Most of the group who gathered to serve together from different regions of the world (pictured here together in Moscow at the end of our trip).
On Friday evening, July 20th, about 10 hours before needing to arrive at the airport to leave for our trip, I received a text message from the leader of the trip...
"please ask everyone you know to pray...we have no visas and passports." Our visa's had not arrived in the mail from Seattle and the chances of Delta allowing our group to fly to New York without this documentation was pretty unlikely. As I lay in bed around 1:00am (I left myself about 2 hours of sleep before needing to get up to leave) I thought to myself, "maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the trip got canceled." My nerves had revved up and were beginning to get the best of me. Truly this was the first and only time that I felt in the deepest part of myself that I wouldn't be disappointed if I was unable to go. It's a good thing the bags were packed and the ticket purchased or who knows what decision I might have made in those early morning hours.
Miraculously, with photo copies of our visas and passports, Delta airlines allowed our group to board and fly to JFK. Some Russian friends who were joining us on the mission trip from Portland would pick up our Visas from Seattle and bring them to New York for us.
This was the beginning of the travels and little else along the way was predictable. We had a 3 hour flight to JFK, a 10 hour flight to Moscow followed by a 14 hour train ride to Ulyanovsk, and-a few days later- a 4 hour van ride to Svetlachok (camp).
The best part of the traveling was getting to know my mission group and team members, listening to their life stories that were so different from mine. A group of about 15 left together from Minneapolis. At evey stop along the way we were joined by more and more people (and more and more luggage) until we were in Ulyanovsk and our group had about doubled in size. Every team member was either from Russia, Ukraine, Latvia, Moldova, or Belarus. None of the Russian Americans I traveled with had been born in the United States and some have only been in the U.S. 4 or 5 years. We also had some people join us from local Russian villages including a few young adults who had "graduated" from the Russian Orphanage system.
So many of these new friends of mine were so kind as to speak to me in their best English and share their stories with me as I asked unceasing questions. Many struggled to find the right word to communicate their thoughts and some even said to me, "I understand your question, I just don't know how to answer it in English." Many others worked tirelessly with me to translate between myself and other group members. I was told that the group I was traveling with was a "special group" who are particularly 'good people', willing to use both their English and Russian to communicate- both with me and with each other.
After 3 weeks I can do nothing but agree with the assessment of their goodness!
On the way to JFK and to Moscow I sat next to an early twenty-something man named MIsha who was born in Russia but had not been to his home country since he was a baby. His family had left Russia for the United States in the 1990s because of religious persecution (the most common reason this group identified for me). As we began our descent into Moscow, Misha's eyes lit up and he sat a bit taller than I had seen up until that point. "We're in Russia!" he exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement.
Regina, our youngest team member at 17, was born in Moldova but has been in the United States since kindergarten and had never traveled to Russia. I could feel her nervous and excited energy as we took our first steps together through he streets of Moscow.
Tiana, one of our desginated head chefs, had spent most of her life as a resident of Moscow before immigrating to the U.S. She was so thrilled to be back in Moscow that I imagine she feels about the city the same way I feel about New York- she had nothing but adoration for her home town. On our way to the train station Tiana turned to me and said, "We're in Russia now...I can do this-" she then proceeded to take the gum out of her mouth and drop it on the sidewalk. I was unable in my 3 weeks in Russia to get used to throwing my garbage on the ground the way all the locals do. Though finding a trash can was often a treasure hunt, some practices are just too deeply engrained to be abandoned in such a short period of time :)
At some point in Moscow we were joined by a young woman from Ukraine named Ola (by far the most difficult name for me to pronounce- apparently my 'l' is too English, not being soft enough). Ola was soft-spoken and kind with a true servant's heart. She was tall and beautiful and more on the athletic side that the typical Russian woman. She was the only one who kept stride with me a few feet ahead of the rest of the often sauntering group :) As we walked Ola asked me about story and how I came to be in Russia with this particular group. I learned from Ola that her own mother had died from cancer when she was a late teen. Her mother had left her with a spiritual heritage but Ola found herself very angry with God after losing both her mother and her grandmother. But she eventually had a dream in which her mother came to her and spoke to her saying, "Ola, is this how you want to spend your life? Don't be angry with God." She returned to her relationship with God and has been committed to serving Him in the Ukraine and Russia. Ola's father never believed in God and passed away suddenly from a random illness. "I have hope," Ola told me, "because the night that my father died God awoke me from sleep and made me feel very urgent to pray for my father. He was out of town staying with his mother in another city and I did not know he was dying. I have hope that God spoke to him that night."
Once on the train my "bunk buddy" (the one who slep in the loft across from my) was a young, kind, and incredibly innocent young man named Vova. Such a deep part of me wanted to crash in my loft and dream the train ride away, but Vova somewhat insisted on keeping me company :) Vova loved that I am a teacher and had lots of questions for me. He works as a tutor to middle school students in a private Russian school in Portland. He is studying to be an engineer but would like to teach math one day. Vova has a large family (I believe he is one of 7 children) and shared with me that his father was actually a criminal in Russia. He had gotten into trouble and was serving time in a Russian prison when a minister came and told him about life with Jesus. Vova's father "became Christian" and began receiving letters from women in the local church who wrote to encourage converted prisoners in their new faith. Vova's father began to correspond regularly from prison with Vova's mother and he married her shortly after being released. They now have 7 children together (Vova being a middle child) and have immigrated their family to the United States.
Of all the storytellers I encountered on this trip, my very favorite is my new friend named Slavic. Slav and I became friends right away at JFK when he joined us from Portland and began to tell me about his terrible romantic crisis he was leaving behind in the States. Slav is more passionate than any of the men in our group (and certainly any American man I know) and often says his emotions are misunderstood by Russian men. He would say to me, "Shannon, you need to try this crepe...it is as sweet as my life when things are going well!" Moments later he would say, "the air is cold...like my heart when life is not going so well for me." Slav is actually full blooded Turkish but was born and raised in Moldova until he was 9. In Ulyanovsk, Slav would take long, long walks with me (I was not allowed to go for a walk or run without a man) and tell me all about life growing up in Moldova- "this village reminds me so much of being a boy in Moldova," he would say. He told me about running and hiking and fishing and climbing trees. He told me about the time his brother picked him up and threw him onto a sheep that was passing by and how he rode it like a horse. He told me about the day he and his friends stole a man's dog from his front yard and then sold it to someone else down the road. And he told me how, every day, there was a gathering of gangs to fight. "In Russia," he said, "everyone fights. Their mind is one that says only the strongest survive. You have to show that you are strong or you will be beat and taken advantage of for the rest of your life. Everyone thinks this way, Shannon- kids and adults. I hated to fight and I was always so scared...but if I didn't fight, I was going to get beat up. Sometimes, in America, when someone is getting smart mouthed, I still have to resist the urge to fight them." I would soon see this mindset up close and personal among the orphan children.
Slav also told me how Moldova can not boast many things- in fact, to tell a Russian you are from Moldova can be embarrassing. "The people are very simple and not considered very smart", he told me. "But they are good people...gentle". And, he said, "EVERYONE grows their own grapes and makes their own wine. Moldova has some of the best wine in the world!!"
I hope I can taste homemade Moldova wine someday with Slav and Regina, my new Moldovian friends :)
"please ask everyone you know to pray...we have no visas and passports." Our visa's had not arrived in the mail from Seattle and the chances of Delta allowing our group to fly to New York without this documentation was pretty unlikely. As I lay in bed around 1:00am (I left myself about 2 hours of sleep before needing to get up to leave) I thought to myself, "maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the trip got canceled." My nerves had revved up and were beginning to get the best of me. Truly this was the first and only time that I felt in the deepest part of myself that I wouldn't be disappointed if I was unable to go. It's a good thing the bags were packed and the ticket purchased or who knows what decision I might have made in those early morning hours.
Miraculously, with photo copies of our visas and passports, Delta airlines allowed our group to board and fly to JFK. Some Russian friends who were joining us on the mission trip from Portland would pick up our Visas from Seattle and bring them to New York for us.
This was the beginning of the travels and little else along the way was predictable. We had a 3 hour flight to JFK, a 10 hour flight to Moscow followed by a 14 hour train ride to Ulyanovsk, and-a few days later- a 4 hour van ride to Svetlachok (camp).
The best part of the traveling was getting to know my mission group and team members, listening to their life stories that were so different from mine. A group of about 15 left together from Minneapolis. At evey stop along the way we were joined by more and more people (and more and more luggage) until we were in Ulyanovsk and our group had about doubled in size. Every team member was either from Russia, Ukraine, Latvia, Moldova, or Belarus. None of the Russian Americans I traveled with had been born in the United States and some have only been in the U.S. 4 or 5 years. We also had some people join us from local Russian villages including a few young adults who had "graduated" from the Russian Orphanage system.
So many of these new friends of mine were so kind as to speak to me in their best English and share their stories with me as I asked unceasing questions. Many struggled to find the right word to communicate their thoughts and some even said to me, "I understand your question, I just don't know how to answer it in English." Many others worked tirelessly with me to translate between myself and other group members. I was told that the group I was traveling with was a "special group" who are particularly 'good people', willing to use both their English and Russian to communicate- both with me and with each other.
After 3 weeks I can do nothing but agree with the assessment of their goodness!
On the way to JFK and to Moscow I sat next to an early twenty-something man named MIsha who was born in Russia but had not been to his home country since he was a baby. His family had left Russia for the United States in the 1990s because of religious persecution (the most common reason this group identified for me). As we began our descent into Moscow, Misha's eyes lit up and he sat a bit taller than I had seen up until that point. "We're in Russia!" he exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement.
Regina, our youngest team member at 17, was born in Moldova but has been in the United States since kindergarten and had never traveled to Russia. I could feel her nervous and excited energy as we took our first steps together through he streets of Moscow.
Tiana, one of our desginated head chefs, had spent most of her life as a resident of Moscow before immigrating to the U.S. She was so thrilled to be back in Moscow that I imagine she feels about the city the same way I feel about New York- she had nothing but adoration for her home town. On our way to the train station Tiana turned to me and said, "We're in Russia now...I can do this-" she then proceeded to take the gum out of her mouth and drop it on the sidewalk. I was unable in my 3 weeks in Russia to get used to throwing my garbage on the ground the way all the locals do. Though finding a trash can was often a treasure hunt, some practices are just too deeply engrained to be abandoned in such a short period of time :)
At some point in Moscow we were joined by a young woman from Ukraine named Ola (by far the most difficult name for me to pronounce- apparently my 'l' is too English, not being soft enough). Ola was soft-spoken and kind with a true servant's heart. She was tall and beautiful and more on the athletic side that the typical Russian woman. She was the only one who kept stride with me a few feet ahead of the rest of the often sauntering group :) As we walked Ola asked me about story and how I came to be in Russia with this particular group. I learned from Ola that her own mother had died from cancer when she was a late teen. Her mother had left her with a spiritual heritage but Ola found herself very angry with God after losing both her mother and her grandmother. But she eventually had a dream in which her mother came to her and spoke to her saying, "Ola, is this how you want to spend your life? Don't be angry with God." She returned to her relationship with God and has been committed to serving Him in the Ukraine and Russia. Ola's father never believed in God and passed away suddenly from a random illness. "I have hope," Ola told me, "because the night that my father died God awoke me from sleep and made me feel very urgent to pray for my father. He was out of town staying with his mother in another city and I did not know he was dying. I have hope that God spoke to him that night."
Once on the train my "bunk buddy" (the one who slep in the loft across from my) was a young, kind, and incredibly innocent young man named Vova. Such a deep part of me wanted to crash in my loft and dream the train ride away, but Vova somewhat insisted on keeping me company :) Vova loved that I am a teacher and had lots of questions for me. He works as a tutor to middle school students in a private Russian school in Portland. He is studying to be an engineer but would like to teach math one day. Vova has a large family (I believe he is one of 7 children) and shared with me that his father was actually a criminal in Russia. He had gotten into trouble and was serving time in a Russian prison when a minister came and told him about life with Jesus. Vova's father "became Christian" and began receiving letters from women in the local church who wrote to encourage converted prisoners in their new faith. Vova's father began to correspond regularly from prison with Vova's mother and he married her shortly after being released. They now have 7 children together (Vova being a middle child) and have immigrated their family to the United States.
Of all the storytellers I encountered on this trip, my very favorite is my new friend named Slavic. Slav and I became friends right away at JFK when he joined us from Portland and began to tell me about his terrible romantic crisis he was leaving behind in the States. Slav is more passionate than any of the men in our group (and certainly any American man I know) and often says his emotions are misunderstood by Russian men. He would say to me, "Shannon, you need to try this crepe...it is as sweet as my life when things are going well!" Moments later he would say, "the air is cold...like my heart when life is not going so well for me." Slav is actually full blooded Turkish but was born and raised in Moldova until he was 9. In Ulyanovsk, Slav would take long, long walks with me (I was not allowed to go for a walk or run without a man) and tell me all about life growing up in Moldova- "this village reminds me so much of being a boy in Moldova," he would say. He told me about running and hiking and fishing and climbing trees. He told me about the time his brother picked him up and threw him onto a sheep that was passing by and how he rode it like a horse. He told me about the day he and his friends stole a man's dog from his front yard and then sold it to someone else down the road. And he told me how, every day, there was a gathering of gangs to fight. "In Russia," he said, "everyone fights. Their mind is one that says only the strongest survive. You have to show that you are strong or you will be beat and taken advantage of for the rest of your life. Everyone thinks this way, Shannon- kids and adults. I hated to fight and I was always so scared...but if I didn't fight, I was going to get beat up. Sometimes, in America, when someone is getting smart mouthed, I still have to resist the urge to fight them." I would soon see this mindset up close and personal among the orphan children.
Slav also told me how Moldova can not boast many things- in fact, to tell a Russian you are from Moldova can be embarrassing. "The people are very simple and not considered very smart", he told me. "But they are good people...gentle". And, he said, "EVERYONE grows their own grapes and makes their own wine. Moldova has some of the best wine in the world!!"
I hope I can taste homemade Moldova wine someday with Slav and Regina, my new Moldovian friends :)
Slavic and I at the Subway in Moscow- got a bit caught in the rain.
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