many of you have heard about the trip we took to russia with a team of high schoolers from our church. it was an amazing experience on so many levels. it was full of all the usual challenges of a mission's trip. but the blessings and rewards of the trip--the relationships we made with the russian kids, the joy of seeing them learn about God, the satisfaction of working hard at something worthwhile--far outweighed the minor inconveniences we experienced.
one evening was particularly stellar. elena had been asking me all week when we could "go to the dacha," her garden, and meet her neighbor, enna, who wanted to serve us tea and show us her dacha. we had decided we would go on wednesday night after the club ended. when the time came, alan and i were both exhausted, but it seemed very important to elena that we go see her dacha and have tea with her friend. up to that point, all we had seen of gorodishi were the trash-filled streets, stray dogs and cats looking as depressed as the people who sat drinking at the corner. all we had smelled was a strange, putrid blend of dirt, brick, alcohol and urine. as we began the mile walk to the dacha away from the village, the air got fresher and less stagnant. we began to see and smell green, a gentle stream flowing beside us as we walked. i looked around us and thought that we could have been anywhere--in parts of oregon, colorado, wisconsin, southern california--anyplace brimming with the beauty of blue sky, green grass, and, i could swear, the smell of nitrogen and chlorophyll, rising from the plant life.
when we got to the dacha, we met enna, a delightful forty-something russian woman, (my mom explained to me that there are only two kinds of russian women. the creammy-skinned beauty queens, young and shapely, who cling to their looks like gold pieces. and the babushkas--plump, sour-faced, heads covered, dowdily dressed--who quite simply and literally seem to just give up one day and let themselves go. enna was definitely one of the former russian women, though at her age, she looked like she was having to fight a little harder than her twenty-something friends.)
the dacha consists of a tiny, one-room house sans plumbing, and a plot of land about 20 x 20 yards. both elena's and enna's dachas were filled with brilliantly colored flowers and vegetables too. after touring both dacha's, enna sat us down on a hand-made blanket she had spread on her lawn and served us the most amazing tea. she had made homemade tea, and russian pancakes, which we ate folded up crepe style, drizzled with honey and dolloped with sour cream. after a diet of mostly meat, potatoes, bread and salami, we thought we were heaven. by now, it was about 8:45 p.m. and the sun was beginning to set. the conversation, the food, the weather, everything was idyllic. and just when we thought it couldn't get any better, the closed flower buds of a bush next to our tea party began to bloom right before our eyes. whoever saw it first squeeled and jumped up from the grass (i don't think it was alan; i don't think he would have squeeled.) and the rest of us followed. the buds were opening completely, one by one, in a matter of just a few seconds. it was as if they had been waiting for the sun to go down so they could open up, stretch out a bit and take in the stars. the most amazing thing is that although enna had planted these flowers several years ago, she had never before seen this happen. she usually isn't at the dacha that late. it was God's botanical firework show after a perfect evening.
as we left enna's dacha, stomachs and souls filled with extraordinary goodness, i noticed a large plant, about 3 feet high, shaped like one of those nasal syringes they send home with you for the baby postpartum. only this one was upside down, and covered with tiny light green nodules. i pointed it out to elena, saying it was pretty and asked what it was. she told me, "it's a weed. everything is beautiful in russia."
one evening was particularly stellar. elena had been asking me all week when we could "go to the dacha," her garden, and meet her neighbor, enna, who wanted to serve us tea and show us her dacha. we had decided we would go on wednesday night after the club ended. when the time came, alan and i were both exhausted, but it seemed very important to elena that we go see her dacha and have tea with her friend. up to that point, all we had seen of gorodishi were the trash-filled streets, stray dogs and cats looking as depressed as the people who sat drinking at the corner. all we had smelled was a strange, putrid blend of dirt, brick, alcohol and urine. as we began the mile walk to the dacha away from the village, the air got fresher and less stagnant. we began to see and smell green, a gentle stream flowing beside us as we walked. i looked around us and thought that we could have been anywhere--in parts of oregon, colorado, wisconsin, southern california--anyplace brimming with the beauty of blue sky, green grass, and, i could swear, the smell of nitrogen and chlorophyll, rising from the plant life.
when we got to the dacha, we met enna, a delightful forty-something russian woman, (my mom explained to me that there are only two kinds of russian women. the creammy-skinned beauty queens, young and shapely, who cling to their looks like gold pieces. and the babushkas--plump, sour-faced, heads covered, dowdily dressed--who quite simply and literally seem to just give up one day and let themselves go. enna was definitely one of the former russian women, though at her age, she looked like she was having to fight a little harder than her twenty-something friends.)
the dacha consists of a tiny, one-room house sans plumbing, and a plot of land about 20 x 20 yards. both elena's and enna's dachas were filled with brilliantly colored flowers and vegetables too. after touring both dacha's, enna sat us down on a hand-made blanket she had spread on her lawn and served us the most amazing tea. she had made homemade tea, and russian pancakes, which we ate folded up crepe style, drizzled with honey and dolloped with sour cream. after a diet of mostly meat, potatoes, bread and salami, we thought we were heaven. by now, it was about 8:45 p.m. and the sun was beginning to set. the conversation, the food, the weather, everything was idyllic. and just when we thought it couldn't get any better, the closed flower buds of a bush next to our tea party began to bloom right before our eyes. whoever saw it first squeeled and jumped up from the grass (i don't think it was alan; i don't think he would have squeeled.) and the rest of us followed. the buds were opening completely, one by one, in a matter of just a few seconds. it was as if they had been waiting for the sun to go down so they could open up, stretch out a bit and take in the stars. the most amazing thing is that although enna had planted these flowers several years ago, she had never before seen this happen. she usually isn't at the dacha that late. it was God's botanical firework show after a perfect evening.
as we left enna's dacha, stomachs and souls filled with extraordinary goodness, i noticed a large plant, about 3 feet high, shaped like one of those nasal syringes they send home with you for the baby postpartum. only this one was upside down, and covered with tiny light green nodules. i pointed it out to elena, saying it was pretty and asked what it was. she told me, "it's a weed. everything is beautiful in russia."
1 comment:
aaahhh, i feel like i just took a breath of fresh air. thanks for taking the time to share.
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