It’s the little things that make your day sometimes. This story isn’t worth writing in a newsletter, I guess. But it meant a great deal to me. On Sundays, for a little while at least, I’m checking out churches to pray about which to make my home church. This Sunday, I went to the largest church in Ukraine (in membership). I am told that they have 30 services a week and 20,000 members. It’s called, “Embassy of God,” and it’s a Pentecostal/Charismatic church pastored by a Nigerian. An interesting mix and flavor to say the least.
I went with my friend Zholti (from Uzghorod), and another student I hadn’t met before named Larissa. As it turns out, I have a half hour walk ahead of me, a bit cold. Zholti is a good friend, mainly because we like to hang out at the Good Ship Venetzia, pull out the worship songbooks and worship together. He plays guitar; I play the piano. The funny thing is that he sings all the songs in Russian and I sing them in English, and we do that simultaneously. Which is, by the way, another great avenue for me to learn Russian.
So we have a limited vocabulary in each other’s language. I think perhaps we sound like a couple of Tarzans. “You… want… playing… new… song?” On our walk, I find that Larissa speaks less English then Zholti, or has less confidence. So the three of us plod through conversation. Zholti being the translator
Then I remember that Zholti told me he was adopted by a family in Germany. So when I can’t explain the English word, I pull up the German one. As it turns out, Larissa spent a year in Germany and can speak it fairly well. So for the rest of our walk to church, we spoke this strange hybrid of German, English, and Russian.
This came in especially handy because Zholti left church early. Believe it or not, it was a four hour church service. So it was just Larissa and I walking back home. I was so thankful for the German language that sort of lays dormant in me most of the time. We actually had a real conversation about our pasts and futures, former jobs, etc. A funny part came when I asked what she did for work in Germany. She told me but I was unfamiliar with the word. Then she explained it and I thought she was a Nanny. But when I asked, of course she’d never heard the word English word, Nanny. Finally I said, “You were Mary Poppins.” And to this she said yes, something like that.
Strangely enough, speaking German made me feel more at home. Even though we never speak German at home, unless we don’t want English speakers to know what we’re saying. But there’s a certain warmth to me about the language because of my heritage. Your language must be close to your heart.

¶ 2:34 AM //

¶ 11:12 AM //

¶ 11:12 AM //

¶ 7:24 AM //

Two days ago I went to the orphanage in a neighboring city called Makariv (emphasis on the second syllable). I finally felt like I found the reason for coming. It feels good to put on the “children’s pastor” clothes again. We just spent time with 10 to 15 year olds, but apparently there are more children at the from age 2 to 9. Try as I might, I couldn’t see them. It may have been nap time though.

One unique opportunity was for me to see a skit I’d written performed in Russian. The Key of Hope team had discussed teaching the children about respect, and specifically this week about respecting each other. I had written a skit involving a plate of chocolate chip cookies with two characters, Mosha and Sasha (common Russian nicknames). The skit was basically about Sasha stealing the cookies, not realizing that they were for the kids in the audience. One surprise for me was that when it came time to perform the skit, instead of the chocolate chip cookies, they had prepared a dish of layer cookies, with bars of chocolate scattered among it.
I discovered afterwards that the only place I can get chocolate chip cookies in Kyiv is at the home of an American missionary. I’ve decided to make some for the Thanksgiving Love Feast that is planned soon. Incidentally, I did bring a pack of Oreos for that time when I miss American food. But as I’ve only been here a week now, I’m supposed to still in my honeymoon phase.

The language barrier was again the hardest part of this orphanage trip. I really want to talk to the kids beyond, “Hi. How are you? What is your name? How old are you?” Another difficulty is remembering names. In America, when you meet children, their names are David or Jennifer, they seem to be much easier to remember. When you’ve never heard the names before, like Eera or Yana, it doesn’t seem to lock in as well. I fear that I’ll be asking names all over again next week.

As is common for mission trips, I shared a little devotional that was translated sentence by sentence into Russian. I brought some puppets as a visual aid, because I was talking about something that happened to me as a puppeteer. I’m told that puppet ministry is very effective in Ukraine. Nurlan, the Key of Hope team leader, asked if I would be willing in the future to do puppet shows for the younger kids. He told me he felt bad because they took the young children out during the program because they believed they couldn’t sit still through the teaching. We’ll see what we can do about that. My feeling is that you could bring them in at least by 7 or 8, but I haven’t seen the teaching in the past, or spoken with the orphanage director.

All in all, a very positive experience. I’m learning more Russian every day, and believing by faith that I will be able to have a better semblance of conversations sooner than later.

The picture above features a few kids from the orphanage. The girl in white is "Eyre." I don't know the proper spelling, (since it would be Russian letters anyway) But it's pronounced, "EE-ruh."

¶ 10:57 AM //

¶ 8:54 PM //

I’ve recently joined the staff of Youth With a Mission (YWAM) Kyiv. The YWAM base here has over 60 staff here and many students from around the world. Within the base there are training schools, church planting, counseling and family ministries, and many other specialized fields of ministry. I’m a part of “Key of Hope,” which was called, “YWAM Street Kids Ministry” but changed its name because we work with not just street kids, but orphans, and local children of various backgrounds as well.

I arrived safely on Wednesday afternoon and was finally able to get an internet connection this weekend. By the way, I flew Polish Airlines, which despite a less than stellar reputation, brought me here without incident. A non-eventful flight is a good flight, as far as I’m concerned. At one point they did direct me to the wrong gate. Feeling suspicious, I kept asking to make sure. Only at five minutes before departure, was I told that indeed I was at the wrong gate. I had to go through security again too.

You may be interested in my housing situation. I’m on the third floor of an 8-floor soviet style apartment building. By “soviet style” I mean that it’s mass produced, essentials-only housing. So the building is not aesthetically pleasing at all. You’re fairly safe to say that “soviet style” is not an adjective of honor. On the other hand, the apartment is more spacious than I expected. My bedroom is sizable by my standards at least, and the facilities are very functional. I understand that this is only a temporary situation for us anyway. The landlord isn’t “soviet style” at all, and she provided us with some new fixtures for the sink and has been open to all of our requests.

I think the elevator is the scariest part of living here. It’s very small and old and you can see through parts of it, which is only nice when an elevator is actually made of glass. The girls in our group try to get as many people in the elevator as possible. I don’t see a sign showing the weight limit so one can only hope and pray. Being on the third floor, I generally just use the stairs, but some of our team lives on the sixth floor in another building which makes walking impractical.

I have a roommate. His name is Rosen. He’s a Bulgarian who was adopted by American missionaries when he was 12. He’s a great roommate, and a “worship-head” like me. So there’s always worship music either played or sung in our apartment. We get along well. But of course it’s still early in the game, so we haven’t had time to drive each other crazy yet.

I haven’t worked with any children yet in the traditional sense. I’ve had an orientation meeting and a base family night and then connection time with my team on Saturday. Today I went “shopping” for a home church. I think I’ve found it. It’s called Hillsong Church of Kiev, or something like that. If you’re familiar with Hillsongs Music (Shout to the Lord, anyone?) or Hillsong church in Australia, this is a sister church. Even though my translation headphones zapped out on me during the sermon, I feel pretty good about the place. I have been invited to other churches, including a really big one called, “Sunday Church,” that’s pretty famous around the world, and an American church. But it seems to me to be an American going to an American church is a bit of a cop out if I’m trying to reach Ukrainians for Jesus. I suspect that the church is more likely there to attract expatriate Americans, and could be effective for people missing the States and dealing with culture shock.

The attached pic is my apartment building in Kyiv, and the other one with me and some Ukrainian youth. (The guy on my right is Rosen)

¶ 1:42 PM //