The Yew Tree

Hazards of living alone (after not living alone) without a car

2010-11-15T20:12:00.005-06:00

You get up and ride your bike in the cold (you can see your breath) to make it to the 8am service at church, only to find the sanctuary locked and no one there. After a few hard tugs at the door you remember that you were supposed to "Fall back" for daylight savings time and are now at the church an hour early. Fort
unately, no one is there to see your mistake. Unfortunately, you have to ride back home in the cold and then back out again in an hour.
You have to ride your bike even when its raining.
You may be adventurous and decide to make bread, and this is
what your first ever bread may come out looking like:
Otherwise, it's OK.

Dogsitting

2010-10-22T17:26:00.007-05:00

I had a new roomie this week: Makinzie took Macy (our dog) to Abilene, and Melinda (Makinzie's sister) let me borrow her dog, Annabelle, so that I could work on her behavior.

It worked out pretty well, except for the usual roommate squabbles. You know: who shares what space in the refrigerator, who gets to choose the movie for the night, who can urinate on the floor and when--those kinds of things.

Some highlights of the week have included:

Annie learning to "heel" on command
Annie barking her head off at the teapot the first time it whistles
Annie freaking me out by learning how to use Macy's dog door
Annie doing whatever she is doing in the grassy picture
Annie learning how to read rhetorical theory

Also, I'm pretty sure that last night when I let her out to use the bathroom before going to bed, Annie was trying to eat a *star*. The moon was full, and in the light I could see Annie repeatedly jumping up and snapping at something way out of her reach. I thought it might be a moth on first glance, but as I went closer to investigate, I could reach no other conclusion except that she was trying to bite a star. I'm sad to report that she did not catch it, at least as far as I could tell. Perhaps I'll find it buried in the couch cushion.

Before I end this post, my apologies for posting multiple pictures of the dog as though I am a strange, lonely bachelor with nothing else to do. I have plenty of other things to do; in fact I'm very busy. Right Annie?

[Annie nods yes].

Day at the Office

2010-10-03T22:44:00.002-05:00

The new officemates are kind of needy--difficult to get any research done.

These are Caedmon and Lincoln, my nephews, on a tour of my office and the campus last weekend.

Death of a Colleague

2010-09-27T22:31:00.002-05:00

The "normal" trials of Makinzie and I living in different cities were exacerbated last week when I learned that Scott, a professor in my department who I had been getting to know this summer, died unexpectedly in his home on Monday. Scott was kind to me from the first days that I stepped foot on the UNT campus, and I was able to know him better after he was assigned to observe my teaching during my second year review. I stressed and stressed for that review, going over every minute of my class plan in detail before the actual date of the observation. I was relaxed by the time that Scott showed up and took a seat in the back of the classroom, though, and I ended up following my class plan quite well. I still remember waiting for Scott's final evaluation, and I remember even more clearly what he wrote: "We made a great choice in hiring Matt. He's the cat's pajamas." I'm pretty sure that this is the first time "the cat's pajamas" has appeared as a qualifying adjective in the tenure review of a university professor.

After that observation, Scott asked me to come by his office at some point because he wanted to show me a technological innovation he had thought about while observing my teaching. (I'm not sure what he saw technology-wise in my own class. I think my grand innovation during that class period was using Powerpoint). When I had time one day I dropped by Scott's office, and Scott was clearly excited as he gathered up a mouse from his desk and told me to watch what he had come up with. He then walked down the hallway about ten yards, pointed the mouse towards the computer in his office, and began moving the mouse over his upturned palm. Surely enough, the pointer on his computer moved analogously. Scott was so proud that he had "invented" a wireless pointing device, and he gave all the credit to his observation of my class that semester. So far, I haven't received any payout from the invention...

I was able to spend more time with Scott this summer as he and I wandered into the local coffee house around the same time every morning. Scott always stopped to sit for a few minutes and talked with me about things ranging from Judith Butler and semiotic theory to the question of whether or not Brett Favre would return to the Vikings this year. I looked forward to these conversations and had hoped that Scott and I could trade papers in the near future since we shared similar theoretical interests.

So, the office on the second floor now feels hauntingly empty every time I pass it. Scott's boxes of books are still piled up outside the door. I think that humanities professors think our legacies live on through the contributions we make to the scholarly tradition through books and articles, but I remember Scott primarily as a person, through his kindness and interest in my own life.

The Story Thus Far...

2010-09-13T23:00:00.002-05:00

We're in the middle of an interesting life experiment right now. Makinzie has just started a 12-month intensive nursing school in Abilene through Texas Tech, and she will be living in Abilene with her parents for the majority of this year. This situation means that I am left here in Denton to figure out for myself things like going to the grocery store, cooking food and dressing in passably stylish clothing. Fortunately, Macy the miniature schnauzer is also here with me. She doesn't cook, but she has a fairly good eye for complementary colors, and most importantly she is an excellent buffer for my complaints about being lonely and not having anything to do.

So far the experiment has been successful. We've made it through about three weeks now, with Makinzie coming home at least once a week for a couple of days and then driving back to Abilene for most of the week. I have actually been able to get in a good rhythm finally with reading the Daily Office and the Daily Cowboys Report as well. I've also had more solid time to work on my book project, tentatively titled "Learning to Share." (I'll write more about this later perhaps).

The only frustration so far for me has been dealing with our corded phone, which dates from somewhere around 1986. We don't have long distance at home, so I pretty much sit by the phone waiting for people to call. Actually I really do sit by the phone, because our ancient model has a cord that allows me to travel approximately 3 feet before ripping out of the wall jack and going dead. Oh, and it also crackles severely. Some people would see this as a trial, but I find it empowering. Whenever I'm tired with a conversation, I just walk a little bit too far and PRESTO! the conversation ends.

The Yew Tree Emerges again

2010-08-29T12:10:00.002-05:00

New plans for the Yew Tree blog are developing, which include regular postings! Stay tuned for updates, and let us know through the comments if you are still able to see the site!

coolness and produce

2008-06-17T16:42:00.003-05:00

We've gotten some respite from the heat today--it's been very nice. Matt and I don't run our AC so the lower temp, cool rain, and strong breeze (the kind of wind that moves branches 10 feet) have been welcome here.

Meanwhile, the garden has been producing like crazy these last few days. It makes me happy to see all the produce piled up into a lump. Yea for yummy vegetables!

7 years ago today I was saying. . .

2008-06-16T16:57:00.003-05:00

Matthew, today I take you as my husband, committing myself to love and to serve you for the rest of my life. I know, and I affirm to you, that love is not merely the emotion I feel right now, but it is bond between us that we strengthen as we depend on eachother and on God during the challenges of life--a bond that I never will break. I promise to you that I will be patient and understanding as we both strive to answer God's call for our lives, learning and growing together.

I love you today deeper than that day seven years ago. Thank you for your steadfastness in your love for me.

The locals

2008-06-14T08:51:00.005-05:00

(alternate title: "Interpellation")

Headed out for a morning jog the other day with Macy at about 9:30 am or so. It was sprint day, so I was running pretty hard (listening to "Everyday" by Carly Comando--great running song). Macy was giving about half-effort, which she's being doing more and more as it climbs to 90+ degrees by mid-morning. Slacker. Let's just say that I had a good couple of steps on Macy as we cruised down the block. As I'm running, I begin to notice from my periphery a large object creeping slowly up on me--it's a truck. For a couple of steps I keep my pace and pretend that the truck isn't following me. It's happened before that cars slow down to look at rental houses, etc., and I just happen to be in their line of vision. But it's clear after a few more steps that this truck is stalking me. I nervously glance over into the cab of the truck and see the driver, a somewhat wild-looking, if older man, start to roll down the passenger side window. By this time, I realize that my full attention needs to be devoted to this situation, so I quickly pull out my headphone earbud (left side only), stop running, and shoot the driver a look that says both "What's up?" and "I'm a little worried that you're a crazy person trying to kidnap me." Ignoring my look and its dual meanings, the driver yells these words at me across the cab of the pickup: "I'm betting on the dog!" He smiles, then speeds up and drives off.

better world

2008-06-13T11:12:00.002-05:00

Just wanted to pass along info about a great place to buy books (new and used) online . . . www.betterworld.com . They sell used books, find homes for unwanted books, every order is shipped carbon neutral, and they support a variety of literacy programs. Thanks Lance for the tip.

Stars

2008-06-09T12:40:00.003-05:00

On our way back from San Antonio, we stopped by to visit Ben in Winters. . .I had forgotten what stars uninterrupted by light look like. I have no words to describe it--just feeling like I need to get out of the city at night more often.

2008-05-21T18:43:00.000-05:00

To live, we must daily break the body and shed the blood of creation. When we do it knowingly, lovingly, skillfully, reverently, it is a sacrament. When we do it ignorantly, greedily, destructively, it is a desecration.

- Wendell Berry
The Gift of Good Land

finally

2008-05-15T21:02:00.002-05:00

driving on my way back to the farm after a lovely evening with new friends--friends I feel deeply connected because of shared experiences--and i finally felt a release of pressure as my breaths became deeper and my shoulders more relaxed. . .i can be fulfilled/content in doing life how i'm yearning to live it right now--right now. this is big for me. thank you Spirit for this revelation.

Why?

2008-05-14T18:57:00.002-05:00

I’ve had several people ask me why I came out to work at the farm. Here are my reasons . . . I believe in what they do and wanted to do what I can to support that—educating people to go out and teach others about sustainable farming/agriculture. When I ask myself—what do I hold dear/spend time doing right now—I answer with growing produce in a way that is kind to the earth. I came to the farm to learn more about how to grow good things for my friends and neighbors. I also hope this to be a time in a different, more bucolic place, where I can meditate on what/if anything career-wise is next—I’m not even sure I know what this means. I’m meeting with a few people I know here in Waco to talk through some possibilities. I think that’s it for now. Thank you all for your interest/support of me.

good read

2008-05-10T10:12:00.003-05:00

I finished reading this book a few days back . . . I think it might be my favorite book of all time. There were moments sitting in the laundromat or on our bed looking outside our windows as I read that I just broke down in tears and balled my eyes out--there were sections of passages that spoke so deeply to my soul; I felt like she talked through ideas that really resonated with me--I rarely find that depth of camaraderie. Good times.

goodbye denton

2008-05-06T13:10:00.004-05:00

It looks like I'm going to be spending 2 weeks here starting next Monday. I'm really excited about what this time might bring.

gardening with my grandad

2008-05-05T23:22:00.003-05:00

Back in the middle of March my grandad and mom came out for a couple of days to show me how to put in a garden. Not only did we spend time gardening, I got a chance to get to know new levels of my grandad--like he's been a lifelong democrat--who knew? My grandad was a farmer for a good portion of his life, and it was such a distinct pleasure getting to interact with him in his element. There's a beautiful art to how he works the soil, adds nutrients, and treats the seeds/plants. It was such a soul warming time and has reinvigurated my passion for the earth and its goodness. Here's what the garden looked like 1 1/2 months ago . . .

and here's what it looks like now . . .

In the garden we've got tomatoes, beans, onions, squash, zuccini, peppers, carrots, beets, spinach, arugula, herbs, cantelope, and watermelon.

The arugula and spinach are ready for harvesting and we've been able to share our produce with friends and neighbors. We met Carl and his wife Jane (our neighbors 2 houses down who are in a band and have 2 grammys! crazy, huh?) yesterday and loaded them up with spinach and arugula. It's a nice feeling getting to provide our family and friends with fresh, organically grown produce. Thank you earth for your bounty and thank you Grandad for your wisdom.

Beet greens

2008-05-05T23:06:00.002-05:00

We had to thin out our carrots and beets, so they would grow big and strong. We got to eat these for dinner tonight. Yummy!

mushrooms

2008-04-23T10:00:00.000-05:00

matt's asleep. i'm laying here wrestling with what i'm doing with my life. at times i feel grounded and assured, and at other times i feel like i just drifting through it all. it's coming up on the end of the school year for matt, and i thought i would have had it figured out by now--what's next. i'm tired of waiting and being patient. this so goes against my core as a person. aahh!!!

meanwhile . . . harvested our first mushrooms today. some yummy portabellas that we used for veggie sandwhiches. here's a pic (imagine i'm saying, "oooo. . .aren't those beautiful mushrooms i grew. i bet they'll taste good."--and they did :)

Swamped

2008-04-15T09:24:00.004-05:00

I've realized a rhetorical dilemma with blogging for me: the interaction between me and you stands out as a problem, which I've solved in the past by the creation of elaborate and time-consuming narrative posts, attempting to provide enough context for any reader to enter into my experiences and thoughts. Some audience members appreciate this mode (thanks Dad!) while others have maligned it (boo unnamed!). But the baseline consideration is time. I haven't blogged lately because it was taking me two hours to craft the masterful art of each post, and I'm more interested in the possibility of keeping up communication and informing you all about our lived experiences. So I'm going to aim for brevity now, although a narrative may appear every now and again.

Yes, I realize that the paragraph above did not follow any of the "rules" therein contained. I'm starting....NOW.

Here are some pics from New Orleans--specifially, the Jean Lafitte National Preserve south of the city. There are some great narratives to go along with these pics, but...no, I must resist telling them. Brevity. (This new mode invites further conversation--I can tell you more if you call or email).

Continuing with the exigency of brevity, I'm going to give a two-minute version of issues on my mind right now. Michel Meyer, a French philosopher of "problematology", suggests that everything we do--communication, action, thought--is a performance aimed at solving the problems that motivate us both "in the moment" and more significanctly at the core of our experiences. So, here are some of the more significant "problems" I'm trying to answer right now:

Contending with postmodern philosophies (namely, those of Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida) and their implications for rhetoric
Conceiving of a post-postmodern direction for rhetorical study
Tying together these academic interests with my core values of faith and spirituality
Living out whatever I come up with in my daily life here
Getting ready for my class today instead of blogging

And I'd also like to share with you some of the ways I'm going about finding answers

Understanding Michel Meyer's philosophy of problematology
Figuring out the philosophy of Emmanuel Levinas and its implications for the above (thanks Liam!)
Listening to the intelligent conversations on the Veritas Forum (some challenging ideas in this one by Timothy Keller and this one by Dallas Willard) (thanks Josh!)
Reading Shane Claiborne's "The Irresistible Revolution" along with the Gospel of Luke
Shutting down the computer and actually taking a shower and heading out the door

Snow day

2008-03-07T12:47:00.005-06:00

Yesterday was March 6th--and it snowed over 1 foot here in Denton! Crazy, huh? It's practically spring and there's snow on the ground. Matt's classes were cancelled and we got to play in the snow and watch movies the rest of the day in celebration of our first snow day here. Good times.

Late night caucus

2008-03-07T11:48:00.007-06:00

Last Thursday I got to go to into Fort Worth to hear Obama speak at a rally there. Just entering the building brought tears to my eyes--there was such a beatifully diverse group of people there; I was deeply moved by the experience. Many of you got a call from me on Tuesday encouraging you to vote for Obama or at least make your voice heard in this process. After voting on Tuesday, I got to go back to my precinct at participate in the caucus. It was crazy--no one expected that many people to show up (five times more than the norm at our precinct), and we didn't get done until 11:00 that night. I got to meet a lot of great people and will be a precinct representative for our county convention--it's exciting to be a part of this process. Even though Barack didn't win the popular vote in Texas, he did win almost all of the major cities in Texas and should actually win the delegate count in Texas due to the large turnout of support for him in the caucuses. I just want to encourage all of you to do what you can to get the person elected you feel would best lead this country. I leave you with this message of hope. . . http://youtube.com/watch?v=jjXyqcx-mYY&feature=related

Adrienne

2008-02-27T15:43:00.003-06:00

After 5 years of not seeing eachother and living in states across the country from one another, the two of us end up in Texas in towns about an hour apart. She was my only friend out here when we first moved--I love that I've been able to see her more lately. She is wonderfully creative and has such a beautiful soul. Thank you for being in my life.

yummy earth

2008-02-27T15:37:00.003-06:00

In preparation for my grandad (a farmer by trade) coming out in a couple of weeks to help me plant and figure out irrigation for the garden, I've been composting all of our food scraps, leaves, other people's leaves I've raked for them, and so on to have some healthy soil when spring comes. I love the smell of fresh dirt when I turn the compost pile. It makes me happy.

Here we go again. . .

2008-02-27T15:03:00.003-06:00

Where I'm going, I don't know yet, but at least I'm going to get back on blogging about it. For those of you who don't know, last semester was a tough one for the both of us--I thought I was pretty good at handling transitions, but this last one rocked me. Thankfully, I feel as though we're out of the worst of it and are beginning to connect with the city and people here in Denton. Here's to hope and life that is all around us!

-Makinzie

Imminent Domain

2007-09-25T12:35:00.000-05:00

“It isn't going to be what we expected. It is old and little, and altogether delightful--red brick. From hall you go right or left into dining-room or drawing-room. Hall itself is practically a room. You open another door in it, and there are the stairs going up in a sort of tunnel to the first-floor. Three bed-rooms in a row there, and three attics in a row above. That isn't all the house really, but it's all that one notices--nine windows as you look up from the front garden.”

When E.M. Forster wrote these words in Howards End, he understood the central importance constructions of brick and wood have in our lives. Houses construct meaning. The house in Forster’s novel is built by the people who live in it, but the house builds the people as well—it shapes their perceptions of what is “safe,” what is “stable,” and what is “home.” A house, as Forster suggests, can become a touchstone for wealth and happiness, providing a standard by which we compare our lives with others’. The windows through which we gaze out into the world are always framed, and those frames are part of a threshold of experience we create, protect, and invest with time and energy.

What Forster’s novel doesn’t show is a house composed by the hospitality and humanity of the people within it: a house that welcomes, befriends, comforts, and heals. Maybe Forster never saw a house of this construction in his day, but they must have existed. You can’t recognize a building of this type by its drawing-rooms or dining-rooms or red bricks; it can only be experienced in relationship with its people, for the house becomes an extension of the human desire to belong and connect.

For months we have been looking for our “dream house,” and we have been slow to realize that our dreams really don’t depend at all on the shape or size of a building. Days after this epiphany struck us, a nice little house with a big yard came up for sale close to campus. We put an offer down within three hours of the listing.

So we buy a house on Friday, and our thoughts and prayers frame our hope for the house to become a space of belonging and connection.

“Only connect.” –E.M. Forster, Howards End

Deus Imbrium

2007-08-21T16:07:00.000-05:00

August 21, 2007

Last Thursday as the sun went down, had you been traveling in rural Comanche county, past the fields of cows and quiet ranch houses, miles away from any city lights, you might have seen a car stopped by the side of the road—its blinkers on and music issuing almost imperceptibly from its closed doors. Had you been a native West Texan, you might have wondered at the car’s California plates, noticeably out of place among the pump jacks and mesquite trees silhouetted in the darkening West Texas sky. “Tourists” you might have thought at first, but then you would have remembered that there is nothing to draw tourists to Rising Star, Texas, or, for that matter, to the nearby towns of Pioneer, Okra, or Chuckville. You might have thought “kin”, but then you would have had to rationalize the car’s present stopping place in the middle of nowhere. Ultimately, you would have been forced to conclude that the artifact from California had ended up where it was for a reason, and that, since it wasn’t your business to meddle in Californians’ affairs, you’d better just pass on by and be grateful that you were a Texan.

The car was ours, and the story of how it came to rest on a country road in the middle of rural West Texas is worth telling. It started with a sunset. Driving home from Brownwood, Texas, where we had helped my sister move in to her college dorm, we witnessed a dazzling display on the horizon—the sky awash in streaks of blue and gold as a thunderstorm faded with the dying light. We had to stop and take a picture. Mistake number one—violating the Texas Code of Living: Texans don’t stop and take pictures. The cosmic forces of Texas immediately made us pay for the mistake by locking our car doors and blowing them shut—our keys still inside. Then, without warning, the beautiful storm we had been watching in the distance changed course and began heading back towards us, thundering ominously and blackening the sky as it advanced.

As the rain began pounding the ground in front of us, our vision was clouded so that the only light we could see was the car’s turn signal blinking feebly orange. We had seen a ranch house in the distance before the storm hit, and we fled from the storm in the general direction of the ranch. Fortunately, we found the ranch house after a short sprint and the elderly couple inside graciously allowed us to use their phone, having first made sure that we were not rogue highwaymen come to wrestle their cattle. (I admit we did look rather harried—and I’ve always fancied myself a bandito.) A few phone calls later (including one “800 number” that was NOT a 24-hour towing hotline), I managed to locate an ‘ol boy with a truck who would help. Our conversation proceeded thusly: “When can you come?” I asked.

“Is it stormin’?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s comin’ down pretty hard” (I did my best ol’ boy Texas accent here.)

“Will I get wet?”

“Very likely.”

“Well, then, I’ll come whenever the storm finishes.”

“How long will that be?” I asked.

“Hard to say,” he said. It was clear that the cultural barrier had been breached at this point and I was not a welcome stranger. Imagining a long night in a lonely farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, I changed tactics.

“Is there anything I could do to persuade you to come more quickly?” I importuned.

“Depends” he said. “I don’t wanna get wet. What are you offerin’?”

So much for Texas hospitality. After a bartering session, we reached a gentleman’s agreement on a rip-off price and our noble rescuer promised to brave the storm and be there soon.
In the meantime, the kind woman who had taken us in had been talking nonstop to K— and was now scooping pecans into a bag for us to take on our way. This stranger, a veteran of many years on West Texas farms, had managed during our short intrusion to cover her entire family history from the Civil War to the present, with photographs for illustration. But her loquacity was comforting in a way, for the generous welcome and hospitality we received reminded us that there are still places where a stranger stranded by the side of the road will be taken care of—without thought of reparation or consideration of cost.

The ol’ boy towing man arrived about twenty minutes later, minutes after the rain had stopped completely. After taking all of two minutes to wedge open our car door and lift the lock with a tool, the tow-man went his way and we went ours. I began thinking about how silly we had been to make such a costly and time-consuming mistake. Then K— spoke. “That was amazing!” she said. “I wish that would happen more often.”

Whats Next

2007-08-09T00:06:00.000-05:00

“Well, we must wait for the future to show,” said Mr Bankes, coming in from the terrace.(1)

We have arrived in Denton, Texas. We knew it when we saw our first old cowboy—waving to us with a kindly welcome and a friendly grin. The fact that it was one in the morning and in front of a grocery store seemed only slightly odd. We are living now in a town where the car at the stoplight is bumping Brad Paisley. The local donut shop is called “Donut,” and it coexists happily with “Yummy’s” and “Frilly’s”— Greek and Cajun eateries. We are living now in God’s country, where on Sunday we heard a local preacher enliven his sermon with the phrase, “I’d kill ‘im, and you would too.”

We are living now with a seven-toed cat named Kalamazoo. “Kally” and his companion were part of the gift set, along with a house and pool, generously offered by friends to help us transition into life here in Texas. The house astounds with its glass-happy architecture and vibrant colors. You would love it. The cats qualify as our only roommates right now and constitute, unless we widen our circle to include waitresses and 7-11 employees, the group of living organisms to which we speak. Cat friends are depressing.

But our outlook brightens. After all, we survived the caravan from California to Texas. If, in last year’s trip to Russia, we identified with spacemen visiting an alien world, then this year we were mahouts coaxing our van across the 1400 mile desert. We had estimated our driving time at about 22 hours. For most of the 30-hour journey, our boxy beast was the slowest thing on the road. The languorous pace allowed plenty of time to take in surroundings; unfortunately, the surroundings of New Mexico and Arizona comprise mostly truck stops and mile markers. The exception is “The Thing”—a marvel of Interstate 10—which we visited after years of mystery and speculation. In fact, “The Thing” somehow had the power to draw our moving van forward with the fuel tank on “E” for 23 miles—uphill and through the rain—so that we stopped eerily at the doorstep of the “The Thing’s” gas station. Yes, “The Thing” has that kind of power. No, I won’t say what “The Thing” is. No, it is not a papier-mâché hoax.

So we arrived, moved into our temporary house, and unloaded our van into storage last week. We have spent this week enjoying our beautiful temporary house and chasing down driver’s licenses, car registration, and any leads on houses for sale. We have eaten at the local Pei Wei three times. Tomorrow we will try “Donut.”

(1) Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse

Uncle and Aunt

2007-03-08T11:38:00.000-06:00

Today we're happy to announce that we have new titles: "Uncle Matt" and "Aunt Kinzie". You should know that the Russian word for uncle is "dya-dya" and for aunt, "tyo-tya".

Oh, and also, Makinzie's sister Ashleigh and her husband Lance just had a baby boy--Caedmon Patrick Kelley. Born on March 7, 2007.

The Jury Show

2007-03-01T12:46:00.001-06:00

March 1, 2007
(Matt)

I spent the entire day yesterday on a court-summoned field trip to learn about our criminal justice system. This was a new world of discourse for me, and I really became aware of the fact when I made it through the metal detectors at about 7:30 am, went up the stairs and down a long hallway, and happened to overhear a rough-looking man huddled in the corner saying into his cellphone, (imagine a deep, shadowy voice here) “Well, if the game won’t change, then the players will just have to change the rules . . .”. I have only the wildest thoughts about what such a phrase might mean within the context from which it was spoken. Anyway, it was clear that the “game” I would be playing throughout the day as a juror-in-waiting was going to be far different than the life I usually live as a normal citizen.

In the jury room, over 280 people were gathering as hopeful chosen’s for the days trials. I tried to read and look preoccupied so that no one would talk to me in the big jury room, but it didn’t work. The girl who sat down next to me noticed me reading and asked me if I was a student. The question turned out to be more of an introduction to her own autobiography, which began with the opening strategy of shock: “It’s no fun when you’re three years old and your mom has brain surgery and you try to jump on the bed to keep her from getting up and she throws you onto the floor and you hit your head.” What does one say to such a statement? I had to agree that the times this situation has happened to me, it has indeed been no fun. Sadly, my name was called as part of an 80-person jury selection panel, and I had to say goodbye to my new awkwardly self-revealing friend.

The jury selection process might be compared to the standard part of a game show where the host asks the contestants to tell a little bit about themselves, except that in the courtroom, the host throws out the contestants if he doesn’t like their answers. Well, and also, the questions from host to contestant deal with criminal background and presuppositions about guilt and innocence. Oh, and also the contestants do not WANT to be on the show (for the most part) and keep trying to find excuses to NOT play the game. Watching this process from the audience, I felt myself feeling both a perverse curiosity about the intimate details of these strangers’ lives and a profound sense of entertainment as judge, lawyers, and reluctant jurors put on a sensational show.

The real highlights of the day were the “show-stoppers”. These are the jurors-to-be who, for whatever reason, feel that the courtroom setting is their time to shine. Most lines of questioning take about five or six minutes; the “show-stoppers” get about thirty. I think that everyone in the audience had a favorite “show-stopper”, but mine was “Maria”, the woman with “two Master’s degrees, your honor”, who initially asked to be excused because (and this is her logic faithfully represented) she lived in the same town where the crime took place and jogged every morning around the track in her neighborhood with two black women. After about ten minutes of clarifying questions, neither the judge nor anyone else in the courtroom was any closer to figuring out what in the world this lady was saying. But it got better.

Although Maria (not her real name, for reasons you’ll soon see) grudgingly acquiesced to the judge’s order for her to take a place in the jury box, she was not through developing her argument. When the judge asked if anyone had a predisposition morally against the defendant, Maria said, “I think I do.” During the next twenty minutes, Maria revealed the following facts in support of her argument: 1) She was college counselor. 2) She jogged around the track in her neighborhood with two black women (yes, I know, but she said it again). 3) She married “an Asian”. 4) All the male students at her college seemed to love her. 5) She had a “gift” for being objective. 6) She thought that the defendant had a “system” in place that would find out where she jogs in her neighborhood if she was on the jury. 7) She prayed every night to be safe because she was a Christian.

Fortunately, the judge was able to hone in on Maria’s primary concern, and asked: “Excuse, me, Mrs. ____, but are you afraid that someone in this courtroom will retaliate against you if you are on the jury?” Yes, Maria, admitted, although she reiterated her gift at being “objective.” “What kind of TV shows have you being watching, Mrs. ______?” the judge wanted to know. So, it turns out that Maria believed (objectively) that because the defendant had looked at her as she took her place in the jury box, he was memorizing her name and face and preparing to send out hitmen from his “system” to “take care of her” while she slept—or perhaps jogged with her two black friends. Amazingly, Maria made it onto the final jury and was only dismissed at the last minute by a peremptory charge from the prosecuting attorney.

As for me, my own time in the spotlight was much less dramatic. I watched the pool of 62 “leftover” jurors dwindle as more people found excuses for not wanting to serve. Time was running out in the day when my name was finally called, and I moved from alternate seat to the real jury box with only six jurors left in the pool. The defense counsel had said that he was happy with the jury as it was, but then the prosecutor stepped in and dismissed me with one of his “peremptories”. I was slightly relieved, because I don’t know what would have happened if I had to miss the last two weeks of teaching my writing class. When I told this to my class this morning, they returned a unanimous decision that they would have done fine with a two-week break.

So what did I learn in the process of jury duty? One, take an iPod to the jury room to avoid any kind of interpersonal interaction. Two, use the words “financial hardship” as a magic ticket off of any jury panel—they seem to work without question. And three, since you’re given the chance to stand up in front of an educated audience including judges, sheriffs, lawyers, and various other upstanding citizens in society, take time to make it worth everyone’s while. Razzle-dazzle ‘em. Not everyone can make it to Hollywood or Broadway, but most of us will get at least one chance every twelve months or so to turn the criminal justice system into a venue for the most dazzling of human spectacles.

Coping with Good News

2007-02-27T17:12:00.000-06:00

(Matt)

We apologize for the almost two-month gap between this post and our last, but the momentous weight of the events in the interim have given us a need to "set a spell" and gather our thoughts.

The most surprising news is that Matt has been offered and has accepted a tenure-track professorship at a large research university in Texas. We had been praying that our choice would be made clear, and it has become unquestionably clear that this is the "right" next move. We just signed a six-month lease on an apartment here in CA, so it looks as though our transition from California to Texas will begin in early August of 2007. The prospect of starting a new career and having a more stable (read: actually paying) basis for researching and teaching is really exciting, and we are looking forward to finding our place within a new community. The job itself is an answer to prayer; teaching at a big school presents both a blessing and a challenge. I have to admit personally that I am anxious about the process of establishing tenure and getting a book-length work ready for publication, but at the same time I have seen my greatest fears turned into moments of faith-building and trust in the last few years.

What surprises us most about the "good news" is how we have acclimated to the reality of having the next big phase of our life settled, to a certain extent. Our discussions of late have revolved around our sensations of scatteredness and even confusion. We’re excited about the future and at the same time we feel like we’re stumbling around a bit in the present.

This state of nebulousness is not really a bad thing overall. In fact, I know that we will emerge with a greater clarity of vision. In the meantime, at least our blog is back up :)

Back home

2007-01-11T14:51:00.000-06:00

We made it back home to so cal last night and are staying with some sweet friends until we can get into a place.

These past few weeks have been crazy going around from place to place trying to squeeze as much as we could out of our time while we were in Texas. Family—I know some of y’all we only got to be with for a few hours, but, sitting next to Francie and feeling the radiance of her spirit on a Sunday night, getting to feel the life growing in Ashleigh’s tummy, traveling with Mema, talks with the cousins—these things and many more brought a warmth to my spirit; thank you for blessing us with your lives.

Because we did so much hopping around through Texas and Philadelphia (praise Him for the blessing of a school-site interview!) I know for at least myself I didn’t get to process everything that happened as we transitioned to life back here. We were blessed so much through mutual sharing, love, encouragement, etc. with those we love back in Russia—because of this, I felt this empty space as we returned to life back in the states; partly because I’m just plain sad about the separation and partly because I hadn’t quite thought through how exactly those relationships would continue when we returned.

Along with those feelings, as we drove back to California I felt a little nervous (along with excitement) about getting back into life and lives—wasn’t quite sure about what things would look like, especially since we’re unsure where God will take us after these next six months in Riverside.

This morning I spent some time driving around and at a place of peace for me here in Riverside and the Spirit blessed me with my own renewed sense of peace that I hadn’t felt since we were back in Moscow. Thank you, Father. I feel healed.

-Makinzie

Granddad

2007-01-11T14:48:00.000-06:00

Matt’s granddad passed away this past Sunday. I know my relationship was different with him than that of his kids or grandkids because I’ve only known him for the past 8 or so years. I want to say thank you, though, to Jack. Thank you for being willing to share and laugh with me (things I did with my own Papa before he died 9 years ago). I am thankful that we were blessed to be with Granddad for a few hours over the holidays and thankful for God’s perfect timing through this whole thing and thankful that for all of our grandparents that have guided and been a voice in our lives as we try to live lives of love that we’ve seen through them.

-Makinzie

Scattered leaves

2006-12-22T07:37:00.000-06:00

"All mankind is of one Author, and is of one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated. God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another."
--John Donne

Back

2006-12-20T12:31:00.000-06:00

Just letting y'all know we made it back safe and sound. We're in Texas for the next week, then off to Philly for Matt's job stuff, back to Texas for another week and should be in so cal again around the 10th of January. Our old cell phone is back on if y'all need/want to reach us. Thank you for your prayers, and we'll post more once we've had a chance to process some things.

Love y'all-
Makinzie

Goodbye, Moscow

2006-12-15T08:46:00.000-06:00

We're leaving in about 7 hours for the airport to head back. Thanks for supporting us on our journey. We love you all.

-Matt and Makinzie

Sadness

2006-12-11T15:01:00.000-06:00

I sit here, three days left to go out here, trying to process the incredible sadness I’ve been feeling in my soul over these last few days. This past weekend was filled with last conversations, times of encouragement and being encouraged, laughter, tears. As we were all praying on Friday night, I acknowledged that part of my heart will remain here—with these beautiful people that have allowed us to be a part of their lives. This I say to you, dear friends. . .

“I still remember all the wonder,
The glorious thrill of meeting you,
The momentary spell of splendor,
Spirit of beauty pure and true.

When sadness came upon me, endless,
In vain society’s direst days,
I heard your voice, your accents tender,
And dreamt of heaven in your face.

Now once again my heart is racing,
Proclaiming the renewal of
My former tears, my inspiration,
My sense of God, and life, and love.”

-Alexander Pushkin

I love you all.
-Makinzie

Turgenev

2006-12-11T09:22:00.000-06:00

"Can their prayers and their tears be fruitless? Can love, sacred, devoted love, not be all-powerful? Oh, no! No matter how passionate, sinning, rebellious is the heart hidden in the grave, the flowers growing on it look at us serenely with their innocent faces; they speak to us not only of that eternal peace, of that great peace of 'impassive' nature; they speak to us also of eternal reconciliation and of life everlasting. . ."

Fathers and Sons, Ivan Turgenev

Father, thank you for peace, reconciliation, and life.

-Makinzie

Class Today

2006-12-11T09:19:00.000-06:00

Today in my second to last Russian lesson, we learned about how to use comparative words (bigger, newer, best, etc.). As I was trying to get these words into my brain, it got me thinking. . .do we really need these words? “I have the fastest car, newest home, better work. . .” Hmm. . .

-Makinzie

"Coffee, please"

2006-12-08T05:22:00.000-06:00

A quick anecdote from today's "Russian Excursion". Enjoy this one while you're sipping your Starbucks (Joe) and reading our blog before you start your day.

I asked my my Russian teacher, Nelly Alexandrovna Roslyakova: "Do Russians prefer tea or coffee?" She answered "tea" and then went on to explain that tea is traditional in Russia while coffee is imbibed usually only in the cities; it's a "foreign" drink. She continued to explain that Peter I introduced coffee and had a special plan for guaranteeing its popularity in Russia. How? He gave his nobles a choice: "Pi'ye ili v tyiurmu". The phrase is funnier in Russian, but it roughly translates to "Coffee or prison." The favorable reception of coffee in Russia was thus secured.

I never know what I'll learn when I ask questions here.

--Matt

Penultimate

2006-12-07T03:24:00.000-06:00

(Matt)

We have just over a week left and I'm beginning now to process our experiences in broader terms than what I need to know to make it through the next week. Last evening, Makinzie and I had a discussion about the ways in which our time here has impacted our own life-decisions and the direction we want our lives to take in the future. We both agreed that living in Moscow is not so much different from living in any Western city, and yet I still believe that acclimating to life in Russian culture has made the most minute details of our "usual life" in America stand out in greater relief. The biggest question for me right now is how this defamiliarizing way of viewing our past will affect what we accept as "standard" for our lives in the future. I know I will be dwelling on this question for a long time in the weeks to come, and I would welcome thoughts from your own experiences.

I leave you with two words of wisdom from what I've learned in Russia:

You can say to a person Вы хорошо выглядиш (Voi Horosho VOI-gliadish) but never Вы хорошо выгладиш (Voi Horosho voi-GLA-dish). The difference in pronunciation is subtle but crucial. The first phrase means "you look great today"; the second phrase, oh-so-easy to mispronounce, means "you iron clothes well today", and carries the implication that your addressee should consider doing your laundry for you.
I was reading a Christmas Card in Russian today and translating some of the words I didn't know. Wanting to practice the phraseology, I told someone "мечты ваши заветные испoртяться скоро" ("Mechti vashi zovetniye ispolnayayutsa skora"). I had wanted to say "May your precious dreams soon come true." Ah, but the crucial Russian verb is испoлняться, which looks very similar to, but is not испoртяться. Anyway, what I had said was "May your precious dreams quickly come to ruin."

We goin’ to the zoo, zoo, zoo

2006-12-03T20:23:00.000-06:00

This past Saturday morning I had the blessing of getting to hang out with some really cool kids, parents, and volunteers at a zoo here in Moscow. A group children with disabilities (similar to the students I have in my own classroom back in so cal) and people that care about these kids get together for outings in parks around Moscow to provide relief for the parents, promote social awareness, and to serve the kids.

Oh, how my soul was refreshed to be a part of this! I miss my students and the special light they reflect in others. I had great conversations with people about the status of services for these kids in Russia as well as practical ideas of how they might be better served to live life more independently. Over the course of these past few months here, I have also been blessed to have been able to dream with students and friends whose heart is with these children.

Father, it brings warmth to my spirit and a smile to my face to see people’s hopes to change the system. I earnestly ask your guidance and blessing in these friends’ lives along with the children they so beautifully strive to serve. May You be glorified in all that is done here to seek justice!

-Makinzie

Firsts

2006-12-03T19:56:00.000-06:00

This weekend we had several firsts (at least firsts in a while). . .

We visited a house for the first time outside of the city of some friends my parents knew over 20 years ago.

I tried холва (halva) for the first time brought over by some students this past weekend. How could something made from the byproduct of sunflower oil and that has such a strange greyish-greenish color actually taste good?

We took our first car ride in 3 months going to the ouside of town, and we both felt queasy--really queasy; guess we'll have to take car riding slow when we get back.

I got to go to the zoo with some kids this weekend—first time I actually saw character people standing around talking with their heads off more—made me laugh.

-Makinzie

Reasons I am thankful for our community in Russia. . .

2006-11-29T20:36:00.000-06:00

new friends being willing to enter into our lives and allow us to be a part of theirs
both the apartment manager and I waiting, smiling, waving, and talking as I enter/leave the building
seeing people I know where I shouldn’t see them (in a city of millions); seeing people out on the street, in the metro, out walking—there’s something about that that fills my soul up with such a warmness
being called out in truth by a friend
walking with my husband
seeing changes in friends and in myself that were not purposely sought out but are ultimately for good
reading/studying His word together
eating Russian meals in Russian homes
having our home filled with those we love
sharing in people's dreams

-Makinzie

Lily

2006-11-29T20:31:00.000-06:00

Lily is a dear friend who entered the university when she was only 16 (“high school” finishes around 16 or 17). She is this incredible woman of peace and has this beautiful spirit that encourages anyone she is around. Lily has recently been struggling with confusions of where she should be doing His work. She is currently frustrated with the Russian system of how social work (her major) is honorably conducted here. I ask you to join me in praying for her; she is such a good and just woman. Father, I ask for you to bless Lily with boldness and encouragement in whatever choice she makes—thank you for this dear friend with such a pure desire to seek change in her motherland.

-Makinzie

The Box of Chocolates

2006-11-29T08:54:00.000-06:00

(Matt) Events of last Friday, Nov. 25

“Don’t forget” Nelly Alexandrovna (my Russian teacher) told me as she handed me a plain white parcel that she had identified only as “heavy.” I put the box in my bag and told her, “OK, I won’t forget.” I really had no intention of forgetting the box (which was not really all that heavy), but I didn’t realize at the time how direly serious Nelly was in her command. She wasn’t requesting that I not forget, she was warning me in a subtle Russian way that to forget the box would be to open the floodgates of misery and horror for me, her, and a google of other Russians whose happiness and well-being apparently depended on the safe delivery of the white box that was now in my very possession.

I later found out that the box contained about twenty-five individually wrapped chocolate candies. I also later found out the meaning of the word “kashmar”—in Russian, “nightmare.”

We continued on our journey of the day, which was to the “roinok” or market, called “Izmailova,” a notable place for tourists to gather to be “trapped” and sellers to practice the English phrase “Come look; only 500 rubles.” For some reason, Izmailova is at least 20 degrees colder than any other place in the city of Moscow, and my hands would be red and freezing for at least six hours after we eventually left the market.

The first thing that Nelly said to Makinzie and I when we entered the threshold of the market was “don’t speak.” Apparently, our fluent and perfectly-accented Russian capabilities betray our real identities of “rich Americans.” I asked Nelly if we wouldn’t already be identified as foreigners anyway because I was wearing Bert’s blue and bright yellow Columbia jacket and Makinzie was wearing a bright white fleece coat and neon green mittens and stocking cap. Given that the normal Russian outfit is black everything, I was sure that we couldn’t have looked more foreign even if we were wearing our everyday Texan attire of spurs, boots, and oversized ten-gallon hats. But Nelly said our clothing was OK. Our eyes, however, were not OK. Don’t look interested or look around, she explained—look bored and tired.

So we donned the identity of the “typical” Russian customer, disinterested, aloof, apathetic. The change was immediate: suddenly we blended seamlessly into the crowd.

Except that none of the market sellers recognized our obvious Russianness. A woman came running up to us as we passed by her kiosk, babbling a stream of friendly English phrases. “Matryoshki dolls,” she said (these are the nesting dolls); “only fifty rubles! Please look!”

Nelly Alexandrovna bristled. She fired back at the woman a string of harsh sounding Russian phrases, asking her, “What do you think we are, foreigners? Why are you talking to us in English?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said the seller, now speaking rapidly in Russian. “I thought you were Americans. The dolls are only 30 rubles.”

After Nelly gave the woman a brief lecture about the unfairness of spiking the prices for foreigners, she asked the seller, “what makes you think we’re Americans, any way.”

“Well, it’s your clothing,” the woman said. “You look like foreigners.”

“What, me?” Nelly shot back. “What are you saying?”

“No; the young man and the young lady; they’re wearing such bright clothing—they look like Americans.”

So much for our disguise.

The fun continued as we went from stall to stall. The sellers weren’t quite sure how to treat a group where one woman spoke English and the other two customers were apparently mute. They frequently asked Nelly, “do they [pointing to us like we were three-year-olds] speak Russian?” Usually, I would answer “Da” at the exact same moment that Nelly answered “n’yet.” We received more than one look that conveyed the idea that we must have been dragging Nelly along with us at gunpoint. Fortunately, no one was going to raise prices on Nelly, so her presence overrode our obvious failure to perform Rusianness in any competent way.

Well, having finished our experience of the day at the market, we headed back into the Metro station, where we had to part ways. I told Nelly that we were going to go to the university for the rest of the day because we had an event to attend at night. She said that she was going to the train station and then out of town. We exchanged good byes and separated.

The chocolates stayed with me.

At the halfway point on our hour-long journey to RACU, Makinzie and I decided that we would just head home instead of waiting at the university. It seemed like a good decision because we needed to rest and we had already prepared food to eat at home. Along the way, I looked into my bag and saw the chocolates. “Oh no!” I cried, turning to Makinzie. “What should we do?” Well, we considered backtracking the 30 minutes to the last place we had seen Nelly, but then our better judgment kicked in and we decided that she would have already left for the train. So we went home and rested for about three hours and then got out again and made the 1 ½ hour trip back to RACU for the evening’s events.

Imagine our surprise, then, when we arrived at the university and were greeted by about five students who announced, “Nelly Alexandrovna has been looking for you!” Yes; although we had last seen Nelly almost six hours previous, on the entirely opposite side of Moscow, she had taken a two-hour metro ride in the opposite direction from her intended destination in order to find us and obtain her chocolates. She had arrived at RACU almost four hours before us!

Nelly wasn’t very happy when she saw us. I gave her the chocolates and she said, “You told me that you wouldn’t forget!”

“I know,” I told her, “I’m very sorry!”

“You also told me that you were coming straight to RACU!” she exclaimed.

I didn't know how to make my voice more peninent. “I know! I’m sorry; we decided to go home and rest!” I exclaimed, with my best puppy eyes.

By now, a small crowd had gathered to witness the spectacle. I don’t know very many words for “I’m sorry” in Russian, but I used all of them in trying to apologize to Nelly.

After a few more minutes of clarification, Nelly left the university with her chocolates, apparently bound for another two-hour ride on the Metro and then a longer transfer on an electric train to the outer limits of Moscow.

On this Tuesday when I met with Nelly again for my lesson, I tried one more time to make amends for what must have been a disappointing weekend. After I expressed my apologies, I have to confess that I expected the typical American reciprocation, something to the effect of "No, don't worry about it; it was my fault as much as yours."

Instead, Nelly corrected my phrase. I had said, literally, "Please excuse me for what happened last Friday." What I should have said, apparently, was (again, literally translated) "I felt myself ashamed in front of you last Friday."

Так жизнь в Россие ("such is life in Russia")

--Matt

Thanksgivens

2006-11-23T13:59:00.000-06:00

Good week.

It ended with a nice Thanksgiving meal today--the traditional American turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie, eaten with friends over the course of five or six hours. Makinzie even made her very first pecan pie for the meal (without Karo syrup, mind you**) and it turned out great!

We're sitting and typing now, quite full with a lot of good food. Truly a good Thanksgiving, even thousands of miles away.

And good news came aplenty this week even before Thanksgiving. We had an excellent class together, my students and I, on Tuesday, and I was really very encouraged by the experience. I had the pleasure of hearing some of the students say, "That was a good discussion today! Thanks Mr. Heard!" I was excited to see the students fully involved and participating; the entire atmosphere was very positive and even fun. Thanks for your prayers for me on this issue.

On top of this, we found out some of the most important "American" news we've recieved so far--the first request for an MLA interview in December.

So we're happy tonight and rejoicing with all of you, family and friends. Our Thanksgiving day proper is almost over now (it's 11:00 pm), but we will be thinking about you as you celebrate. We love you!

--Matt

**Footnote: Kinzie has uncovered a conspiracy kept secret by the Karo syrup company. She has discovered that the first recipes for pecan pies began appearing around the same time that Karo syrup came into being. We can only conclude from these facts that the Karo brand company invented pecan pie as a way of tricking Americans into associating Karo syrup with our most beloved Thanksgiving traditions.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Благодарении

2006-11-22T13:27:00.000-06:00

"And it seems to me that this pain is something for a time, for it purges and makes us know ourselves and ask for mercy; for the Passion of our Lord is comfort to us against all this, and that is his blessed will. And because of the tender love which our good Lord has for all who will be saved, he comforts readily and sweetly, meaning this: It is true that sin is the cause of all this pain, but all will be well, and every kind of thing will be well."
Julian of Norwich, Book of Showings, 1400 A.D.

December 16th

2006-11-20T10:38:00.000-06:00

Malika and I meet once a week to talk, read, and encourage one another; we just finished our time this evening. In case y'all were wondering, she did end up going to Krasnodar--had two opportunities to begin discussions with people about His love on the 28-hour train ride; she is a beautiful woman of love and truth, and it made my heart happy to see her encouraged through meeting with her friend and connecting with people along the way. I feel so blessed to find a sister out here in whom I've been able to connect with in such a deep way so quickly.

Brings me to my confusions as of late. . .this past Saturday marked the four week countdown until our return to the states; this past weekend was one of beginning to and furthering connections with some friends of old ("old" being a relative term, since our journey here has only been one of three months in total) and new friends. At times, I've gotten down about the few weeks we have left in Moscow (just as were starting to hit that breakthrough point in some relationships, we're returning), other times I weep from a deep sadness as we stand at the metro doors closing, waving to our friend as she journeys back to her home, and still other times, I feel pressure and feel the need to be in panic mode and do, do, do in order to compensate for the December 16th return date quickly approaching.

Working through all these pulls and feelings, I have been reminded tonight in 1 Peter to put this quickly approaching date behind me for the time being and just "love. . .deeply,"--man, I like that phrase. With our imminent return to the i.e., I am excited and further convicted about some practical discussions Matt and I've had about how we might live lives that are "holy in all that [we] do." Pray that we might fervently continue our journey out here for these next few weeks; thank you for you guys' partnership and encouragement; we are blessed to have y'all out here in Russia with us.

Love y'all-
Makinzie

Thanksgivings

2006-11-19T13:47:00.000-06:00

(Matt)

19-11-06

Sunday morning, 7:45 am. Outside, it’s peaceful. Not quite dawn, the dim light reveals the bare outlines of apartment buildings and the silhouettes of trees blanketed in snow. An occasional lamp shines in the windows of the otherwise dark clusters of buildings, but for the most part, the city is quiet and still. It feels as though I’m the only one awake.

Inside, I’m peaceful, too. Although I imbibed coffee last night at much too late an hour to get a full night’s sleep, I somehow feel rested and refreshed—a welcome state of mind that has been much desired in the past few weeks. Last night we had more students over than we have ever had before; Makinzie and I both invited our classes on the same evening, and consequently our living room was so packed that people were spilling out into the dining room and kitchen. And whereas on most other nights we have spoken in English to help the students in Makinzie’s intensive language classes, last night the students informed us that we were “outnumbered” and would have to speak in Russian only. These rules intimidated me at first. I don’t like laughter at my expense, and having twenty people hanging on my every word makes me hesitant. In the end, though, the circumstances inspired a sense of community and fraternity that put my previous thinking in sharp relief and made me realize certain imperfections in my thinking.

Let me explain. Remember that in the preceding weeks, I have been questioning seriously my exact role here in Russia. Not that I ever doubted our mission here in general, but in the midst of complaining students, a time-consuming job hunt, and the ongoing struggle to improve my Russian past the level of a five-year old, I wondered specifically, “what I am being taught through this process?” Then on Friday night, Makinzie and I went to a “Dyen Blagadareneye” (Thanksgiving Day) party hosted by the students at RACU. The entire program was in Russian, without a word of English spoken, and I left the party thinking about “hospitality” in Russia and the contrast between my experience and all of your own reports about the people you have encountered in foreign countries. Joe, Dan, Liam, Mema—you all came back from trips abroad talking about the warmth and friendliness of the people you met, and I have been desirous of finding the same attitude in the Russian people. But I have felt that we keep meeting with a shell of indifference and aloofness (actually, that I keep meeting with this shell, since Makinzie seems to be accepted instantly by everyone she meets.) Where are the happy joy times that are supposed to make me feel that what I’m doing is worthwhile?

Well, I think an obvious answer to my question is that I’m not here to bolster my own feelings of self-worth. I’m here to empathize with the very people that seem to be so guarded and impenetrable. At times this realization has knocked me in the head. For example, last week I asked my teacher, Nelly Alexandrovna, why Russians only and always wear black (and I mean “always” quite literally). Nelly gave me two reasons: first, she said that as recently as fifteen years ago many citizens were only able to take showers once a week, and that black clothing has always been the natural choice to disguise the evidence of life in the cold and grimy environs of the city. Her second reason was even more sobering: she explained that most Russians live with the memory of the days when to “stand out” from the crowd was to condemn oneself to prison, exile, or words; therefore the long black coat has become all but an agreed-upon symbol of conformity. Given the mindset of people for whom something as simple as clothing choice could have such serious consequences, doesn’t it make sense that in general one would be hesitant to trust, hesitant to accept others?

It’s been difficult for me to balance this knowledge of Russian history and psychology with the daily experience of being an “outsider” that leaves me feeling at times equally defensive, frustrated, and unfulfilled. However, I believe that I have allowed my few unpleasant experiences to tip the scales away from the kind of embracing, optimistic attitude that I see in Makinzie and in several of the RACU students with which we have become close friends. The imbalance was revealed to me last night during our “student night” when one of my students thanked me for making classes so interesting and fun. “I’m sorry”, she said, “that some of the other students are so mean and rude. I don’t know why they act this way.” The student went on to explain that she is currently taking 33 hours of coursework. That’s not a typo; she’s taking 11 college classes in one term! With such a workload, she certainly has good reason for being overstressed and ill-humored. Her compliment, given in such circumstances, felt all the more sincere. As I sat among the students last night and listened to their rapid and excited conversations with one another, I finally felt as though all of the little things that had been bothering me in the past few weeks were suddenly unimportant and trivial. I felt at peace then and I still feel at peace now as I watch sky grow pink between the rows and rows of apartment buildings.

So the long and short of this peripatetic post is that I have indeed experienced, in Josh’s words, “lightening difficulties.” Maybe the truth is that the difficulties haven’t weighed any less so much as my attitude towards the difficulties has lightened. No matter how much resistance I encounter to my attempts to teach Sociolinguistics or Brit. Lit, my goal here really isn’t to spread the good news about Milton’s Paradise Lost. Nor am I here to sermonize on the conversational values of the Malagasy tribe in West Africa. If the students—our friends in Russia—happen to learn to like Shakespeare in the time I am with them, I’ll consider it a bonus. But the servant’s work never really is supposed to be glorious, is it?

By the way, last night the students responded to my new enthusiasm and reinvigorated spirit by killing me off first in our game of “Mafia”. Apparently a shark came and bit off both of my legs and I bled to death. It’s nice to be appreciated.

Denouement

2006-11-10T04:20:00.000-06:00

11-10-06

(Matt)

Looking outside today, I can see why Russians talk about the winter with mixed emotions. After the beautiful first snow, the last days have given us light rains, and as a result the streets have turned into conduits for dirt and sludge. A kind of grittiness has settled into the environment and the people. I am pushed out of the way by babushkas boarding the bus much more often than before.

But babushkas aside, Makinzie and I are finding daily life much less chaotic this week than in the weeks before, and I wanted to share updates on the class situation, which has improved but in a very strange way. Thanks to each of you who took time to encourage me and offer advice from your own experiences as I shared my frustrations about the classes.

What has been so strange to me is that I have received uplifting news during the last week in regard to almost all other areas of my life as a teacher in Russia except for the two courses which have given me the most anxiety. I found out this week that my very first scholarly article will be published in College Literature, a journal, in January, and I actually received images of what the pages will look like in the journal. Exciting! And then when Makinzie and I invited my Shakespeare class over for dinner last Saturday evening, several of the students told me how much they were enjoying the class and how much they felt they were learning about Shakespeare.

I attempted to ride this wave of encouragement into my Sociolinguistics course last Monday evening, and I have to say that things were somewhat better. The students interacted with me at the beginning of class, but began to wane in interest after about 45 min. of our lesson (in a two hour course). The really confusing part of the week was that in British Lit. on Tuesday I had to play the part of both teacher and student because I could not get the students to participate or comment at all. I haven’t ever had that happen before.

I’m determined to keep trying and I’m no longer in despair about these two classes, but I am still puzzled as to why I am seeing so much confirmation in some areas of my life and not as much in others. I’m very willing to say that the problem is with my clarity of vision and not with the vision itself, but I’m not sure about what actions one takes in such a situation. All I will say is that I am not going to literally take a hammer and break the fingers of my students as some of you have suggested in your violent, thinly concealed metaphors.

Really, I’m interested to see how this all plays out.

On another note, Kinzie and I have had a lot of fun together in the past week after coming off of the hellish time of application writing. Kinzie’s birthday was last Thursday, and I surprised her by doing nothing for her and hardly talking to her at all during the day. I had to teach in the morning and prepare for my Russian lesson in the afternoon, so we had to delay the birthday celebration until Sunday. Fortunately, Kinzie’s students came through and treated her like a Russian princess, buying her roses and making her an authentic dish of Uzbeki rice pilaf. But I far outdid the students when Sunday came around by treating Kinzie to Papa John’s pizza (which tastes really good after the Russian “attempts” at frozen pizza we had tried in the local store) and a day full lounging and laziness. Having time together was a luxury since it had been the first day in several weeks that we really were able to sit down together for more than an hour or so! Kinzie was so grateful that she took time this week to look over my article for College Literature and found a significant error on the first page, which I was able to correct before the deadline! So the future of Zora Neale Hurston’s literary reputation can be traced back to Kinzie and Papa John’s pizza.

It’s been great to settle into a routine with less pressure and panic, and we’re both excited to be able to focus more on the students in the last month while we’re here. We want to look back at this last month and see our expectations overwhelmed completely, so please pray with us accordingly.

--Matt

Last Weekend

2006-11-09T23:28:00.000-06:00

Thanks to all y'all for sweet birthday wishes. . .On Thursday, we had fun times at our house with some friends. Friday, we went to the Pushkin with friends and went to Dedovsk (a town outside of Moscow) to visit friends outside of the city. Saturday we had some people over from some of Matt's classes over--poor Matt, he's so outnumbered. Towards the end of the night, Tanya said, "let's play mafia." Can you believe it? They have the same mafia as we do--nice to have fun time connections (in case you were wondering, I won when I was the killer--would you expect anything else?).

Time at the Pushkin

Tanya, the girl in red and also excellent mafia player, is really good at braiding people's hair--she grew up with many sisters and is far away from home and them in Moscow. Anyhow. . . she's a little spunky (which I love) so I tried to think of something really difficult for her to braid.--she did it in like 10 minutes.

Our local "magazine" Universam where we buy pretty much all the stuff we need here in ole' Moscva, except our produce.

Romance on the Black Sea

2006-11-09T00:35:00.000-06:00

On Wednesday evenings I get together with a student and friend to talk about life, study, etc. Last night, Malika was talking about how a friend of hers was in Russia only until next Wednesday; because of his visa, he is only able to stay in Krasnodar and not come into Moscow. After further prodding, she divulged that they have shared a romantic connection (sorry for the strange language; I’m not exactly sure what I mean by “romantic connection” anyhow . . .) since she left Uzbekistan this past summer to come to school in Moscow—she didn’t know of his feelings until he gave her a CD with a song he had wrote for her as she was getting on the train to come to Russia. He was going to just stay in Russia after his visa expires next week until he found out that if caught, he could be deported and not allowed into Russia for another five years, thus prolonging their relationship.

All this to say, last night, after she shared this, I said, “Let’s go. I want to go to the Black Sea—then you could see your ‘friend’ again.” On her way home she stopped by the train station to check ticket prices and times, and she called us at 12:30 when she found out the price and time info—it’s a 28 hour train ride one way. Matt and I talked and after looking at a map of the region and looking on the US embassy in Russia’s website, we discovered that where we’d be is really close to the North Caucusas region, where the US has pulled all government workers out because of civil unrest and warns US travelers to stay away from. That, coupled with the fact that we were unsure whether or not our visa and registration would be good outside of Moscow forced us to decide not to make the trip.

Wouldn’t it have been so fun, though? If only . . .

-Makinzie

Having

2006-11-08T10:41:00.000-06:00

In today's Russian lesson we learned about the verb "to have". In English, there's this idea of "having" meaning this idea of something belonging to me, you, them, etc. When my teacher explained to us the Russian concept of "having", I was touched with tears and something struck hard deep within me. In Russian, something merely "comes into my, your, their world" and there is no real belonging, or at least no belonging in a long term sense--things can leave my, your, or their world as quickly as they enter it. Isn't that so beautiful?

-Makinzie

First Snow

2006-11-06T20:36:00.000-06:00

"His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
--James Joyce, Dubliners

Things I like about Moscow on this last day in October . . .

2006-10-31T00:12:00.000-06:00

The first blanket of snow (will post a snow picture later)
Having to be careful the next day after the snow to make sure I don't slip and fall on the ice (which I expect will happen more than once before our time here is finished and am fully prepared to laugh at myself)
Having my husband done with his applications--yea!
Fun Russian phrases: spokey nokey (good night), super pooper (great)--Matt doesn't find this one funny because of his lack of appreciation for crude humor, yolkey palkey (Christmas tree/statement of surprise).
There is no mentioning of Halloween at the university because appearently a while back someone pretty high up in the government filed a complaint against the university concerning RACU forcing students to wear scary costumes and practice the "Catholic tradition" of Halloween, which was completely unfounded (OK, so this wasn't something I like, so much as something I find amusing).

Love you guys-

Makinzie

Hammer/Nail Ratio

2006-10-26T05:33:00.000-05:00

(Matt)

Thanks first of all for your comments; you've challenged me to keep thinking through this issue of student frustrations and not just put the problems behind me. In response, I have a few thoughts to share very briefly:

1) My frustrations do not apply to my Shakespeare class--the students in that course always seem to be enthusiastic about class and I always look forward to our discussions. In fact, I like the class so much that I asked all the students to stay with Makinzie and I at our house for two weeks! This was an accident; I was trying to use my Russian to invite the students over to our house in two weeks, but I used the wrong preposition and invited them to stay through two weeks. Anyway, the difference between the two classes is striking and puzzling.

2) I had an epiphany today that part of my situation is the fault of the race of Eve. I'm kidding about the "fault" part, but not about the fact that I'm surrounded by women! In my three courses, I have 37 females and 1 male student; my Russian teacher and the other student in my Russian class are both females; almost all of Makinzie's students who come to our house on Fridays are female; and even the majority of the instructors at RACU are female. Although I will not take time here to ponder this strange--actually, very strange--phenomenon, I will say that this may be part of the reason why I have been slightly disappointed at not having developed by now any really meaningful relationships with Russians.

3) Actually this is a continuation of epiphany 2--my further realization that right now Makinzie is fulfilling the role in Russia that I had always (selfishly?) imagined for myself: she is a local superstar at RACU and is veritably impacting the lives of many of her students. Yesterday, Makinzie had a one-on-one Bible study with Malika, a student in her first-year language course, and on top of this she comes home each day with stories about people she's encountered and talked to throughout the day, including the destitute babushka that she has invited to eat with us. Isn't she amazing!? Even without the ability to communicate perfectly, Makinzie has extended herself to others, and I am both proud of her and encouraged by her consistently positive attitude.

Maybe I shouldn't have posted last time after just finishing Hamlet. I am confident now that all is not rotten in the state of Denmark.

--Matt

p.s. I'm eating "mushroom" - flavored chips for lunch. Mmmm.

"the motive and the cue for passion"

2006-10-24T15:30:00.000-05:00

(Matt)

First of all, a “shout out” to Dan and Atarah (and Christopher) Sidey for the commenting spree. We’re starting a new contest here on our blog whereby the total word count of your comments represents the strength of your friendship/family-ship; so far, Dan is about a Tolstoy novel ahead of everyone else, so get writin’!

(Just kidding about the contest. It’s by total number of posts, not by word count). J

As the rest of this post will be heavy, I want to first give an updated “Life in Russia” fun fact. Today’s fact: the Russian “babushka” (pronounced BAA-boosh-ka). The common stereotype is that “grandmas” in Russia are rude, pushy, and outspoken. True? Absolutely. Today in the Metro I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to find a tiny old woman pointing to my bookbag to tell me that it was open. I was on the extreme edge of the platform, so she must have gone far out of her way to perform this “duty.” My students tell me that babushki will often comment on young people’s clothes in the midst of crowded metro stations; one student told me that just this morning a babushka told her that her clothes were ugly! I’ve also had babushki knock me aside in trying to enter the metro, and Makinzie tells a story about how a babushka pretended to wander aimlessly in front of her in the grocery store line and then stole Kinzie’s spot! This attitude is so different from the sweet nature of my own grandmothers that I can only laugh each time a babushka acts “in character”.

OK. Now on to the weightiness. Today was a “what am I doing here?” kind of day. For the past three weeks, I have been noticing that a few of my students have seemed a little recalcitrant in class—not openly rude, but a little edgy and defiant. The undercurrent surfaced last week in Sociolinguistics during what was otherwise a seemingly innocent conversation: I was explaining the need for sociolinguists to withhold making judgments about “good” and “bad” language practices, and in the process one student was visibly upset at the presumption that anyone could ignore “bad” Russian language when all Russians know the standards for “correct” and “incorrect” Russian. I was surprised to hear one of my most intelligent students trying to argue that it would be impossible to study language without judging the people according to the way that they speak! I was even more surprised when this student and her clique turned surly for the remaining hour of class, challenging me on almost every point that I was making and acting very inhospitable.

Small elements of these frustrating attitudes filtered into my class yesterday, and then again this morning another moment of drama occurred when I called on a student (in a class of 8) who had not said anything the entire morning.

“Olya,” I asked, “What do you think about the ending of the play?” (We were reading Christopher Marlowe’s Faustus).

“Nothing; I didn’t like it. I didn’t really care about anything that happened in it”, was the reply.

Even after more prodding, the student refused to answer. After class, she came to talk to me:

“Matthew”, she said (students here don’t use titles for teachers), “I don’t understand why we have to make every story relate to the Bible. Aren’t there other options? In our Russian Literature classes here, our Russian teachers never try to make us find religious themes in the texts. I have a hard time answering your questions because I don’t see how these stories are relevant to us.”

This was a low point for me. Although I took time to explain how important religion was within the historical context of the authors we were reading and attempted to convince the student that I was not simply forcing a religious meaning onto the texts (she seemed unconvinced by either argument), I already felt crushed on the inside with the sense that my very mission here in Russia was failing. The issue is not really with my style of teaching or with the course material—I want students to feel free to comment and question—but with the overall sense that this student and others do not really respect or appreciate what I am trying to do for them.

I recognize the selfishness of this thought, but I honestly wanted to list for this student all of the sacrifices that people have made and all of the time I have spent to bring before her this very knowledge that she seemed to think was not relevant or interesting. But the individual student isn’t really the problem at all—it’s my impinging sense that these students are dissatisfied and I’m not really sure why. It’s also my selfishness at wanting to be treated with importance, when I’m really here to submit myself completely to God’s will.

The whole situation is surely divinely planned for us, since the student rebellion comes at a time when I am working exhaustingly already on applications for future academic jobs. I want to say that it is all more than I can handle, but for some reason God keeps giving me the ability to handle more and more—not a quality I would necessarily pick out of the stack. Looking back over my first posts to this blog, I can see that for some reason God has not allowed the train of long days to “break down”, but at the same time I am still OK and have enough energy to do everything I need to do. I also am completely humbled by Kinzie’s service to me and support for me; my computer chair has become like a high chair and I’m not far from being completely dependent on my wife for food (fortunately I can handle my own diaper changes). Kinzie is thriving during this time in her relationships with everyone here in Russia, which is deeply encouraging to me and evidence of God’s work in our lives.

So I don’t know where I’m left at the moment, except to say that I’m trusting and hopeful and confident at the same time that I’m frustrated and a little downtrodden. I’ll keep you updated on the outcome, but I know it will work out!

Conversations

2006-10-23T08:54:00.000-05:00

On my way back from my Russian lesson and getting groceries, and after stopping for a point in the underground walkway to listen to a man play a Russian folk song on the accordion and sing with a beautiful bass sound (one that almost rivals my grandfather's booming voice), I was blessed by two different conversations. Previously, all of my Russian conversations had either been with students or teachers (who are extremely patient and giving) or with people on the street--only asking directions, time, etc. Today was my first real chance to have a back and forth conversation with two strangers; thank you Тамара Лионидовна (Tamara Leonedovna) for your patience and preparation. It feels so good to be able to live a life/act/speak in ways that are somewhat similar to those I knew in the states.

As I was walking into the apartment, an older man with white hair came out of the office to get my attention. We proceeded to have a five minute conversation covering anywhere from his years of military service in Germany to how long I was going to be in Russia. I was so blessed by his reaction when I told him how much I liked Moscow--to smile with, share a connection, and be a part of another person's life, even if just for a minute, gives me great joy.

I thank God for providing solutions to needs--even if those needs are unknown to us at the time. When I was walking by the dumpster again today, I saw the same lady from last week. We began to try to carry on a conversation; I found out that she lives in a flat close by--why did I assume the worse (like her not having a place to live) and was so struck last time we met? Maybe it was not being able to effectively converse, I don't know. I question myself and why I came to such a harsh conclusion of her need last time we met, and I wonder if I do this with other things in life. . .Sorry I'm rambling a bit. At the end of the conversation, I attempted to ask her if she would like to join me for dinner. But, between my choppy Russian and her lack of a battery in her hearing aid, we were not able to connect. I pray for another chance (before which I'll make sure to write the question down) and am thankful for the opportunity to be touched by the Russian people and their love for a stranger from America.

-Makinzie

Kremlin

2006-10-22T01:33:00.000-05:00

Went to the Kremlin (surrounded by this giant red wall) with some friends yesterday; Matt was able to join us, yea! Between our Kremlin visit and having students over last night, we did a lot of laughing. It has been encouraging to understand that the naïve and seemingly cold, indifferent idea of Russia that we had from our first few days here has changed into one of openess and love through the building of relationships. Here are some pictures . . .

What if?

2006-10-21T18:12:00.000-05:00

I recently found out some news about a friend from back home--my heart is aching with her right now. I'm not a big regretter of things, but with this, I've found myself asking what if? And so I pose a question . . . how do each of you deal with "what if"?

мой муж

2006-10-19T13:00:00.000-05:00

I was holding midterm meetings today with my students and had a two hour break while they were in class, and since I didn't have to finish preparing for today's lesson, I decided to head over and sit in on Matt's class. The last time I sat in on Matt's class was, I think, around 3 1/2 years ago with Ben one time when he was visiting. It was only the second time the class had met, so Ben and I pretended to newbies and joined in; I think Matt still has the little journal entry Ben wrote that evening--that Ben, he's a funny guy. Anyhow, it had been a while since I had sat in on a class of Matt's. I always knew this but to witness it first hand gave me a renewed sense of excitement for what God is doing through Matt. He creates an encouraging environment in which students can learn, grow, and challenge eachother--and he includes himself as a learner in this environment, which was a gratifying thing to witness and be apart of. Y'all might have noticed that Matt hasn't posted anything in a while. He's in the middle of a job application process for the next school year; with those extra duties and wanting to be at his best as he prepares for class, he is left with little time for much other than working and sleeping. He's tired and has a few more weeks to go of craziness. And, so, I ask you friends to lift him up today. Love you guys.

-Makinzie

First Snow

2006-10-18T16:04:00.000-05:00

As Matt and I were on our regular walk to metro to get to school wearing a light jacket, we said to eachother that we were were going to have to start wearing at least gloves and a scarf because we were really starting to feel the cold in our face, nose, and hands. No sooner than we had said that, little snow flurries started coming down (sorry for those of you in So Cal if you're still battling the heat). Nothing accumulated, but how wonderful it was to get to see the first snow with my love. I thank you God for new seasons and new weather--there's something about colder tempuratures that brings a clarity to things.

-Makinzie

Half-way

2006-10-18T15:09:00.000-05:00

Today marks the middle point of our journey out here in Moscow. (I know this sounds generic, but) It seems like only yesterday we left California to follow a call out here. Here are some pics from the night our friends gathered to send us off--thanks again O'Farrells and Meyer-Reiths for putting the night together, and thanks to everyone who came and loved on us. It was so uplifting to have y'all there, and the night further instilled in us that we are out here in Russia thanks to the beautiful community of family and friends that are such a dear part of lives. I apologize for the awkward crying/teary eyed pictures; I put these up partly so I can see and be encouraged by them when I open the blog these next few days and partly because I know that there are some oh so curious moms out there that would want to see as much as they can of our lives--love you, Moms. (My favorite one is the one where Cliff is gingerly caressing Tom's leg--it makes me laugh).

This first leg of our journey has been a beautiful time of encouraging and being encouraged, of walking through life with the students and other friends, of growing in His love and our love for eachother, and of sharing that love with others. I thank you Father for giving us this opportunity and for providing us a web of support both here and back home to help us along our way.

-Makinzie

Red Square

2006-10-15T16:50:00.000-05:00

Matt and I went to Красная площадь (Red Square) last Friday with the Nelly Alexandrovna (Matt's Russian instructor, fellow teacher at RACU, and friend). We got to go into St. Basil's--where on the main floor there where some beautiful paintings and when we climbed this old, wooden spiral staircase (that was only found in the 70's), we arrived at the upper level that houses much of the location's artifacts. As we climbed up the staircase, we heard this beautiful music being sung by 5 Russian men--the sound filled the entire upper floor. As we watched and listened in this church that was over 500 years old, I was struck with how beautiful it was to have my feet in this place where so many believers over the years had stood. To be standing in that place and hearing those men sing and feeling the hand of God was awesome.

Here's a funny story that happened after we finished our visit to Red Square . . . We ate lunch with Nelly (who speaks no English), during which we had potatoes. She said she enjoys eating potatoes and asked me if I cooked with potatoes. I told her, with my limited vocabulary, that, yes, I cook potatoes with chicken and sometimes peppers. When I finished the sentence Matt and Nelly started laughing hysterically. Apparently the Russian word for pepper is very similar to the Russian word for pirate, which I had said. I had told Nelly that I cook chicken with pirates instead of peppers. We all had a good laugh at that one--trying to figure out just how I would get those pirates into the pot.

-Makinzie

Sisters

2006-10-15T15:42:00.000-05:00

I just finished talking to my sister, Ashleigh, and her hubby for the first time since we've been out here (used windows live messenger and we were able to do talk for free--man, that's good stuff) and I've got a smile on my face. Here's a pic of my sisters and mom for those of you who don't know them (sorry for the bed shot, it's the only one I have on this computer). . .

Anyhow, it just got me thinking about all the women in my life and how blessed I am to know and be in connection with each and every one of you. Y'all feed into me encouragement, love, exuberance, occasions for growth--I could go on and on. Sisters. . .thanks to each of you beautiful ladies out there.

-Makinzie

хлеб (bread)

2006-10-11T17:37:00.000-05:00

As I was walking home from my Russian lesson today, I stopped off at a side shop on the street to buy some bread for dinner. I've been taking a different way home, partly because it's faster and partly because I get to see kids playing on the playground as I cut through the park. Right as I was coming to the park, I saw this dumpster--this grandmother lady was digging through the trash. I went over, and in my broken Russian, asked her if she wanted the bread I just bought. I'll never forget the smile on her face . . . I made it a few feet towards home, turned around as I tried to determine if I could do anything else. . . stood in the middle of the street for a few seconds, tears streaming down my face. What do I do?

Man, she's the age of my grandmothers . . . Mema or Grandmother or Grandma Doris or Granny "B" . . . how do I this? How do I seek to "share my food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter — when I see the naked, to clothe him." I'm struggling with how to seek justice for those within a system I know nothing about, a language I know little of, and a world that lets grandmothers dig through trash cans. How do I do this?

-Makinzie

An umbrella stuck

2006-10-10T00:29:00.000-05:00

Matt's got a full plate this week in the midst of preparing for classes and beginning to submit application info to schools all over the U.S., but I'm sure he'd want to inform y'all of the funny incident on the metro this morning. . .here's my go at it (minus the rousing narrative and the frequent exaggerations).

We have to make a metro line change at a station half way on our trip to the school. We were the last ones stepping in the cabin at the line change, where we had to literally push our way through the crowd to make it on the train. As the doors closed we felt a slight breeze at our backs and turned around to notice Matt’s umbrella stuck in the door. Here is some Matt-like exaggeration. . .the umbrella left a gap in the doors to the metro so wide that two people could easily of fallen through, especially with the over 100 mph speeds of the metro—there was a point there where we were in actual fear of our lives. Matt valiantly put his own life in danger, grabbed the umbrella with two hands, and with the strength of 10 men, pulled the umbrella out of the locked doors.

It was a fun way to start our day. Which brings up something. . .if you really don’t need something in life (such as an umbrella), don’t lug it around. . .or at least don’t let it stick out of your bag in the metro.

-Makinzie

Box Springs' Smiles

2006-10-09T00:39:00.000-05:00

My students back in California keep coming to mind, and, when I think of them, I am reminded of their innocence and the purity of their love for those around them. Even out here in Moscow, I am touched by their unfailing desire to seek out happiness for the people that come into their sphere. I know no students will be reading this, but for you parents out there, I thank you for the joy that your children bring to the lives that they touch.

Children with cognitive delays in Russia are either kept in their home or sent to an orphanage/institution. This is something I've been really wrestling with. And, so, I ask for your prayers this week as I seek out to make contact with an organization in Moscow that works with parents of students with cognitive delays. I am in hopeful anticipation that I can be further used in that capacity.

-Makinzie

Student

2006-10-09T00:25:00.000-05:00

In talking with the students this past weekend I am blown away by their steady faith. Many of these students come from homes that have vastly different beliefs (at least perceived differences) than the beliefs of the students. The difference can be so sharp that it creates rifts in families and friends or at least is the impetus for some serious name-calling and hurt. And, so, Father, I lift these students up to you, especially Malika--who is working so hard to bring real truth, honesty, and love into her home--and I thank you for her sincerity.

-Makinzie

Christians and Panties

2006-10-08T12:27:00.000-05:00

(Matt)

I was about to go to bed, but an encouraging email from Chip and Kelly (thanks guys!) prompted me to make one short post before I shut off the computer.

Today after Makinzie and I heard a good sermon on 1 Thessalonians 5:23--"May the God of peace himself sanctify you completely. May your whole spirit, soul, and body be preserved blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ." How, the preacher asked, do we make sure that we devote our entire selves--spirit, soul, and body--to purity?

We had a chance to thoroughly examine the last aspect of this question in a very real way when we decided to make a trip to Ашан (ASHAN) after church. To imagine ASHAN in your mind, think of a Super-Walmart packed with people during Christmastime, and then add into the picture about twice the number of people at Wal-Mart's busiest moment. The lines for checkout at ASHAN stretch back into the aisles of products for miles. We spent about 1 hour in line, and for a large part of this hour we were stationary in front of the men's denim selections. There was a particularly bad looking denim jacket that people kept trying to look at (of course, my cart was always in the way), and I kept sending them mental signals not to make the purchase. It must have worked, since nobody bought the product.

But the "body" aspect of the day wasn't so much at ASHAN as in the "free" bus that goes to ASHAN from the metro station. I put "free" in quotes because the cost of the trip is figured into the discomfort of being so packed into the bus that one quite literally has no control over one's own movement. I wish I could re-model for you my own position on the return trip of the ride--each joint of my body, including neck, torso, arms, and legs--was bent at a different and awkward angle, so that a mannequin of my pose would either be hilariously funny or unnatural and frightening. Of course, with everyone else two inches away, the only part of me showing was my head, so I was saved from embarassment, although not from the pain of riding for twenty minutes with my left knee inverted inwards!

I laugh to think how my body would look "preserved" in this way for Christ's coming--certainly not blameless! Anyway, the experience of being melded into the people around me helped me recognize how much freedom we have to move and act otherwise. When the control of my body was taken away, I really missed it.

Well, how 'bout that little ephiphany for the day? My original intention for writing was only to share a quick quip about cereals:

My favorite cereal here is "xristeeki's", a name which means "krispy's" but which sounds a lot like "xristeankis"--the word for "Christians."
Makinzie's favorite cereal is "Panda's" (like the panda bear). Unfortunately, the Russian word for panda is pronounced "panty."
Mmm! There's nothing like starting our day with a fresh bowl of Christians and Panties!

Enjoy your Sunday!

--Matt

Room with a View

2006-10-07T01:19:00.000-05:00

View from our window--looking Southwest
View from our other window--looking Northeast

Scars

2006-10-05T01:15:00.000-05:00

My little ringworm problem is coming to a close, and at the end of this week I'll be done with the recommended four weeks of medication. All that’s left is a small circle scar on my right forearm, which makes me happy. I know Mom's not going to be pleased with the fact that I'm happy that I'll have this new scar, but I like getting new scars. I know that might sound a little sadistic, but scars are memories for me--memories that I enjoy looking back on.

Every time I look at my birthmark (ok, so it's not a scar, but the same idea) in the shape of a heart on the side of my left knee I remember the time when I was around 6 or 7 and Mom told me that my Aunt Twyla had a birthmark in the shape of a heart also, and I was proud of that. When I look at my left knee, I remember playing outside with my friend Annalee when I was 7 or 8 and falling into this plant that cut into my knee--I am reminded of what life consisted of back then, playing pretend games, having fun with (she might say pestering) my sister, Ashleigh, etc. When I look at my left hand, I remember the time we were coming back from Colorado skiing and our suburban flipped after coming across some black ice--I am reminded of how God showed mercy on our family that day, and I laugh at my eagerness to crawl through a broken window when I thought that there was a gas leak that could explode at any minute (which turned out to be a leaky soda can). When I look at my right hand, I remember helping move some set pieces for my dear friend Adrienne and being scraped by a rough edge of a pylon--I think about and miss those crazy times and wonder which coast she ended up on. When I look at my left pointer finger, I remember slicing it open with a dull knife when I was making a sandwich and blood was gushing everywhere--I am reminded of when we first moved out to California and my period of loneliness and depression when I couldn't find a job and we knew hardly anyone (except the sweet Corley family who really showed us love). When I look at my left forearm, I remember being in Mexico with our California community to build a house and scraping my arm with a piece of sheetrock--I am reminded of the beautiful blessing of community we have out there now (friends new and old).

And, now, I will have this new scar to remember our time out here in Moscow--where we have a few short months to make more memories that I can attach to the scar.

-Makinzie

A Poem for Shabolovskaya

2006-10-02T13:34:00.000-05:00

(Matt)

Family and friends, I'm tired tonight but I wanted to share really briefly an occurence that was significant to me on my way to school today. It was a poetic moment so I had to put it into verse--I hope you don't mind. I'll try to post more "update" info soon.

Poem for Shabolovskaya
This morning on the metro an old man stood next to me and I
Did not notice him for he was unremarkable
An old man in a black coat

Lurching forward, the train caught us all by surprise
Me and the other passengers in the car
And more than all of us
The man in the black coat
Who unable to adjust and
Unable to catch hold
Toppled suddenly backwards

Without a word spoken, hands appeared around the man
Caught his black coat
Held tight his arms
Steadied his thin shoulders and
Restored his legs aright

The old man did not smile but merely nodded to his rescuers
Who nodded back quietly, then resumed
Their postures of indifference and unconcern

--Matt

Retreat

2006-10-02T07:47:00.000-05:00

Sorry we haven't posted in a while--we were at a student retreat this past weekend. It was a great time to connect with new students and further the relationships that have already begun. The discussion time allowed me to see some deeper needs/desires of the students. Here are some pics . . .

-Makinzie

Funner and Lighterer

2006-09-26T13:09:00.000-05:00

(Matt)

Thanks everyone for your encouraging and thoughtful responses to my last post about the pervasive "gravity" here in Moscow. I was uplifted in reading your comments and I'd like to continue thinking "out loud" about this topic--but in future posts, not now.

Since it's now 10:06 and I wanted to go to bed at 10, I have -6 minutes to present a topic I've been wanting to present for a long time: survival tips for Moscow. I think it's worth the time. Here are some of my most important pieces of advice for living in the big city:

Dress in the height of fashion. You all know how thoroughly I pay attention to my wardrobe ("City Creek" is my trademark style, according to fashion experts), but I look like "late 90s boy" (I really wanted to write "City Geek") here in the crowd at the metro stations. If you're not wearing "Rave Girl" or "Jump Flight" brands (or at least carrying a bag from these stores), then you're just not cool. It also seems fairly common to wear jeans with some kind of "white-out" looking writing on them. Occasionally, the writing will present recognizable words (mostly English), but more often Russians seem to like white shapes on their blue jeans (stars, triangle, etc.). I'm not yet sure why, but I'll keep you posted. Oh, and they LOVE Cosmo, GQ, and all the other fashion magazines, so those of you who read these (and you know who you are!) would feel right at home here.
Know how to give directions. I was proud of myself today when someone asked me where the "Leninski Prospekt" station was and I was able to point and tell him "to the left" (it was actually to the left and THEN to the right, but I'm sure he managed OK). Before today, I have usually been overwhelmed when someone starts barraging me with Russian words, and in such situations I usually just nod and point somewhere with my eyes. I suspect that such actions have left many a frustrated Muscovite jumping out of the Metro train only to find that, in fact, they were NOT at "Pushkinskaya" station, and I am quite sure that other direction-seekers have, on the confidence of my nod and eye-point, happily trudged off in the complete opposite way of their destination, unsuspecting of my treachery. Also, I have until recently confused the word "na-prava" ("to the right") with "ne-pravda" ("not true"), which has resulted in some very stilted conversations:
UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "Tell me please: where is Tverskaya Ulitsa?"
ME: "Ne-pravda" ("not true")
UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "How can a street be 'not true'?"
ME: "Oh, I meant 'na-prava' ('to the right)"
UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "No, let's take up your earlier thought--are you trying to suggest that, epistemologically, the 'street' in Russia today is radically different from what it was twenty years ago and, thus, essentially unknowable?"
ME: "I lament the day that someone decided to forge the common phrase 'to the right' and the inevitably complicated phrase 'not true' out of the same words. Aaargh."
(Many of my conversations end with an audible or inaudible "Aaargh.")
Obtain the balance of a ballerina. As far as I can tell, the Metro trains are operated by 15-year old videogame addicts who get a sick pleasure out of watching people fall down. Just when you think you can predict the next motion of the train, steeling yourself at the perfect angle to absorb the shock, the train moves in a completely unexpected direction on a different axis, precipitating an inevitable and inevitably embarrassing tumble. Just last week, a sudden jolt sent me flying into the arms of the man behind me, who, with the appropriate amount of tenderness, shoved me back aright and cautioned me with an unmistakable glance not to fall in his direction again. For you see, Russians NEVER fall--this is one national operation they use to identify foreigners. While I have my feet spread apart, knees bent, at the ready, the passengers around me are (impossibly) standing flat footed, vertical, and feet together. I think they wear special magnet boots that keep them locked to the floor. There's no other way to explain it.
(Oh, actually one Russian did fall into ME yesterday, but it was because the train made about a 60-0 mph stop, and this young man's fall was compounded by the falls of four other people behind him, who flew into him, domino-style. I happened to be holding onto a nearby handrail, and was able to absorb the tremendous force of all 5-10 people launched into my ribcage. I was proud of myself afterwards. A man of steel, I thought).
Get to like "кефир" ("keefeer"). I'm not sure what it is, other than some kind of milk-product drink. But Russians love it, and Makinzie's Russian teacher told her very sternly that it must be good for you, since Russians have been drinking it forever and have (characteristically, I guess) very good digestive systems. We haven't tried it yet. I'm afraid it's liquid sour cream.
Get to like new varieties of potato chips. Yes, Lays here come in the usual flavors (sour-cream and onion, cheese, and "natural") as well as in "Bacon" and "Crab" flavors. The Bacon Lays were immediately palatable; the Crab Lays not so immediately, but now I find them quite tasty. Just be sure not to talk to anyone for awhile afterwards (if you thought "dorito breath" was bad . . . Oh, and one more small comment, "честер" (as in "Chester the Cheetah") is very popular here.
Don't wear Dallas Cowboys paraphernalia. (Sorry, Dad!) A student informed me that "cowboy" translates most literally in Russian to "smelly manure stable boy"--hardly fear-inspiring or laudable. The Russians I've encountered don't really know anything about the NFL anyway, so any attempts to remind them of the glories of Aikman, Emmit, Landry, Dorsett, etc., only meet with blank stares. Best to just stick with soccer jerseys, or Reebok (which seems to be very popular here).

OK, now 50 minutes later I really need to go to bed. I hope these tidbits of advice help demonstrate something my last post tended to overshadow: that there is still much to laugh about and enjoy in the city.

--Matt

Bedtime Stories

2006-09-23T14:37:00.000-05:00

(Matt)
It's 11:30 on Saturday night and I should have gone to bed an hour and a half ago. But I have so many things I ought to share with you first, and truth be told I drank a cup of tea tonight after 7 pm against my better judgment, which (as those of you who are familiar with my intolerance towards caffeine well know) has given me enough jolt at least to make it through this post.

Reading your comments to our latest posts has made me realize two certainties: (1) I miss all of you and wish you could teleport out here for awhile to share our experiences; and (2) apparently I need to include more candid descriptions of bodily ailments in my posts, since Makinzie's revelation of her bout with ringworm now stands as the single most "commented upon" post to date. I see how it is--my painstaking literary craftsmanship apparently is far less interesting than my wife's skin fungus. OK, I can play the part of the author fading into obscurity, but let me say only this: be careful where you cast your favors; you may not want to encourage Makinzie any further in her decision to use turn our blog space into WebMD . . .

To tie up loose ends from my last post, I should announce the uncontested winner of the "name the instructions on Matt's barley porridge box Contest", which was expertly solved by Liam (did anyone doubt?). Four smiley faces, as Liam rightly determined, represents four happy people-- made so, apparently, by the correct measurement of 1 liter of water boiled along with the barley flakes they are to be enjoying. Liam, for your excellence in determining this enigma, I am recommending you for a prestigious post in the Department of Symbology at Harvard University. The rest of you need to read more folk remedy books and watch Mary Poppins again.

Many things have happened in the last few days that I want to tell you about, including:

A trip to the Great War of the Fatherland Museum on Friday with our combined Russian language classes. We forgot our camera, but you can get a general idea of the museum from the pictures on this site:(http://www.peachmountain.com/5star/Museums_Great_Patriotic_War_Museum_Moscow.asp). I wish I had time to give an exhaustive account of the museum and its beautiful and moving dioramas of the WWII "beatvah's" (battles) on Russian soil, but it would take more words than I can spend right now. Only, when you imagine this trip in your mind, be sure to account for the full setting of a two-hour trip through a Russian museum where nothing is written in English, accompanied by a teacher who speaks only in Russian.
Another "Student Night" at our house on Friday evening. This time, a new student named Alexander (Sasha) brought his guitar and we spent a great deal of the evening singing praise songs in both English and in Russian. Some of the songs they know surprised me, such as "Amazing Love", which seems still modern to me. The students also sang some very old Slavic church songs--beautiful, majestic, and sad. We took about twenty minutes of video during the night, so we can share some of these songs with you when we return.
We found out that water is apparently back "on" in the northern area of Moscow, which means that the expected events Makinzie described in her previous post might not affect us. It seems that the Floridians will be staying in another part of the city as previously planned.
I bought a "piryohg" today all by myself at a local kiosk. This is a big deal for me because I've been scared to engage in the transactional language of buying and selling so far. The little pastry was quite good but I was later a little sick in the stomach.

And while I could expand on these items and more, I really wanted to share two other concerns that have been on my mind throughout the day--thoughts about Russia and our purpose here. Just a warning: these thoughts are not "light" or "happy" reading.

First, I've been reading a book about the political changes in Russia during the late 1980s and the profound impact these events had on the people of the country. (The book is Lenin's Tomb by David Remnick.) Remnick is very forthright about the terrors initiated by Josef Stalin in Russia during the first half of the twentieth-century and includes interviews with hundreds of people who watched as their loved ones were kidnapped, imprisoned, or murdered without little cause. One particular passage relates a man's account of life in Magadan, a town on the far northeastern seabord of Russia where political prisoners were shipped to be killed: "Even in late spring, the ice was thick near the shore. It was on days like those that the tramp steamers could not make it through to the docks. The prisoners, many of them barefoot and dressed in rags, had to walk on the ice for the last mile to shore. [...] In a way, arrival was a relief, the journey had been such hell. The train trip to the far east from Moscow and European Russia was in cattle cars, and it took a month at least." This is one of the least depressing passages of the book--I'll spare you others. Remnick explains that 19,800,00 people were arrested in Russia between 1935 and 1941: 7,000,000 were executed.

Seven million! Now, I admit that this is not "news" and I am willing to grant that many of you already know much more about the history of oppression here in Russia than I do. But as I'm reading the details here on my own I'm thinking, why isn't this history taught in American schools? It would be unthinkable to leave out teaching the nightmare of the German concentration camps during the 40s, but we don't really seem to take much interest in the details of Soviet history, and I don't know why. My reaction here is less one of condemnation than incredulousness at my own ignorance.

But today a missionary friend here told us that they have a problem with finding Americans who are willing to stay in Russia long-term--people seem to come and go in somewhat rapid succession. Perhaps I'm forcing a connection, but I was left wondering if our lack of knowledge about Russia is partly a cause for the disinterest that this friend was describing. I know that I certainly was unprepared to find that the tragedy of Russian history is still manifest in the daily lives of the citizens around us. I have been slow to face the reality that life in Russia is still very, very hard, whatever the outward trappings of the society may betray. I see the evidence everyday as I watch the people in the metro--there's a national sadness and "weight" that I am only now beginning to recognize. I feel a responsibility to bear witness of these perceptions to you, even though I realize that it makes for rather uninspired bedtime reading.

"Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season" (T.S. Eliot). That's what happens when a post is finished at 1 in the morning.

I promise to write next time about "Rave Girl" (so far my favorite brand of clothing in Moscow) and the curious state of "djeenees" (jeans) in the city!

--Matt

Home

2006-09-21T06:39:00.000-05:00

As I got to the university today, rode the bus over here with a student, I realize that this is my home right now. I feel this sort energy around me and in me as I come closer to the end of the 1 1/2 hour journey out here and am encouraged and blessed with joy as a result of my interactions with people today. I thank God for Nelly, a babushka (grandmother) who speaks only Russian, who tries so hard to have a 3/4 sentence conversation with me (acting out words so that we can connect). And, Vlad, a student whose liveliness is contagious and who is the spreader of so much joy in my classroom. And, Lily, a sweet 16 year old who is here from Siberia and has a spirit of peace that I am touched by. I am sweetly reminded that, for now, this where my energies and spirit should lie, which brings a smile to my face. This is my home.

There was an explosion at a sewage plant, which cut off water to some suburbs of Moscow. Three students are without water and will be staying with us tonight. Starting Sunday, we will have 5 people from a church in Florida that are going to help out with the student retreat this next weekend. I pray and am reminded that this flat that we have out here is not ours; I pray that I will gratefully give it over to His service and be a spreader of love as He touches those that enter our home.

-Makinzie

Roots and Rings

2006-09-20T13:40:00.000-05:00

As I sit down to update on the goings on of the week so far and having every intention of doing so, I'm struck with this weight on my heart. . .with this sense of not belonging anywhere. After a not so productive/positive time in my Russian class (feeling a little confused as to whether or not I came out/should be out here to spend a part of my time each day in study and frustrated,, because of the time spent on language, with feelings of not being as productive/having this tangible object that I can see/touch as a result of my time out here) and being in the middle of this whole job hunt thing for Matt, I'm feeling that I don't belong anywhere. Granted, this is what I desired for my life. . .I want to not have things that hold me down to a particular location/way of thought just because that is the way it's supposed to be done. I'm wrestling with the effects of that idea of thought, though, and am questioning myself and wondering if that is an essentially good concept or were my desires flawed. Comments/thoughts anyone? Give it to me straight and honest. I can take it. I'm a tough girl.

-Makinzie

P.S. Here's an item of news (I'm looking over my shoulder to make sure Matt's not around; we all know how he doesn't appreciate the gross things in life, which I, on the other hand, find quite amusing). I very proud of myself after, what I hope, is a successful diagnosis my last ailment. . .ringworm. I managed to escape several outbreaks of it at school this past year but come all the way out to Russia to get this nasty little circle rash thing on my forearm. Luckily, I had been personal witness to the fungus (isn't that so gross? as I'm laughing to myself) so I new what the first signs of it were. I was able to go to the Apteka (pharmacy) and, in my limited Russian, successfully find an antifungal cream. Sorry if that was too much information for y'all. Let's hope I was correct in my diagnosis and am not harming my body with this mysterious Russian cream. I miss you guys.

Long Day

2006-09-20T12:29:00.000-05:00

Today, as part of our Wednesday schedule, we went together to Makinzie's Russian lesson near the metro station, about a 15-minute walk. I have to admit that I was overwhelmed with the language for the first time today. As I listened to various Russian conversations along the way to the station and as I sat observing Makinzie's lesson today, I felt the burden of having learned so little so far and having so much further to go. It's frequently frustrating to have so much to "say" to people--from expressing kindness to asking questions--and to not be able to communicate except in short, simple phrases. The experience of being forced to communicate with the language capacity of a three year-old is certainly humbling, whatever else it may be.

For more positive news today, I tried to get ahead of my teaching last night by reading Edmund Spencer's The Faerie Queen, a work which I have somehow avoided until now. Having completed the first "book", I can highly recommend it to any of you who have been in an "epic" drought since the last Lord of the Rings film. I'm sure that if Peter Jackson was around in the 16th century, he would have directed a screen version of the epic (probably completing filming of all six "books" at once).

One other lighter note: after class today we went to the "universam"--Western-style grocery store--and among other things purchased a type of hot breakfast cereal made out of barley. When we arrived home, I decided to try to make a quick batch of it as a snack and also so that I would be familiar enough with the instructions that I could make a batch even at 6:00 am when I groggily step into the kitchen. Anyway, I turned over the back of the box to look at the directions, and was met with this enigmatic picture:

Of course. I thought. The picture obviously indicates the well-known measurement, "four smiley faces equals one jar". After a productive and well-needed period of laughter, I finally figured out the hieroglyph and successfully made my barley porridge. (Actually, I tried to make it without boiling the water for three minutes--only adding already-boiling water instead--so it wasn't very "successful" or, for that matter, good.) Can you figure out what the instructions meant?

OK, off to screen the first two acts of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing before I show them tomorrow in class. And then bed.

--Matt

Student Night

2006-09-17T02:02:00.000-05:00

On Friday night (Sept. 15), Makinzie invited her introductory English classes over to our apartment for coffee, cakes, conversation, and a chance to get to know us better. We didn't know how the students would receive the invitation, but as it turned out they were very excited to come and stopped along the way to buy all kinds of Russian (конфети) "konfetti" (candy) and other goodies to bring with them. Far from reserved, the students practically burst into our home, wanting to know everything about every room in the apartment and hardly restraining themselves from jumping on the big master bed (maybe beds aren't typically as fluffy in Russia?). Overall, we had a wonderful and rewarding time with the students, learning some helpful Russian slang and in exchange providing essential American vocabulary such as "roasting marshmallows" (they've never done this) and the verb phrase "to kick out" (they wanted to know how to ask 'at what time will you kick us out?'). Below we will provide a list of some of the more interesting conversation topics.

Moscow does not stand as an accurate representation of "Russia" in the students' minds. Moscow is sad, and busy, and difficult, they say. The students assured us that in other places in Russia people actually smile and are more welcoming as well.
Americans speaking English to one another sound "like dogs barking" to the average Russian student. Makinzie in turn explained that rapid Russian conversation sounds like "bla bleddy bla zwa bla".
"Xav'la", a Russian dessert made with sesame seeds, looks somewhat like a pile of regurgitated hay but in truth is quite yummy.
In Moscow, it's OK to purchase and light off fireworks at just about any time of day. We found this out when several loud booming sounds startled us from our conversation--the students quickly explained that wealthy families in Moscow sometimes put on their own fireworks displays to entertain themselves in the evenings.
If you go camping in Russia, you must be wary of the ritual of "Queen's Night". The first ones to fall asleep are properly punished with toothpaste and any other available cosmetics applied to their face and hair. (Not sure where the "queen" part comes in--perhaps from the excessive makeup of Queen Elizabeth?).
"Mocha"--a familiar word in any American Starbucks--must be carefully applied in the Russian language. In our apartment we have coasters with a coffee theme on them, and the students kept pointing out to one another the one labeled "mocha" and laughing. They were reading it as "Mahch-A". Let's just say that a cup full of "Mahch-A"--also brown--is not something you would want to be drinking in Russia.
These students have hard lives and busy schedules. All were amazed at the size of our apartment (enormous for Moscow standards) and several explained that they live in one-bedroom apartments the size of our entryway here (often with families of 4, 5, or more). On many weekends the students travel outside of Moscow to see their families. It's not unusual for the weekend to be taken up with a twelve-hour train ride each way, which must leave them exhuasted on Mondays. Many of Makinzie's students postponed trips because they were excited to be able to practice their English in conversation.

Altogether, a very enjoyable night for us as well as the students. Before they left, the students were adamant about planning the next time we could all meet, and in their excitement I'm not really sure that they could tell how grateful we were to host them. They left the house laughing as loud as they were coming into it!

(Picture, from left: STANDING--Makinzie, Malika, Igor, Matt; SEATED--Aska, Natasha, Vladimir, Laura Hill, Lily, Dasha).

“Droogha”: Part II of Matt’s account of the first days in Russia.**

2006-09-16T14:35:00.000-05:00

Sept. 16

(Events of Sept. 4, 2006)

**Note: This “Part II” account of our first days in Moscow will be the last “novella” post I’ll add—from this point on I’m going to try to keep the posts shorter and more focused. (Makinzie’s comment: “people don’t want to read all that”).

When the phone rang at about 9 am on Monday morning (Sept. 4), I could not for the life of me remember where I was or what I was doing there. For a moment I felt as though I was in another world, until I remembered . . . yes, I was indeed in another world. The voice on the phone--Dr. Broersma the provost of RACU--said that someone was coming to help us navigate the subway to the university for this first time, since the route was a little tricky. The “guide” would be by in one hour. (Or in 30 minutes, depending on the busy-ness of the Metro). Struggling to remember the most basic functions of using motor skills and speaking primitive languages to one another, Makinzie and I scrambled to shower and prepare for our first real day in Moscow.

Andrey Timofyaev actually arrived in about 25 minutes, calling from our “Domaphone” (“Dom” means “house” in Russian) downstairs to let us know that he was ready whenever we were. We managed to gather all of our things and head out the door, but here we encountered our first problem. Our door apparently had, at first glance, about thirty-five locks. Later we narrowed this down to just three, but on that first day we spent close to ten minutes trying to figure out how to lock our door. We finally got one of the three locked, which was good enough for the time being, and then we moved on to . . . another lock. Yes, our apartment opens into a very narrow “lobby” with four other apartments, and this lobby also had a lock to be navigated. Done, we made it downstairs to the ever patient Andrey and headed off to the first stage of our journey—the Metro (subway) station.

Andrey was very kind to speak in English with us during the ten-minute walk to the Kon’Kovo metro station. In the Metro, it was another matter. First of all, getting down into the actual station is an adventure that reminds me of the trip down into the Sonora Caverns in Texas. If Andrey hadn’t been with us, we probably would still be meandering the underground chambers of the station. There are eight exits/entrances at each station, and in the tunnels connecting each exit to the main platform there are hundreds of little shops selling jewelry, magazines, school supplies, and—I took special notice—really cheap video games and DVD’s (more on this later). It’s a fun little place once all the unfamiliarity has gone away.

Second of all, we quickly learned that there are very clear if unstated rules about how one behaves on the Metro. If you would like to talk to Andrey Timofyaev about the route to the Metro, do you? No—keep silent and keep your head down. If you are bored during the one-hour trip from station to station, are you allowed to look around at the other people riding to work? No—again, head down and eyes stationary. Can you smile? No. Can you wear bright clothes? No. More importantly, can you read something to pass the time? Well, maybe—but only if you can read standing up, and don’t mind other people reading along with you.

After the one-hour subway ride, we found ourselves scurrying out into daylight again near a familiar sight—a Makdonald’s (be sure to pronounce the “o” long)—which proved to be a helpful route marker. Passing up the comforts of beef-fried potatoes for the time being, we made it to the bus stop, hopped a “marshutka” shuttle bus, and at last arrived at the “temporary” RACU campus. One and half hours later.

Because RACU is moving buildings while a new campus is being built, the state of the school when we arrived on Monday morning was somewhat chaotic. This chaos, while no doubt lamentable for the RACU staff, was actually a boon for two Americans with no idea about what was going on. As it turned out, many people at RACU were in the same state of mind for a few days. The picture posted along with this text documents the situation quite well. Before moving on, I should describe the present “campus” of RACU. The school has taken over a mid-size “cultural center”, which also houses an Evangelical Church, some kind of video library (maybe connected with the church?), and a small bistro that so far has intimated me. The complex is not without beauty, and the walls and floors are some kind of white marble, with a large stained glass mural as you enter the lobby. A large room in the center of the complex serves as the church sanctuary (and also apparently the RACU honors program, although I’ve never seen the latter), and long hallways flanking the sides of this central room offer several classrooms and also office space for the RACU staff. The building has two floors and also an enormous basement and attic. I’ve only peeped into the attic, but it was creepy enough (a dark space in an old, ceremonial building) to make me want to come back and explore. The “prepodovatyilskaya” is on the second floor in the far northwest corner of the building, and two floors below (in the basement) is a small computer lab with about 15 computers. (In between is a room whose function I haven’t yet been able to divine—at one time the copier machine was located in it, but now I think a Russian-Christian rock band practices there !?).

To continue with the narrative, I’ll say that I had the pleasure of being able to teach Sociolinguistics at 15:30 (we use “military” time in Moscow) on my first day in Russia. Those of you who had encounters with me before I left California remember that I was slightly nervous about teaching this subject since I had never taught it before, and eventually I had to concede that the first day would be less informative than I would have hoped for (mostly since I first had to learn what sociolinguistics actually was). After a laughable attempt to find lunch at a bistro near the school, Makinzie and I sat down in the “prepodovatyilskaya”—roughly, a teacher’s lounge—and tried to focus on getting ready for the week’s teaching. In addition to the Sociolinguistics class on Monday (at about 4 pm), I had British Literature on Tuesday at 10 am and then an advanced Shakespeare class at 10 am on Monday. Three brand new classes in another country, and I was feeling a little nervous about the preparation.

Imagine my surprise, then, when an elderly Russian woman came up beside me and emphatically tried solicit my attention (in Russian):

WOMAN: (Something unintelligible in Russian, pointing toward my papers)
ME: Excuse me? (in Russian)
WOMAN: (Something else unintelligible in Russian, more emphatically this time)
ME: I’m sorry, I don’t understand (in Russian)
WOMAN: Your lesson is now (in Russian, pointing to the clock)
ME: No, it’s only 14:10. (in broken Russian, very confused)
WOMAN: No, the clock has died (in Russian, showing me her watch, which indicates the *correct* time of 15:40)
ME: Aah! (in Russian, although it sounds the same in English)

(At this point the woman signaled me to follow her, and I obediently trailed her down the hallway, around the corner, and through a door where seventeen Russian students were trying to suppress smiles as their teacher excused himself sheepishly for coming in ten minutes late.)

So, my teaching career in Russia began with slight humiliation and embarrassment—maybe the best way to begin, overall, since it put me closer to the students.

The first class went pretty well, aside from the fact that I had to navigate between what to call the two Ksenia’s, two Natalya’s, two Anastasia’s, two Evgenia’s, and two Olga’s (17 students, 12 with the same combinations of names). I could tell immediately that the students were very bright and very eager to learn. Most of them had completed several courses in linguistics and thus were excited about adding a “social” element to what they had already studied; moreover, all of the students readily, enthusiastically, and unashamedly entered a discussion about why sociolinguistics was important in a Christian university. I was both surprised and pleased at their preparedness.

In our letter announcing our trip, I had suggested that one of our primary reasons for going to RACU was to involve ourselves in the lives of students who would eventually become leaders in Russia and in their communities. How exciting to be in my first class, tired after a long journey, and be able to reflect that our vision to encourage the faith of Russian students was already beginning to be realized. Class ended comfortably, and I was excited at the end of the evening to be part of these students’ lives.

That first night, as Makinzie and I followed Oksana, our “student escort”, homebound through the maze of bus terminals and subway tunnels, I witnessed another sign that we were indeed supposed to be here in Moscow. Walking slightly behind Makinzie and Oksana, I watched as the Russian student tenderly took Makinzie’s arm and put it through her own, the two of them continuing silently together, arm in arm, along the subway platform.

The Russian word for friend is “droogha” (друга), and it is reserved for close, personal friendships. I don’t know if we have been called “druzhya” yet by any of the Russians we know, but after the first day I knew that the possibility for being allowed into these students’ lives was real.

--Matt

"Next time I want talk to you about . . . birth control"

2006-09-14T15:12:00.000-05:00

The past few days, after a not so successful time during the last few minutes of class on Tuesday, I've been struggling with the idea of how/if to fit in with the culture here. I think out of a nervousness regarding the police and our perception of how Russia as country treats foreigners, Matt and I the first week strove to blend in with the people as much as possible. We would not make eye contact with people, be silent on the metro, be cautious as we do our daily living outside of our apartment, yada, yada, yada in order to not be noticed.

That brings me to our metro trip to the university today. . .Sitting in my seat trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, reading my book, keeping my eyes down, I felt these eyes staring at me (you know, how you can tell when someone is looking at you). I looked up at met the gaze of Russian man--he stared at me for like ten minutes straight until I got off to change subway lines. When I got on the purple line going to the university, I encountered the same situation again--fifteen minutes of awkward meetings of eyes and me looking down as the guy continued to stare. Visually, I don't think I stand out in comparison to the average Russian person, which made it all the more strange to be the focus of gaze for minutes upon end.

Both of those instances on the subway brought to the forefront the issue I had been wrestling with all week. As a person trying to be about and share love, can I/should I be happy with just blending in?

I think I mentioned before that I've been meeting with students individually and in small groups outside of class to practice English, talk about life, etc. One of my meetings earlier today with Bogdan, a student who is always either asking questions or laughing this great, big, Santa Claus, jolly kind of laugh, (the time) went really well in terms of English acquisition. He is starting to feel more comfortable speaking English, and then, he said this statement that floored me . . . "next time, I want to talk to you about . . . birth control." Did I hear that right? Did he really want to talk about the many ways to prevent pregnancy? Did he want details, information about different methods? I was cracking up as all these thoughts were going through my head. I regretfully asked him to explain himself to make sure I understood what he was talking about which was followed by a much too much graphic gestural and vocal pantomime of a woman giving birth. It turns out he just wanted to have a discussion about whether I agree or disagree with actually using any form of birth control (which is a point of talk for another time). Bogdan went to class right after that; I was just sitting in some seats in the university lobby, feeling really raw and exposed.

I realized at that point that this is what I had been avoiding all along as I tried to blend in. Why, though? I normally don't shy away from being "real." Why is it so different out here? It just kind of hit me at that point--how silly I had been for this past week. I feel called to help facilitate this strong push out here; I shouldn't be hiding/blending in. It took staring eyes and awkward questions to realize that.

Anyhow. . . those have been my thoughts these past few days. We're having our first group of students over tomorrow night and are hoping to make it a weekly thing; we're not sure the format--I feel like we need to just be open to want the students are craving and wanting. Your encouragement through prayer would be much loved for tomorrow night.

We love y'all-
Makinzie

Awake at 6:07 pm

2006-09-10T09:12:00.000-05:00

I just read Kinzie's post from last night (actually this morning). Guess who's NOW dreaming happily in the other room? To bed at 4pm. Must be nice, huh? :-)

The weather-beaten ride into clouds of unknowing, darkness, and fear: Part I of Matt’s account of the first days in Russia.

2006-09-10T09:06:00.000-05:00

(Events of Sept. 2-3, 2006)

Most of you last saw us physically sometime around 10 pm on Friday, Sept. 1. You probably thought that we would be wanting to hurry off to bed to rest for our big journey the next day, but you would be wrong—well, sort of. One of us (I’ll let you guess which one) really wanted to go to sleep as early as possible that night; the other thought that a good night’s rest was overstated as a prerequisite to safe and pleasant travel. End result: we went to bed at 2:00 am and got up at 4:00 am to get to Ontario airport (thank you, Liam!). What better way to begin a 20+ hour flight than with two hours of sleep?

Made it to our Ontario flight with at least seven minutes to spare—no problem. We had flown this leg about eleventy-billion times, so we cruised into DFW airport having rested a little bit and plenty ready for the real “start” of the journey. We were met at DFW by Mom and Dad Conley and, as a surprise (or the result of deliberate subterfuge) also Marci and Melinda (Kinzie’s twin sisters). We had good times using our four hours of layover in Dallas to eat a last American meal at Bennigans (monte cristo’s are GREAT for pre-flight food) and to completely repack our four 50 lb. suitcases. There’s no living like having your most private possessions strewn all over the in-row airport benches as onlookers stroll by. We could have had a sale and made some money, I think. In the end, because British Airways only allowed one “notebook-sized” bag per traveler as carry-on baggage, we had to make some fast and tough decisions (which Kinzie, you know, is very good at making). Makinzie really had the worst of it, having packed enough clothes and shoes to begin a little “magazine proezhda” (clothing store) in Moscow when we came, but I also had to sacrifice a few pairs of underwear in order to bring a full-size jar of peanut butter, which of course I was terrified to do without.

After a tearful goodbye, we found our gate and had time to snag a last Ben&Jerry’s coffee drink before we boarded the plane and waited with anticipation for the engines to take us away from America. The night before, Liam Vega, Tavo’s son, had been excited that Makinzie and I were going to get to fly a “rocket ship” to Russia. I tell you, as I sat watching the landmarks of Dallas growing smaller and smaller, I really did feel like I was leaving familiar earth.

***

I have decided that I like London and I like British Airways: London, because it’s green and noisy and somewhat mysterious and proper and just how I imagined it ought to be; British Airways because they give passengers blue dress socks to wear and a little toothbrush kit that—ironically—one can’t really take off the plane if one is continuing on another flight. They also have personal TV screens and a nice selection of classical audio channels, as well as noisy British rock music. We had no problems at all with our nine-hour flight from DFW to London; we slept pretty well and I even was able to successfully put off studying Sociolinguistics by watching a wonderful documentary on the world’s deepest caves and mines (did you know that TauTona in South Africa goes about 3.6 km below the earth’s surface? If any of you are planning a trip I want to come too.) The “brits” staffing this flight weren’t particularly warm, and I had quite enough of the orange juice man who, for some reason, brought a tray around at during the early hours of the morning, but my opinion of the BA staff would change later (ooh, foreshadowing—exciting!). The bus drive from Gatwick to Heathrow turned out to be painless, and in fact, I was enchanted the entire time by the South London scenery. For an English major who has never seen England, this was a memorable hour. I queried Makinzie about the possibility of relocating our mission to London—perhaps an internet-class in Russia facilitated through England—but she pointed out the important reminder that there might be really cheap video games in Russia, and I was willing to go forward.

In Heathrow airport we had a more significant reminder of purpose. Navigating through the various elevators and stairs of Heathrow, we happened to meet a young man named Charlie Cahill, who had been on our flight from DFW and who was heading to Germany to study the language. After speaking with Charlie for awhile, we found out that he was a believer from Oklahama and that he was hoping to use his time in Germany to build relationships and strengthen his faith. We had a good prayer time together in a little corner of the airport and found a reluctant British gentleman to snap a picture of us all (which should show up alongside this text). It was heartening to find another pilgrim along the way, and we hope that Charlie is doing well in his first days of language study. (He didn’t know where he was going to sleep that night when he arrived in Germany!).

We wearily arrived at the terminal in plenty of time for our next flight, which had been delayed because of problems with the crew finding a bus to the airport (c’mon! A flight crew can’t drive their own bus!), and we steeled ourselves to stay awake for the flight so as to be able to sleep soundly once we arrived in Russia. Ah!—The naivety of youth! I was helped in my resolution by reading Sociolinguistics so as to actually know what to talk about on my first day of class on Monday; Makinzie was helped by “Nacho Libre”, which was the only in-flight movie for the four-hour Moscow leg. No blue socks and no personal TVs this time! In fact, as we chatted with a (much friendlier) flight attendant—Maria, who we won’t soon forget—during this leg, we found out that the Moscow flight is one of the more “primitive” that British Airways flies: unlike other cities, Moscow will not allow British Airways crew to stay overnight in the city, and so they have to fly back home immediately after the plane is re-fueled! I felt like we were being dropped off on a remote island (the sound of the plane engines dying away in the distance as we cry, “wait! wait!”).

Now, if any of you last Sunday or Monday were wondering “Why haven’t Matt and Makinzie called?” or “Why haven’t they updated their blog?”—here is the reason why (and the best part of the story so far).

Sunday evening, about 7 pm Moscow time: The flight into Moscow is preparing to commence landing. Nearing the arrival time and destination, the captain of the aircraft announces that we are beginning our final descent (a scary phrase, no?) into Moscow Domededovo airport, adding that there is stormy weather and that everyone should be in their seats and buckled in. Maria, our new flight attendant friend, sits in the jumpseat facing us (we’re on an exit aisle) and stows her things in preparation for landing. A light conversation begins, in which we inform Maria that we’re coming to Moscow for the first time, and in which she informs us of the “no stay over” policy of Moscow as detailed above. Suddenly, the plane rocks to the side a little bit. I notice Maria glance at the other side of the aircraft, where another flight attendant, also seated, has looked over towards Maria with an expression that makes me feel uncomfortable. I look out the window of the plane and am a little worried because we’re heading downward and I can’t see the ground. No problem. They’ve done this many times before. No worries. The conversation starts up again. Maria explains that she likes to fly to Switzerland the most, and that she’s not really fond of the Moscow flight because she gets in late. We hear a normal plane sound, and Maria says (with a BBC British accent), “That will be the undercarriage.” The landing gear has been released, and Maria looks a little relieved. She explains that she was worried before that we wouldn’t be able to land, but now that the landing gear is out we should be down in a minute or two. So, I realize, she is willing to sit here and talk about Switzerland in order to distract me from recognizing the sure doom of the aircraft. I look out the side of the window and am suddenly terrified. The sky is pitch black and the clouds so thick that I cannot even see the light on the edge of the wing some tens of feet away—the ground below us is nowhere in sight. We are racing noticeably downward, and my heartrate accelerates to about the same speed as the plane. I ask Maria if most plane crashes are survivable. No actually I didn’t—this was just a good way to keep up the continuity of the drama with a touch of humorous understatement.

But I do ask Maria if this is the worst storm she’s ever been in, and while I’m asking, we hear the landing gear go BACK UP! I catch another glance from Maria to the other flight attendant, and this time she looks even more worried. I immediately keen that Maria knows we are facing certain death. Maria says that she’s worried we’ll have to be diverted to another airport, which is bad for her because she will be delayed even further from returning home and she has forgotten to feed her cat in London. Not to be fooled, I recognize this statement as confirmation that the plane is about to burrow into the ground at 700 miles per hour. The captain comes on the intercom and says (basically), “There’s a really bad storm right now at Domedodovo airport, and we have decided not to risk your lives by trying to land in a tornado. We’re diverting from Domedodovo to the other airport in Moscow. Sorry I couldn’t talk before, but we narrowly avoided smashing the plane into thousands of tiny bits and I had to concentrate.” I am not consoled so easily. However, as we make the extra trip to Sheremetyevo airport, I notice the sky becoming gradually clearer. By the time the landing gear comes out again, I can actually see a lighted city below the aircraft, and I am much more at ease. Maria assures us that the airline will arrange for our travel to the other airport, and we in turn assure her that her cat will be OK. Makinzie, by the way, has been disappointingly unphased by any of the preceding drama of death and aircraft destruction: she is in “go mode” to find our ride and get “home.”

An interesting story, that of our ride “home.” Whenever one plans to fly into an airport on the extreme southern side of a metropolis and then ends up flying into an airport on the extreme northern side of that same metropolis, great problems arise. Planes can fly this distance in minutes. Apparently, it takes a ground vehicle significantly more time to make the same journey. I’ll save the story of the airport waiting for the next time we meet, but you should know that it was filled with attempts to force connections between us and random people holding up signs in the new airport (no, “H” was not waiting for us, nor was “McKinsey and Company” or “University”) as well as a trip to a scary and near-deserted bar on the seedy fourth floor of the airport in search of an internet connection. Makinzie apparently is right in EVERY tense situation, for her advice to wait for our ride to make it from one airport to the other (countered by my suggestion to attempt to call her mom so that she could look up our number for our contact in Russia which we didn’t have) was ultimately right. Dr. Broersma, provost of RACU where I would be teaching in just a few hours, picked us up sometime around midnight Moscow time and we walked—or stumbled, rather—into our new “home” at about 1 am.

As for what happened next, you’ll just have to wait for the next episode . . .
Unless all of this text absolutely bored you, in which case you may not ever be reading my posts anymore . . .

Awake at 4:39 a.m.

2006-09-09T19:45:00.000-05:00

So . . . I'm sitting here in the study (we got internet at home, by the way) awake at almost 5 in the morning while Matt is peacefully dreaming in the next room (must be nice, huh?). . .I realize I haven't posted since last Tuesday.

A few informational points. . .I have begun taking Russian in an intensive language program that is located just a 10 minute walk from our flat (the instructor made one of the students cry on the 3rd day--she's really a nice lady, though). . . We have a 1 1/2 hour each way metro/bus trip--on which I have tried to do as the locals do and read during my 3 hour journey (can y'all believe it? I'm actually trying to read for enjoyment. . .who'd have thought) I've picked up The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf, partly because I like the title and the sentiment it entails and partly because Matt's a huge Woolf fan. . .The most exciting news is I have had my first week of classes--where true connections are starting to form (thanks for lifting us up).

I have been struck by some words a dear friend gave as we were leaving. It was something to the effect of encouraging us to have wisdom and creativity to partner with what God is doing out here. I have been focusing in on being creative as we partner with the current work being done out here but don't really know how to do or rest in that. I see this desire and yearning on the part of the students to see Jesus in those around them and to make true connections with people at the school. I'm sorry I'm just rambling. Anyhow, I pray for blessings and openness on the individual time I've set up with the students to work on English and to just share, as well as a continued strengthening of the bond of community we are working towards in the classroom. Since the class I'm teaching is an English Listening and Speaking class and I wasn't given a real guideline of what to follow, we've taken the last few minutes of class to praise and encourage eachother in our walks. We had a time of prayer at the end of class--I was touched to hear beautiful prayers in Russian spoke as well as students earnestly, in their broken English, lift their hearts to God. At the end . . .there were tears. I pray His hand on those precious minutes, that language barriers would continue to be broken on both ends and that we would continue to laugh.

Goodnight (hopefully I'll be able to sleep)-
Makinzie

Foreshadowing

2006-09-08T01:37:00.000-05:00

I'm writing right now from the RACU computer lab, which is where all of Kinzie's posts have come from and is also where, intermittently and at apparently random times, we are booted out of the room so that classes can take place. Consequently, I have not had time to share with you the stories and anecdotes that are already mounting up. The lovely DSL that was promised for our apartment is not yet working, and so we are only able to catch a few minutes of time in the computer lab every day to do internet stuff. Hopefully our Internet situation will be solved today or at least by Monday, and then you can expect several tomes of "first" posts from Russia from me (this one doesn't count).

OK, I'll type for a few more minutes as everyone in the lab seems to be occupied. I'm here right now to begin lessons in Russian with Nelly Roslyakova (always use first names and patronymic "middle" names to be respectful in Russia; my students informed me that my respectful Russian name is "Matvey Patrickovich", while Makinzie's is "Makeenzy Steevovna"). I had assumed that many of the faculty would be learning Russian also. No. I think that Makinzie and I in fact are the only ones in Moscow who don't know the language. Actually, there is another--Laura Hill, daughter of Intervarsity president and chief executive officer Alec Hill. Laura knows more Russian than I do, but we're close to the same level and so we're going to meet with "professor" Nelly a couple of times a week.

Oh, I've been told in Russian now to pack up and head out. At least I think that's what was said--spoken Russian frequently sounds angry and urgent. This weekend we'll be inputting email addresses and sending out an update via email. But please let everyone who would be interested know about our blogsite, as this is the easiest way for us to communicate with most of you.

Stay tuned for a full account of our first five days in the motherland.

--Matt

Address

2006-09-05T00:45:00.000-05:00

Here's our info while we're out here. . .

ul. Akademika Artsimovicha dom 9, kor 1, kv 81
Moscow 117437 RUSSIA
Phone number (from the US): 011-7-495-779-3916

2006-09-05T00:22:00.000-05:00

I feel so lost at times. None of the signs are in English and all the words sound so foriegn. When Matt and I walked down the streets yesterday to find a place to eat, I felt like a child. I was looking around at all of the signs in Russian, trying to sound them out and pick out words I understood; after yesterday, I can recognize 24 hour bank, metro, and cafe. . .That's a start, right?

As we travel to and from the flat, to and from the market, to and from the school, I am trying to get a grasp on the people here. Everyone crams into the metro, bodies squished together, and no one speaks or looks at eachother--if they do, they turn away quickly. I wrestle with how to connect--I feel this urgency because we are here only for a few short months.

As I begin my first class in just a few hours, I hope to truly connect with the students even within this first class setting. That is my prayer, Father, that you grant me opportunities to touch and to be touched today.

-Makinzie

27 hours later . . .

2006-09-04T03:49:00.000-05:00

After 27 hours of traveling, we've made it! Our flight to London was actually refreshing, and we were able to get some much needed sleep. My favorite line out of Matt's mouth was when we landed in London was, "I love it." We were touched and encouraged by people we met along the way of our trip out here and felt the Spirit holding our hand and we made this journey. As I reflect on our first 12 hours here, I am a bit overwhelmed by the lack of my knowledge of the language and request prayers for knowledge of how to prepare for this Listening/Speaking class I will teach tomorrow. I sense this real need to be bold (maybe that is because of the short time we have out here). Better get to work. . .

-Makinzie

Countdown

2006-08-31T11:47:00.000-05:00

The last bastion has fallen . . . the house is all packed up and everything moved to storage. We're now at less than 48 hours before the journey begins.

As usual for us, we have "packed" the last few days with so many activities and things to be done that we continue to put off the epiphanic moment when we realize that we're actually travelling halfway across the world and beginning a new life in a new culture. We've had glimpses, such as when we slept last night in a house completely empty of all our belongings and any vestigial signs of life: as the house shifted and echoed, the blank walls and dark rooms felt foreign and distant, and we woke up feeling as though these remaining days in California are the stirrings of a new volume of life for us. That's an exciting and terrifying thought.

Another thought that we are even less prepared for is how to satisfyingly express gratitude for the outpouring of support from you--our friends and our family. As letters continue to come in from all over Texas and California, we are overwhelmed with the sense that we are not going the 6,000 miles to Moscow alone . . . we carry your inspiration and encouragement. It's sobering to recognize one's place in something bigger, and we have been assured in the past few months that while our feet will be in Russia, the impetus for movement originates in what God is already doing in that country and in the world at large. Watch and be amazed, He says.

Thank you for your faithful responses.

Breakup

2006-08-31T11:46:00.000-05:00

Just kidding. We're still together and closer than ever.

Breakdown

2006-08-07T11:51:00.000-05:00

Below is a rough map of Moscow with the most important points of interest marked. Actually, these are the only four places we really know in Moscow, which by default make them the most important.

If you want to follow along on our travels, you can download a simple Moscow map program that allows you to search the streets in Moscow. Also, if you plan to come visit us while we're there, this would be a handy utility to have. Here's the download for the link: http://www.mom.ru/Engl/Download.htm You'll have to run the program once you download it, but it doesn't install anything, so you can just delete it when needed. As we know more about Moscow, we'll add other points of interest to our map. I'm holding out for an "Ono's Hawaiian Barbecue", but Kinzie tells me not to get my hopes up. There is a "Sbarro's" in the airport we're flying into, though.

I spent all day Friday going over notes on T.S. Eliot and Virginia Woolf for my next few weeks of class. At the end of the day, walking home from the campus library, I was thinking about what I could use from that information to create a good post for this site. Something really deep and thought provoking. But for some reason my thoughts kept being interrupted by the refrain of Jack Johnson's "Breakdown," the lines of which recurred in my head incessantly throughout the day. "I need this old train to breakdown." (full lyrics here: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/jackjohnson/breakdown.html) The song describes a scene as viewed from a moving train, carrying the speaker past all the people that he'll "never get to meet" towards a place where he "don't need to be". I don't know how you feel about Jack Johnson, but you have to admit that central metaphor of this song is well-chosen. The machinery that propels life forward for many of us too often makes other people, other lives, merely part of the scenery, glimpsed for a moment and then lost in the rush to move on. I guess that these past few years we have experienced this momentum acutely, with pressures to establish the right path and lay the right tracks towards a future destination where we'll finally rest and be comfortable. In the process, we haven't always been able to "just roll through town" and leave the vehicle of progress behind for awhile (although Makinzie is much better at this than I am). Sadly, the more we get accustomed to the motion of the social engine the less likely we are to jump off and try out our own feet.

I don't intend to be brooding here; this isn't a melancholy observation but an enabling one. I think that God has chosen to put Russia into our lives right now with the intention of "breaking down" our dependence on habit, custom, and comfort. I think we really do need this "old train" to break down, even though I'm not sure where that will leave us. Ironically, in Moscow we'll be riding more trains than ever, and moving past a great many people that we'll never meet. We'll also be fueling the social machine by filling out job search letters for the MLA conference in December. But I'm also looking forward to slowing down the machine as much as possible, so that we can involve ourselves in the lives of people around us and maybe even "stroll through town" on occasion. I think that new paths will open up that we didn't even see before. And of course, the train will always be there when we come back.

2006-08-06T22:39:00.000-05:00

Coming off of a weekend of work! Makinzie spent all weekend helping build a house in Tijuana, while I stayed at home by myself and prepped for my Literature course the next few weeks. I also packed up our dishes and some of my books in preparation for the move, which is in (*panicked tone*) less than a month! I'm wondering how Kinzie will take the fact that I packed up all of our dishes and glasses this weekend. I didn't really realize I had done that until all said items were safely wrapped in several layers of tape. I'm not sure what we'll eat on for four weeks. I'll keep you updated.

Oh, I just looked at the clock and realized that I have to go pick up Makinzie at the church. I'll try to post again in a little while. I had some "techie" stuff to put on the site.

2006-08-01T14:19:00.000-05:00

Russia or bust! Here begins the great climactic account of our impending stay in Moscow, Russia and the many adventures to be found thereof!

Unfortunately, I only have time today to post a few comments. Anticlimactic, I know. Anyway, the pictures posted are of our apartment in Moscow; it belongs to a couple who has been teaching at RACU and who is going back to the States during the fall. I don't know how we are going to adjust to such austere surroundings, but we'll try!

I also wanted to give everyone the link for RACU's website, which is at http://racu.org Try browsing some of the information and viewing some of the pictures on the site--it's very well done!

We'll add more as time allows--for now I have to go work on my syllabus for my second day of my first-ever literature course!

The origin of "The Yew Tree"

2006-07-22T12:51:00.000-05:00

http://www.3pintsgone.com/StValery/YewTree.htm

"This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply"
--T.S. Eliot, Ash-Wednesday