August 28, 2007

Yesterday at the train station there was a man. The man had two prosthetic legs showing from beneath pant legs that were too short. We sat down waiting, not too far from him, on our bus back to Saulkrasti. The man stood and balanced him self with the one crutch he had and began stumbling from bus to bus trying to find a ride to anywhere. Bus after bus he was rejected and would hobble back to the bench we shared.

His navy, corduroy suit and tie made him stand out from the down-and-out folks we encounter every trip into town. His face was aged, and it sagged from years of alcohol. He looked at me asking, motioning, that he wanted a cigarette. Unable to help him, I was able to produce a lighter I carry in my backpack. Soon enough he had procured one and hobbled back for the light. He started to speak in Russian, or Latvian, it’s not easy to make out the difference. As he looked and talked to me, there was no light to his eyes. He soon saw that his words were heard but not understood. He stopped talking and wandered away along the long line of buses.

I sat there. Kris and I sat there. We looked at each other, both feeling a little bit helpless, a little useless, but understanding each others’ hearts. The man in the navy, corduroy suit and tie returned at the same weary, struggling pace hoping to hop the bus directly in front of us. He lost his balance and fell 10’ from us. Attempting to right himself quickly, he fell once again. It was agony in the heart to watch. He managed it the second time. He climbed into the bus. He stood on the top step, asking for a ride. Time drew itself out as the man teetered on the top step. The distance from me to him was impossible to cover.

There was young man, our age, getting on the bus behind the corduroyed suit man. He caught him. It is horrible seeing life like that. It has a way of robbing a person of words. And joy.

Here in Latvia, reality is setting in a little bit. We are in a new country, by Dad’s provision I believe. We have no handle on the language, other than thanks. This is enough when buying food at the grocery store. At restaurants we’re able to point at the menu, or order shashlik (one of our favorites), or say “big tasty, medium fry, medium coke”. In Latvia our diet is dominated by ramen noodles (chicken, beef, shrimp, or vegetable medley flavors). Our neighbors, Anna and Dmitri, speak a little English and we’ve had some short conversations with them. That has been encouraging.

Our land lord, Igor, is the best landlord I’ve ever had. I think the rainy season is starting to set in. This is the fourth night in a row for heavy storms. Today he showed up, asked (through charades) if our roof leaked. Yes, yes it does. It leaks on my bed. He proceeded to tar the roof. He’s brought us Russian newspapers, shown us where the disco in Saulkrasti is, and pointed us in the direction of a local fish market. He gave us a radio, bus schedules, and told us to eat all the apples we want from the orchard in the front yard. He’s really good at charades. We have an outdoor sink to wash our faces at (he demonstrated). A spigot and cold water to splash our face with on hot days (he demonstrated). We also have a key to the medieval locks on our shutters… he showed us how to work those too. And today, he scrubbed the wobbly toilet in our outhouse. He’s a heck of a guy, seriously.

Our shack here is 102 meters. We have a kitchen/dining/living room. I can stand in the center and touch the walls on each side. The bedroom has two beds… well, the ‘beds’ look to be coffee tables with a sleeping mat and blankets laid on them. I can lay down in it though, that’s a plus. I do like our house here. It’s cozy. Hard to keep clean though.

I’m going to stop the update for tonight and pick up tomorrow.

It’s a new day, and a cruddy one. It’s been raining since we woke up. It’s cold too. We haven’t been afforded the opportunity to leave the house either. Perhaps cabin fever is setting in a little bit. I’ve read through the scant amount of books I’ve had here. (not today of course) Most of them I’ve read through more than once. I’m looking forward to new reading material.

Last night was really rough for me. I didn’t find sleep until close to 3 in the morning. We bought the new Time magazine at a kiosk yesterday. Its cover story was on Mother Teresa and her “dark night”. For over 50 years, through all her work in Calcutta, she never felt Dad. And through her letters to her confessors, she cried out for Father. It seems she never found respite from the loneliness in her soul. I struggled with that for a long time yester night and into this morning. How could Dad hold himself back from anyone for that long? Especially from someone who is seeking him so much more passionately than I do?

And I drifted in and out of yarper over the hours and I almost didn’t want to be yarping. I wasn’t upset so much as I was incapable of understanding. And all these thoughts, doubts, started mulling. Kris had been asleep for hours. And then I started thinking about JC and my great grandma Foss. She passed away yesterday at 103 years old. I can’t fathom a life that long. A smile lit my face as I thought about her, youthful once more (I hope), staring bright eyed at the glory of Heaven; the joy overtaking her, of being united with Dad, of encountering and (maybe) being able to fathom what Love is. And what Love has done for her.

But the smile on my face was fleeting as my mind jumped back to the book we have to read for one of our courses here. The book talks about a myriad of things, one of which was purgatory. Instantly the smile was twisted into some kind of fear coupled with (again) the inability to understand. Could there be purgatory?

And then that lead into thoughts about atonement and JC on the cross. I began thinking about atonement, how JC took my sins, not only on his shoulders, but into his body. And my scope of atonement was entirely too small. He took not my sins, but all of humanity, past and present, on and in himself. How is that possible? The weight of sin for BILLIONS of folks… and that’s impossible to comprehend. Could anyone live with that much stain and guilt on their soul? I began to question if JC's atoning work was anything like that- if it could be like that. There’s a marked difference between saying “JC died for everyone’s sin” and then actually attempting to process it. It was a rough night for me. I found myself wishing I were at home. That I could wake up people, talk and pray with them… I desperately longed for fellowship with believers last night and for someone to assuage the fears that were attacking me.

When everything began to overwhelm me I took the easy way out. I shut the thoughts out and went to bed. It was still a really rough night. But, it hearkens back to the Lord of the Rings Trilogy (namely, The Return of the King) when “hope comes with the morning”. And this morning things were different. I haven’t given myself the chance to revisit all those thoughts/fears/doubts. I’m scared to.

This is really long, so only “the faithful” will make it to the end. Sorry guys. There’s a sense of urgency swelling in me that’s being offset by apathy at our allotted portion. I feel a bit useless here, really. Its hard not having a supervisor so close. I don’t feel abandoned but isolated. There no task or goal here. It is on our shoulders to begin a ministry from the ground up. In Saulkrasti we’ve met 2 people who speak English well. One works at a store about 2 miles from our house. And she wants to meet and talk so she can practice English. The other is Anna our neighbor. But they are hardly here.

Riga is a bit more promising but given our current financial state (awaiting our refund checks from the school) we’re being extremely careful with our money. Ramen noodles are our staple: thirteen Latvian cents per package.

It is no small wonder to me that m's (here) spend 2 years in language study before diving into their work. The language barrier is a looming obstacle. We’re hoping when our financial situation changes here shortly, to get involved with an English Club at the university in Riga. I’m really look forward to that. I’m hoping that a sense of purpose accompanies our time there.

I am an utterly selfish person. I long for my comfort and ‘my life’ at home. I miss Traci. I miss my family more than I can express. It sucks that I can’t be home for my great grandma’s funeral Wednesday. She lived a life worthy of celebrating. I have no idea how many people are running around the world as a result of her- I really think there are over a hundred. That’s a mighty big legacy.

I’m ending this here- but I do have love for you guys. And I am anticipating celebrating life with most of you given the opportunity. Thanks for reading- thanks for the yarpers- continue please.

Love you-

Chris