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."