Breathe in, breathe out. LOCK THE DOOR!

Mike escorted me up to the apartment, ensuring that I actually made it to my door before passing out. We said goodnight, and I entered my cheerless, marginally destroyed apartment. I locked the double doors behind me and started to take off my shoes, Ukrainian-style. I was pretty well exhausted, so it took me a minute to figure out what was wrong with my surroundings. On the bench inside the door, there was a bag of potato chips. This wouldn’t normally be strange…unless you’re me. I never have potato chips around because I’m allergic to potatoes. Hm. Maybe one of the workers left that.

When I put my boots on the floor, I noticed something else strange: a pair of men’s shoes. My fuzzy brain rationalized that maybe one of the workers left an extra pair of shoes. That didn’t really make sense, but that was the least scary thought I could come up with. Something started pricking at the back of my mind, sparking me into a more alert mindset.

I began working my way through the apartment, turning on all the lights, becoming more jumpy with each sound. I started registering what I was hearing: tv, the clinking of dishes, a radio (maybe?), someone talking on the phone. I got to the bathroom and saw that the toilet seat was up. I knew that I had not left the bathroom in that state. To the left of the bathroom, I noticed that there was a light coming from under the door to the room that was to remain locked at all times (the landlady’s family used the spare room in my apartment as a storage facility). I stealth-creeped over to the door and nearly died when I heard a man’s voice on the other side of the door.

I ran- Roadrunner-style- into my bedroom and closed the door. Maniacally, I pushed a chair and a trunk against the door and fumbled with my phone to call the Rays. I tried to remain calm, but I’m not sure how well I succeeded. Mike answered, and I said, in a fairly controlled voice, “Um, I’m pretty positive that there is a man in my apartment.” For a fleeting second, I felt like an actress in a horror movie, contemplating what could best be used as a weapon, if it came down to it. Mike said to stay in my room, and he’d be back in a flash.

I sat in my room, praying in fragmented thoughts, trying to breathe calmly. I realized that if the mystery man hadn’t tried to attack me yet, he probably wasn’t a serial killer. Still, I did not want to spend the night in the apartment with him. I shuddered at the very thought.

Mike called me when he was standing outside the door, and I crept back down the apartment hallway to let him in. He went down to the closed door and knocked. He had to knock a few times before the door yanked open. I took a few steps backward at the sight framed in the doorway: a 60-something-year-old man stood there, crazy gray hair, clearly drunk, clutching a bottle of vodka, staring blearily at Mike, and revealing a mouth full of gold teeth.

Mike started talking to the man in Russian, and I continued my fragmented prayers: keep safe, protect, Oh Lord, please, don’t want to live here with him, who? After a minute or two, Gold Tooth took a step toward Mike, gesticulating with his hands and raising his voice. My overactive imagination immediately raced forward, imagining that a fight was about to break out. Thankfully, it didn’t. After a few more minutes, Mike turned to me, almost imperceptibly, and told me to pack a bag for the night. I retreated into my room and shakily started throwing things into the smallest bag I could find. As I was zipping it up, Mike stepped into my room and told me that I was going to go back to the Christian Center to stay with him and Mrs. Linda that night. He also told me not to worry- he’d explain things back at the Center.

I held myself together pretty admirably for a while. I felt pale and shaky, but the tears stayed in, and I was able to talk about things calmly. Mrs. Linda gave me the world’s longest hug and prayed for me before I ducked into my room that night. Mike explained that the man was the landlady’s husband, who had come in from the village to help with the kitchen issues. He decided to stay the night rather than trying to return to the village.

Oh, ok. Well, of course. That made perfect sense…

I got in bed that night and opened my Bible to have a brief quiet time. I was reading 2 Corinthians and stopped at verses 5 and 6: “For when we came into Macedonia, this body of ours had no rest, but we were harassed at every turn- conflicts on the outside, fears within. But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us.” For the second night in a row, I broke down and cried. And cried and cried. I pulled myself together and then cried some more. I did, indeed, feel extremely harassed, conflicted, downcast, and fearful. It took me a while to calm down enough to look for the comfort in my situation.

I found comfort in several things that night: the Rays were there to care for me. There was a place for me to stay at the Christian Center. The man had not been a stranger bent on killing me. Halfway around the world, my family and friends were praying for me- I just knew it. And, most importantly, I knew I was supposed to be in Poltava, even if it was to be my Macedonia for a while.

With those thoughts on Repeat in my brain, I fell asleep.

Just like Midas- only it's not turning to gold.

I slept fairly well after my cathartic time of unpacking and prayer that first night in my apartment. I think all the crying combined with the leftover jetlag wore me out enough so that I entered a comatose-like state. I awoke the next morning to a beautiful, sunshiny…wait, no; that would be overcast, windy, gray day. I had a new motivation, though, to tackle the rest of the unpacking process. It was going to be a good day.

While I was in the shower, I thought that I heard workers beginning to drill something in the building. I thought that was odd, seeing as how it was only about 7:45 in the morning. As I continued getting ready for the day, the drilling sound grew louder and louder. I decided that they seriously must be drilling right outside my front door. I decided to check it out.

I looked out of the front door and saw nothing, but the noise was most definitely louder. That’s when I looked to the right, into the kitchen, and saw the Refrigerator of Frankenstein. I stood, shell-shocked, watching the refrigerator (which, by the way, looked like it was Soviet-made, too) moving across the floor in the kitchen and making the drilling sound.

All my years of watching MacGyver episodes starting flashing back to me, and I found myself wishing that I knew where my duct tape was. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to do with it, but it had to be helpful, right? I decided my first move should be to unplug the refrigerator; I didn’t really have much in there yet, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

When the Rays arrived to pick me up for errand-running, I explained and acted out the fridge situation. Mike also discovered that I had a plumbing problem with my kitchen sink. Basically, I just needed to stay out of the kitchen. He got on the phone and began calling in reinforcements, while Mrs. Linda decided to get me out of the house. Again, I think she recognized the signs of impending emotional trauma.

As the day progressed, more problems arose. Mrs. Linda shepherded me through my new neighborhood, showing me the ropes of using the bazaar, how to store my purse in the locker at the grocery store, where the closest pizza place was, etc. Periodically, she’d call Mike to check on the apartment progress. After every phone call, she skillfully avoided my questions about the “progress” being made and instead directed my attention to a new task. That feeling of impending doom grew stronger and stronger.

Mid-afternoon, Mike took a break from the junkyard kitchen and took me to the local internet provider office to attempt to arrange internet hook up. This was my first experience with the complicated system of paper work and documents that is the foundation for everything in Ukraine. After about an hour of signing, stamping, and relocating offices multiple times, I was told that I would have internet in about 2 weeks. I knew my mother was going to love that two-week delay. I kept reminding myself, though, that I could be in the middle of the desert somewhere with no electricity, much less internet. Surprisingly, this thought did NOT brighten my mood.

Mike eventually explained the state of my kitchen to me; it was necessary, seeing as how I was about to walk into my partially-demolished apartment. He told me that the kitchen pipes had to be replaced. The electrician was going to have to come rework the electricity in the kitchen wall behind the refrigerator. One of the cabinets was completely ruined because of the pipe issue. Oh, and I’d probably be needing a new refrigerator. Gracious goodness- I’d only been there ONE DAY. How could so much have gone wrong?

The three of us had dinner plans with some friends from Salvation Church that night. We put the thoughts of the Disaster Area behind us and trooped off to Andrei’s and Oksana’s. Dinner was great fun! I met Andrei, Oksana, and Oksana’s daughters, Ira and Tanya. Ira’s English is phenomenal, so I was able to carry on a complete conversation with a future friend, which brought great encouragement to my overloaded mind and emotions. Around 10:00 pm, after 3 hours of dinner and visiting, I hit my jetlag wall and became somewhat catatonic. The Rays decided it was best to extricate me and take me home for another crash and burn kind of night. Little did I know that my day had not yet reached its climax.

First Night in Poltava

That first night in Poltava was one of the most memorable nights of my life. I looked around my drab, sad little apartment and wanted to cry. I didn't feel like crying because it was so ugly but because I was so alone. The building was so dark. My eighth-floor apartment was full of dark-colored (ugly) wallpaper and mismatching, (ugly), Soviet-era furniture that was moldy and uncomfortable. The Rays had spent several hours with me, trying to hide rags, broken bits and pieces of odds and ends, and garish sets of curtains that darkened the room considerably.

Mrs. Linda was hyper-aware of the drabbiness and depressing aura of the apartment and had spent the evening bustling around, trying to surreptitiously cheer things up. I think she could sense the loneliness creeping in, even as I was holding it together and assuring myself that the hideous décor could be changed. As most every room in the apartment contained at least one ludicrous piece of decor, she suggested that we travel through the apartment, taking pictures and documenting the absurdity of it all. In my overwrought, overly-tired state of mind, this activity truly brightened my perspective. I was able to release a lot of tension by striking crazy poses and contorted faces in the pictures- my favorites being in the misshapen tub and underneath one of the two sets of mounted antlers in the entryway. As entertaining as that was, though, once the Rays left for the night and it was just me and the apartment, the loneliness settled in in earnest. I was totally consumed with feelings of insignificance and abandonment. I felt the loneliness in an almost physical way.

I occupied myself with unpacking for a while, but I had a hard time storing things because all the drawers and closets were full of the landlord’s possessions…and mothballs. After getting ready for bed in my head-spinningly turquoise bathroom with the rusty appliances and tepid water, I went to clean off my bed.

I’d hastily piled things into my room- mostly onto my bed- in an effort to create walking space. Unfortunately, in order to get into my bed, I had to clean it off. I found the envelope full of the notes that Amiee had gotten people to write me and pulled out the next one. It was in Amiee’s handwriting, and it wasn’t just a note. I fingered the Gilmore Girls dvd in my hands while I read Amiee’s note. She explained that she was including one of her dvd’s in my package because she thought that one particular episode on that disc my bring me some comfort. What a sister!

I put the episode of Gilmore Girls on my laptop and started sorting through one of the suitcases on my bed. Amiee was right- the episode brought me a sense of familiarity and comfort. It kept me from succumbing to the tears that I’d carefully been blocking all night. As I sorted through the suitcases, I found, tucked into a corner of the suitcase, a thick envelope. I didn’t remember packing it, so I was really curious as to what it could be. When I opened it, a stack of cards fell out; each one was covered in my mom’s elegant calligraphy. My eyes watered up as I realized that my mom had carefully cut, calligraphied, and decorated (with fall-related stickers, knowing how much I love fall) dozens of Bible verses. I sat in the middle of the room and cried as I flipped through them all. My loneliness and sense of loss slowly melted away as I read the words of encouragement she had sent me:

Psalm 34:7
“The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, and He delivers them.”

Psalm 37:5
“Commit your way to the Lord, trust in him and He shall bring it to pass.”

Psalm 54:4

“Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me.”

That night, I prayed like I’d never prayed before; I was so overwhelmed with realization that this new phase of my life would be full of a struggle with loneliness and that the only way to beat it was to remember Who could sustain me. My entire life to that point had been my training ground- surrounded my family, friends, and a church that taught me truth. Ukraine, though, was going to be my practical.

As I finished praying and dried up my tears, I had a whole new take on life. Things were going to be great. I was going to be fine. I was going to be a conqueror!

…and that’s when I first heard the noises coming from the refrigerator.

I like to write...it's cathartic

I like to write as a way to rid myself of nervous energy. I've started trying to write out significant memories from my time in Ukraine- in narrative format. It's my method of choice. Usually, I just write for my own satisfaction, but I thought I'd put some of it on the blog for those of you who are interested. It probably won't be chronological, and I may not explain things fully sometimes. If you read it and have a question, I'd be happy to answer it! I just want to make sure I don't forget things. I think Ukraine is aging me faster than usual, so I better get started before my memory goes!