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