare related to some stupid wrong turns and a huge bag, necessitating an emergency trip on the metro (after frantically buying a ticket from a woman on the street because the ticket window was closed). I finally arrived at my train sweaty and out of breath, about five minutes before it left the station.
But God is so good...so much better than I deserve, and I think I've made it (so far). I'm still tired...tired of never being understood, of never knowing where I am, and of not knowing how to get where I think I need to be. But where I really need to be...I believe I am getting there. Budapest was beautiful, church was amazing, and this train ride isn't so bad. So for now I lean on this promise, painfully aware of my weaknesses but so deeply grateful for grace: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

Looking Forward

Well folks, here it is! A blog of sorts. A few of you have requested that I send out email updates about my adventures on the other side of the globe, but I've decided that this might be easier. So here goes...
If you're reading this you probably have a general idea of where I'm going and what I'll be doing, but just in case you don't or have forgotten (I can hardly keep it straight), I will update you.
Next week I fly to Budapest, where I'm planning on staying for a few days prior to catching a train to western Ukraine (provided I can figure out which train this is and how such trains are caught). Once in Ukraine I'll meet up with a doctor from the Luke Society Clinic (see link #1 below), a private Christian clinic in Mukachevo, Ukraine. This doctor has arranged for me to live at a private orphanage outside of Mukachevo (see link #2 below), and work with a nurse who focuses on community health needs within the local gypsy population. That's really the gist of it. I'm not sure how long I will be in Ukraine, but am hoping to stay at least two or three months, possibly longer if I am able to apply for a visa extension. I may also spend some time with a medical outreach in Israel...but that is too much to think about right now. 
Right now, my focus is on preparing for Ukraine (and the even more imminent Hungary). My suitcase is partially packed, travel insurance has been purchased, my bank has been notified that I am leaving the country, and every time I see my granny she kisses the side of my head and says she wishes I weren't leaving. I am never without a few scraps of paper in my pocket with scrawled Russian, Ukrainian, or Hungarian words...as if I can absorb them by carrying them with me long enough. 
Am I nervous? Absolutely. If I allowed myself to obsess over all of the details and potential ways that things could go horribly wrong, I would probably be overwhelmed. But I know that this is where I'm supposed to be. I may not yet be sure of why or for how long, but after years and months of prayer, I know that this is right. And I could not be more excited. Not all those who wander are lost. 

"It was by faith that Abraham obeyed when God called him to leave home and go to another land that God would give him as an inheritance. He went without knowing where he was going. And when he reached the land God promised him, he lived there by faith- for he was like a foreigner, living in a tent. And so did Isaac and Jacob, to whom God gave the same promise. Abraham did this because he was confidently looking forward to a city with eternal foundations, a city designed and built by God." 
-Hebrews 11:8-10

"These things says He who is holy, He who is true, 'He who has the key of David, He who opens and no one shuts, and shuts and no one opens.' I know your works. See, I have set before you and open door, and no one can shut it, for you have a little strength, have kept my word, and have not denied my name.'"
-Revelation 3:7-8 

Thanks for bearing with me and hearing my thoughts. I'm not sure about what kind of internet access I will have in Ukraine, but I will try to update this blog regularly...weekly if possible. I imagine things may be difficult and lonely, and I would love to hear your thoughts and comments. Most of all, I would appreciate your prayers...not just for myself, but for the people I will be working with and for. 

Luke Society Clinic: http://www.lukesociety.org/content/transcarpathia-ukraine#
Good Samaritan Children's Home: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_Samaritan_Children's_Home

Oksana, a Ukrainian girl I worked with this summer, back in Lviv, Ukraine: "Cara!!! Next time you will be with me on this pict."