This is Part Two from the apartment story I told last week. I grew up with the value that you eat everything off your plate, no wasting. This idea was challenged through some unusual food experiences.

While I was finding a new apartment, my friends the Colkers made arrangements for me to stay at a house with some Ukrainian grandparents. The downside was that I had to cut an hour at the beginning and end of every day for travel time. But it made for some unique dining experiences.

Mama Vera enjoys cooking. She's from the village, what I'd like to call the Acts 10:13 School of Cuisine. "Rise Peter, kill and eat." She didn't like my quick banana or yogurt breakfasts. Food needs to be hot and there needs to be lots of it. One morning as I was walking out the door, she called down the stairs, "Markoos, nuzhna kooschit." (Markus, you need to eat) In her hand was a plate with three eggs and five sausages. On the table, tea and bread was laid out. How could I leave it when she already made all that preparation? I had been worried about being late, but Mama Vera guaranteed it.

Some meals weren't part of the normal American diet. In her family you can expect soup at every meal, breakfast included. To Mama Vera's delight, I ate what I was served. The weirdest breakfast she served me pasta with "chicken belly buttons." (chicken livers???) I think I impressed the family that I ate it... Is impressed the right word?

But the ultimate Mama Vera meal was on Christmas Day. She set before me what looked like a bowl of ice with like pieces of meat in it. Frozen soup? "Yazik..." she said, and looked at me. "Yazik" means "language," and at first I thought she wanted the english word for this dish.

"Ya nye znayoo" (I don't know) I told her and then remembered: "Yazik" also means "tongue." She wasn’t asking me a question. She was serving me tongue! Upon closer inspection, it wasn't frozen water but clear jello.

For the geeks among you, (I know I'm one) here's the science, when you boil bone or cartilage, the end result is this gelatinous substance. It's true, this is how jello is made. Of course ours is mixed with sugar and other things.

Next to the bowl o' tongue, was a beautiful white cake decorated with madarins and kiwis. Three year old Bianca was sitting next to me. She pointed and indicated what she wanted. Not the cake, but the tongue. That can only be a cultural phenomenon. (She ate my portion)

And so God prepared for me not just a temporary place to live, but a never ending supply of exotic foods during my stay. That means yet another chapter.

¶ 2:23 AM //

¶ 2:18 AM //

¶ 2:14 AM //

Here’s something else you can pray for in Ukraine. Business Ethics. It’s a big problem here. I have friends whose entire ministry is teaching godly business principles. It’s a big need because it’s a problem even in the church.
Today’s adventure tells of my most dramatic foray to date against sketchy business practices in Ukraine. My landlord wanted us to pay an additional $180 rent. I told her that even if I loved the apartment, I couldn’t afford that kind of rent. This is a longer story, so I'll tell it in two parts.
It was just a bad apartment. Exhibit A: A Pull Chain Toilet. The principle works like a water tower. When you pull the chain, gravity pulls down the water and flushes the toilet. Kind of cool in a science class kind of way, but it’s bulky and monstrous and technology you only (should) find in the villages now.
Exhibit B: The Radio. There is a monster radio on the wall. Wish I’d taken a picture of it now. The funny feature about the radio is that it had volume control but no way to change the channel. Know why? It’s left over from the Soviet Union era when they didn’t want you to have access to any information except the Communist Propaganda.
Exhibit C: Winter Air Conditioning. I’m not kidding. Last winter, the place was so drafty, we used the kitchen as a walk in freezer. The fridge/freezer broke but it didn’t matter. I just put the stuff on the window sill and kept it frozen there. I had to move my mattress to the center room, close the doors at night, to keep the one room warm with a space heater.
Exhibit D: The phone. Didn’t work for four months. Four months?!?! We finally had it fixed ourselves.
When I told the landlady I wasn’t interested in the apartment at the price she wanted, she said we had about three weeks to get out. I made arrangements to stay in another friends’ apartment from that day until the end of the year.
The next morning she called to say we had until next week to leave. Then that afternoon she called and said we had to leave by Saturday. It was Tuesday.
What was I supposed to do? I was leaving in two days to the orphanage in Komarnikva with the dental truck ministry. Then I’d be home one day to then leave for Uzhgorod for Christmas with the orphans there on another trip. That would give me two and a half interrupted days to pack up my belongings, and find a place to stay. I told her that she originally gave me until the end of the month and I would get out as soon as I could. But with my schedule, it was impossible.
She told us that if we weren’t out on Saturday, she would call the police on us. There was nothing we could do since our contract had expired. I checked and it was true. I had never been threatened with police action before. Merry Christmas.
I was so angry with her. Three times within twenty four hours she changed on us and could do it again. We had been good renters, always paid on time. We were patient when the phone didn’t work and paid to fix it ourselves. But when we wouldn’t give the inflated rent she wanted, she turned into somebody else.
I don’t have any reason to believe the lady was a Christian. I don’t know her heart. I saw fruit of another lifestyle. But as followers of Jesus, we have a responsibility. We teach and believe in integrity and honesty and righteousness. But does that come through at work, when we do our taxes, when we wait in traffic?
In this country, there’s continuous pressure to pay bribes to get things done. One orphanage wanted “under the table” money for us to keep working with the kids there. A traffic ticket can be avoided with a little bonus for the police.
No matter where you live, sometimes it’s convenient to “supplement” a little of the truth to avoid conflict or to improve a story. We’re tempted to take office supplies that wouldn’t be noticed at work. But for the convenience, we surrender a piece of our conscience. We give a piece of ourselves for postage stamps.
Genuine faith washes over into our wallets and our relationships and our conversations. The truth we believe must be the truth that we live because there’s no price for going to bed with a clear conscience.
I'm not homeless, but the next part of the story is fun enough to save for next time. Check back soon for Part 2.

¶ 3:40 PM //

¶ 8:48 AM //

This just in. My first gingerbread creation. It's a gingerbread church. Story is below somewhere. I didn't do it alone, but I did design it and make the pattern.

¶ 5:44 PM //

Go ahead and pour yourself a cup of coffee. It’s time for another Oleg story. To recap, Oleg is a boy in the hospital who’s been diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy and Microcephaly. (I remain skeptical about the Microcephaly) He’s about two years old and has lived his entire life in the hospital.
I’ve can honestly say I’ve spent more individual time with Oleg than any other child in Ukraine. We see each other twice a week. I’ll see him today. He’s way behind developmentally, partly because of his physical problems, but also because of the lack of stimulation.
We work on several areas. Oleg can’t sit up on his own. He doesn’t really roll, but can move about when he’s on his stomach. He’s experimented with solid food, but doesn’t really care for bananas. I’m even working on trying to get him to speak.
Normally, you can use a toy as motivation for babies, especially in teaching them to crawl or walk. They need a reason to leave their comfortable position. When they see and want the toy, they pursue it, and that moves them along the developmental path.
Oleg doesn’t seem respond to those kind of things. Oh, he’ll laugh and smile and likes to be tickled. He’s happy to look at whatever I present him, a bear, a spoon, or a mirror. Sure beats watching the ceiling all day. But he just doesn’t try to take the toy. It’s almost like he approaches life like watching TV. He’s easily entertained by it, but only as a spectator, not a participant.
That is, until this week. Because we didn’t have many children at the hospital, I was able to focus almost exclusively on Oleg. We have a regimen. Stretch and massage his legs and arms. Move the legs and hips in a way that encourage him to roll around. We practice sitting. I even make little noises for him to imitate, trying to get him to “talk.” All kinds of stuff.
But that big goal is still to get him to reach for things instead of watch them. I placed Oleg on his back. I shook a toy that’s part rattle, hour glass, teething ring, and squeaker. I moved it back and forth and he tracked it with his eyes and head. I brought it close to his face and far away.
“Go ahead, Oleg. Grab it. You can have it if you grab it.” It’s the same thing I’ve done for months and months. I touched his hands with it first and then moved it away. I did my best to advertise it as the coolest toy ever, shaking it, rattling it, turning it.
Then surprisingly, Oleg started shaking for a second. Not like he was convulsing, but like he was trying to work himself up to do something, like a boxer moves as he enters the ring to face his rival. All at once he reached and grabbed the toy! “Hooray! Good job Oleg. Maladyets! (“good job” in Russian.)
Again, I took the toy and coaxed him on. “Go ahead and take it. It’s yours if you want it. Listen to that noise. See how it moves? You want it? You want it?” And again he shook as if trying to wake up his arms and grabbed the toy again.
One more time. “Here it is. It’s over your head. It’s to the right. To the left. Can you get it? Do you really want it?” Like Gulliver escaping from the Lilliputians, he pulls up slowly and whacks at it. And there was rejoicing throughout the hospital room.
Clearly my “Epic Adventures” aren’t about parachuting or white water rafting. I’m not eating bugs or dodging poisoned spears. But I’ve seen Oleg take another major step after days and weeks and months of trying. And I saw him fight to do it. You know what this means? The fight is in him. His body might not cooperate yet, or maybe he doesn’t know how to make it cooperate. But I saw the desire, and if you have the desire, you keep going forward.
I hope you too have the desire and keep moving forward.

¶ 5:31 AM //