We've just decided to enroll our kids in a nurturing, English-language school for next year. It's across town, and we plan to move. We've anticipated this for the last four years. I'm excited! It's going to be a great place for our kids academically. And I've looked forward to being a part of the school community, as many of our friends are there. But the reality of moving is sinking in. So weird, because we'll be in the same city. We're not leaving. And yet the truth is, we will never see most of the people from our current neighborhood again. So this is my tribute to our delightful region:
My unnamed yet familiar neighbors--how many are there of these 500 apartments, who I know by sight and greet, but don't know anything more. I will never know them, never hear their stories, never share space with them again.
Tanya- the middle-aged neighbor we just got to know this year. She wants to practice her new English skills, and offered to teach my kids art while she's at it. I wish I had the time to invite her over every week, but the kids are struggling to ge through their work.
Natasha- the cashier at Sampo, the small store nearby. What a joyful smile she has, as she greets our kids by name. I feel a strong kinship with her, yet have no idea why. In general, I love this store where we are known, which is not crowded yet has most of what we need.
The hair salon- full of women who feed my kids tea and candy while I get my haircut. Such a relief when they were little! Once, when in an interminable line in the post office (across the hall) I asked if Ella could sit on their waiting room couch. When I returned, she had been fed tea and sandwiches, and was reveling in watching the stylists practice braiding. To me, this is community!
Sosnovka- The woods. My place to meet with God. Where He feeds me through eery imperfect tree trunk, through the black and white of winter, the spectacle of frosty trees in rare sunlight, even through the deepened colors during the rain. Where my kids can find sticks (and drag them home) and break ice and climb trees. Where we watch the trees budding and leaving and then turning bursting slowly into a myriad of colors that I can't keep from collecting every year.Sosnovka, where we can ice skate on the ponds, and ski, ski, ski in the winter--just a five-minute walk from our door. My place of refuge, of healing.
Kids of 4V- Danya's classmates, who delight whenever they see him. His teacher, Irina Valentinovna, who was so quietly gentle with him. Sasha, his first and closest Russian friend. Pasha, the sneakily-smiling imp, Gorbulya, the mature one who is scared of skiing, Sonya, the almost-girlfriend. So many little ones who are now so big, who were here for birthdays and holidays and a week of 'English Club'.
Kids of 2B - Tima's classmates, so much unrealized potential-- Vlad, for whom I had great hopes of friendship for Tima, Nastya and her sweetness. So many other familiar faces who just didn't pan out.
Ella's group at preschool- Sweet kids, adorable little feet in their different shoes- gym, music, indoor, outside! How grateful I was for Nadezhda Vladimirovna, who told Ella to call her 'Auntie Nadya' the first day as she knelt down to meet her! Who improvised a dress for Ella when we showed up for the performance without having been there for the fittings.
And their parents at school and preschool--the moms and grandmas and a few dads, who I saw everyday for five minutes as we raced through the unbooting-shoeing-uncoating-back-pack-on-and-go! procedure or it's slower reverse. A few regular conversations, but mostly just familiarity of consistency.
Those parents who responded when I reached out-- Yulia, Marina, Yulia, Galina, Lena, and then Anya, Sveta, Klaudia Sergeevna. Those who came to my weekly gatherings to deepen our relationships and discuss life! My hopes and prayers were deep and wide for you. My hearts still breaks at my inability to introduce you to Jesus, at your resistance and apathy.
It feels, in some ways, like we're leaving Russia. Leaving the place our kids were in Russian school, leaving the place we've known our neighbors for four year, leaving our connection points to 'real' Russians. And a big part of my sadness is just the fact that my hopes for deep friendship and spiritual connection were not realized. My prayers for God to open their hearts have not yet been answered. Part of me fears that we are leaving too early--that we should have settled our kids in school till graduation, that what Russians most need is to have long-term, stable relationships with followers of Jesus. Yet the part of me that lived last year knows that staying in Russian school was not an option! How much of this grief is indecision? Second-guessing? I'm actually pretty confident that this move is good, and what we all need. Counting the cost doesn't make me second guess. It just makes me sad for now.
This weekend, I walked Saint Pete's center as if it were Tallinn. When I followed the canal up the embankment, I could see the Peter and Paul fortress across the broken ice of the Neva. And also another island, with it's old buildings. I was surprised to realize that island will be our new home. I may not go walking in the woods there, but I can walk on the old paving stones, past the ancient buildings, along the Neva in all its moods. God reminded me that He has blessings for us there, a new community which will be different, yet good. May we grieve well, leave well, and receive well.
My unnamed yet familiar neighbors--how many are there of these 500 apartments, who I know by sight and greet, but don't know anything more. I will never know them, never hear their stories, never share space with them again.
Tanya- the middle-aged neighbor we just got to know this year. She wants to practice her new English skills, and offered to teach my kids art while she's at it. I wish I had the time to invite her over every week, but the kids are struggling to ge through their work.
Natasha- the cashier at Sampo, the small store nearby. What a joyful smile she has, as she greets our kids by name. I feel a strong kinship with her, yet have no idea why. In general, I love this store where we are known, which is not crowded yet has most of what we need.
The hair salon- full of women who feed my kids tea and candy while I get my haircut. Such a relief when they were little! Once, when in an interminable line in the post office (across the hall) I asked if Ella could sit on their waiting room couch. When I returned, she had been fed tea and sandwiches, and was reveling in watching the stylists practice braiding. To me, this is community!
Sosnovka- The woods. My place to meet with God. Where He feeds me through eery imperfect tree trunk, through the black and white of winter, the spectacle of frosty trees in rare sunlight, even through the deepened colors during the rain. Where my kids can find sticks (and drag them home) and break ice and climb trees. Where we watch the trees budding and leaving and then turning bursting slowly into a myriad of colors that I can't keep from collecting every year.Sosnovka, where we can ice skate on the ponds, and ski, ski, ski in the winter--just a five-minute walk from our door. My place of refuge, of healing.
Kids of 4V- Danya's classmates, who delight whenever they see him. His teacher, Irina Valentinovna, who was so quietly gentle with him. Sasha, his first and closest Russian friend. Pasha, the sneakily-smiling imp, Gorbulya, the mature one who is scared of skiing, Sonya, the almost-girlfriend. So many little ones who are now so big, who were here for birthdays and holidays and a week of 'English Club'.
Kids of 2B - Tima's classmates, so much unrealized potential-- Vlad, for whom I had great hopes of friendship for Tima, Nastya and her sweetness. So many other familiar faces who just didn't pan out.
Ella's group at preschool- Sweet kids, adorable little feet in their different shoes- gym, music, indoor, outside! How grateful I was for Nadezhda Vladimirovna, who told Ella to call her 'Auntie Nadya' the first day as she knelt down to meet her! Who improvised a dress for Ella when we showed up for the performance without having been there for the fittings.
And their parents at school and preschool--the moms and grandmas and a few dads, who I saw everyday for five minutes as we raced through the unbooting-shoeing-uncoating-back-pack-on-and-go! procedure or it's slower reverse. A few regular conversations, but mostly just familiarity of consistency.
Those parents who responded when I reached out-- Yulia, Marina, Yulia, Galina, Lena, and then Anya, Sveta, Klaudia Sergeevna. Those who came to my weekly gatherings to deepen our relationships and discuss life! My hopes and prayers were deep and wide for you. My hearts still breaks at my inability to introduce you to Jesus, at your resistance and apathy.
It feels, in some ways, like we're leaving Russia. Leaving the place our kids were in Russian school, leaving the place we've known our neighbors for four year, leaving our connection points to 'real' Russians. And a big part of my sadness is just the fact that my hopes for deep friendship and spiritual connection were not realized. My prayers for God to open their hearts have not yet been answered. Part of me fears that we are leaving too early--that we should have settled our kids in school till graduation, that what Russians most need is to have long-term, stable relationships with followers of Jesus. Yet the part of me that lived last year knows that staying in Russian school was not an option! How much of this grief is indecision? Second-guessing? I'm actually pretty confident that this move is good, and what we all need. Counting the cost doesn't make me second guess. It just makes me sad for now.
This weekend, I walked Saint Pete's center as if it were Tallinn. When I followed the canal up the embankment, I could see the Peter and Paul fortress across the broken ice of the Neva. And also another island, with it's old buildings. I was surprised to realize that island will be our new home. I may not go walking in the woods there, but I can walk on the old paving stones, past the ancient buildings, along the Neva in all its moods. God reminded me that He has blessings for us there, a new community which will be different, yet good. May we grieve well, leave well, and receive well.
1 comment:
This is BEAUTIFUL, Kara. I especially like how you described the forest, Natasha at the store, and how your kids were cared for in the beauty shop. I like the eyes you have to see what's around you. And your courage to be honest about all of it is beautiful. Thanks for sharing!
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