Returning to “being away” sounds much
easier than “going away,” but I am here to testify that
it is not. February was a cold month here in Kyiv, and embracing
that cold directly, without the outer shields of the novel and unknown,
I spent a few nights in my first month back shivering and wishing
for warmth. When I first came to Kyiv, I spent the first month basically
in a haze of meeting experiences, culture, languages, and people
for the first time. The uniqueness of the experiences in my life
and the overwhelming volume of experiences drove out any lingering
thoughts of home or my “past life.” Confronted at every
turn by something foreign, I concentrated fully on absorbing these
things, on attempting to understand and grow accustomed to them.
However, returning is utterly different.
Without the flood of stimuli, I retained the shadows
and echoes of Nashville much more definitely. I knew into what I
was going and retained a clear memory of from what I had come. I
have to admit that these memories made my first couple weeks in
Kyiv very difficult. With temperatures hovering between 20 degrees
and a few degrees below zero, I had a lot of time to reflect on
the contrasts shivering in my apartment. The worst jet lag I have
had yet, a bad neck from airline travel, sickness, and, of course,
the cold all attacked me in late January and early February, but
I have survived their onslaught intact. Experiencing the first true
“downer period” of my time here forced me to look inward,
and, in doing so, to look upward. Now, it is getting warmer (almost
above freezing), and the sun is no longer ashamed to shine.
Returning late, once again due to transportation
problems, a storm in Amsterdam that caused me to have to move my
connecting flight to the next day, I arrived to a flurry of activities
awaiting my return. While I was gone, Chris had been teaching my
two sections, 55 students total, of Composition One at International
Christian University. I jumped into the classes and soon realized
that 55 papers take a lot longer to grade than 25, but I truly enjoy
my students and their young (they are all freshmen) eagerness to
learn this semester. Several of those students have been attending
our weekly Soup Group, in which Chris and I answer questions about
Christianity or religion in general and then we read and discuss
C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. In the university classes,
we are reading Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and Lewis’
last novel Till We Have Faces. Although they struggle with the difficult
language sometimes, I think the students are beginning to appreciate
the depth present in both of these books, as well as the depth present
in life that people so often overlook or dismiss without investigation.
At the UEC, books, videos, and CD’s continue
to move off the shelves and visitors continue to swarm in. We received
two bags of books from Kristen Thompson’s cell group, and,
rumor has it, more are on the way. We were also able to purchase
a cartload of Russian language religious books from a local bookstore,
as well as a new supply of English language books, designed more
for beginners than any material we currently have in the library.
I have taken up the hobby, in off times at the library, of playing
chess, a game I haven’t really played since my dad taught
me and my older sister to play when we were young tykes. Needless
to say, I have some improving to do. However, one of the church
members holds the ranking right below grand master, so he always
looks at our games with a little humor behind his eyes.
Our “Study Center” continues to flourish
as we attempt to educate people about Christianity and its relation
to the contemporary world. I have been co-teaching a class on World
Religions with Sergiy, the UEC manager, as well as leading a discussion
group of Till We Have Faces, which focuses topically on the religious
aspects of the novel. Along with these pursuits, I have also re-immersed
myself in my Russian studies, and continue to wrestle with its strange
sounds and constructions. Many days I congratulate myself on how
much I have learned, and then someone speaks to me in Russian, and
I chastise myself for being so futile.
Although there were nights in early February that
I sat in my room, huddled in four or five layers, alone and wishing
to see my family, have a Mexican dinner with friends, or just flip
on the TV and watch Jeopardy (one of my favorite shows), those nights
taught me to appreciate my solitude when it occurred. How often
in America did I have whole nights to read, write, or just reflect
on my being and self? As spring struggles to arrive these next few
months, I await an onslaught of anticipations and excitements. My
older sister Nicole will spend her spring break here March 12th
through the 19th; my mother and Karen Speake arrive a week later
on the 26th for five days; before my roommate, Oleg, leaves for
an internship in Poland this summer, we are planning to trip to
Russia during the holiday season the first week of May. Following
those adventures, two Let’s Start Talking teams arrive, a
friend of mine from Vanderbilt may be coming, and the hot summer
(without air conditioning) descends upon us.
Obviously, it is going to be an exciting, and busy,
next few months, with the sunshine hopefully accompanying. Although
I welcome the warmth, I will not forget the cold. Those nights when
I sat shivering are the nights against which the warmth defines
itself. The colder they are (and they were pretty darn cold), then
the warmer the other nights are in contrast. When all is whirling
around me, I will remember the nights in my room, on my knees before
God, the only available outlet. For that reason, I appreciate the
cold.