A Lazy Saturday

It’s Saturday. There is no tanoda (the Bible/school teaching we do with the kids every Saturday)

I went for a walk along the river and met a shepherd and his flock

and so I could sleep in and was very much looking forward to turning into a bump on a log for the day. Of course, I can’t seem to sleep past 8:30 now. It’s been cooling off here. I mean, it’s still above zero, but you have to understand that homes in the village aren’t heated in the same way as back home, nice and cozy warm all the time with automatic temperature adjustment.

Many homes, mine included, are old (cement, often, which seems to hold in the cold) and often wood-heated, and so if there isn’t a fire burning, it is quite cool… not conducive sleeping-in. Last night I wore a touque, long johns and three pairs of socks to bed. But this morning, when I woke up, the young man responsible for lighting the fire to heat the house during the week had already been by, the radiator was—well—radiating, and my room was toasty warm. There is something awfully cozy about wood-heating. And I think you appreciate the warmth so much more than if it is generated by simply turning a dial on the wall.

Back to my day, having a free Saturday, I slept in until 9:30, got a coffee and curled up to watch Chocolat (or Csokoladé, in Hungarian). I watched it a couple months ago with Erzsi (the pastor) and her daughter Evi. There is a big bin of movies at the grocery store right now, and the other day, I ran into Erzsi at the grocery store and she showed me that the film we’d watched was among those in the bin. She handed it to me--I figured it was because she thought I might want to buy it, since I enjoyed the movie so much. But as it turns out, when I went to the till, the girl there said, “oh Erzsi already paid for the movie for you.” It was so sweet of her.

Friday morning market in Paks, a larger town 20 minutes away

Anyway, my day hasn’t been quite as private or quiet as I anticipated. I was called partway into the movie and asked to make a calendar for a departing employee, so I darted over to the office for a while. Such is the nature of this kind of service. It’s not a 9 to 5 job, but rather a lifestyle. Your life is very much intertwined with your “work.” For the most part, I don’t mind that feature. Sometimes, I spend a weekday afternoon baking cookies, or mushroom picking, or walking alongside the river. Sometimes, I find myself doing a task on the computer long into the evening or working over the weekend. It all balances out.

I came back from working on the calendar to find bicycles parked in front of the house. Apparently the village self-government (I guess what you’d equate to the town council) was meeting in our dining room. I was a bit embarrassed. I didn’t know there was going to be an event held there today and this morning, “getting ready” consisted of rolling out of bed and throwing on a sweater and sweatpants. So encountering strangers in the dining room when I hadn’t even brushed my hair was a bit of a surprise. What’s more, there was still a giant mess from the Christmas party I had for the English class last night. But fortunately, Angéla, with whom I live and who attends the English class, had cleaned up the party mess already, and the hardworking self-government employees meet in what resembles coveralls more than a suit, so my rumpled appearance was probably not overly offensive to them. I fed them sugar cookies from the night before (in part as a thank-you since one of them got the fire going again for me, as I had forgotten about it). In fact, the very gregarious leader of the self-government (mayor?) invited me to sit in on the meeting. I declined (I sat through an entire city council meeting all in Norwegian when I was studying in Bodø, and it was, shall we say, one of the less engaging experiences of my time there, as I probably understood even less Norwegian than I do Hungarian.)

Watching a meteor shower with Erzsi and Péter

As I mentioned, yesterday my adult English class had a Christmas party. We sang Christmas carols in English, ate sugar cookies (my mom’s recipe), played the try-to-unwrap-this-party-gift-wearing-big-mittens game, and watched How The Grinch Stole Christmas. I love how these things that are so ordinary to me seem so new and unusual to Hungarians. It makes it fun to share things about where I come from with the people here. I never thought I’d hear chocolate chip cookies referred to as “Canadian pastry.” I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing last week at the Advent service when a young boy, standing with his parents, turned one of the chocolate chip cookies over in his hands, observing it curiously before taking a bit and finally proclaiming “jó” (good) with a satisfied shrug. I really enjoyed the festivities of last evening and the others seemed to as well. They were eager to learn English carols (though I found myself at a loss to explain some of the Old English to them), cheered enthusiastically during the game, made a good dent in the plates of cookies, and chuckled at all the right parts during the movie.

Even if I am getting into a routine, I'm not bored! Today is an example of how even a lazy day is interesting in its own right. Beyond that, I am finidng that there is so much to learn: from the language, to Hungarian handicraft, to cooking with a propane stove and stoking the fire to heat my room myself. I'm very much enjoying the rich variety of life here and the chance to learn so many new things!

A Special Moment

I have a special anecdote to share with you. We just came back from visiting one of the Roma homes in a neighbouring village. Not long after we arrived, I found one of the little boys, who is in my Bible school group, bent over a colouring page, working intently. I sat down beside him to see what he was colouring. It was a nativity scene: Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus lying in a manger. The eight-year-old was concentrating fiercly, doing his absolute utmost to colour neatly, and doing a beautiful job.

The beautiful children I work with

Suddenly, he turned to me and said something in Hungarian. It took me a minute to figure out what he said. Then it dawned on me. "Kristy, do you believe in Jesus?" he had asked with the kind of sincerity that only a child can have. I smiled at him, and said "Yes, I do, and what about you?" He grinned. "Yep. And I pray to him all the time. Every night before I go to bed."

Even when we have Saturday Bible lessons, it isn't always easy to tell what faith means to these kids. They aren't like some of the Sunday school kids I have worked with before, who know most of the Bible stories by heart. But clearly faith was something this little boy was both excited about and proud of. His simple and sincere faith was touching. And our short conversation was one of the most special since I arrived here in Hungary.

Happy American Thanksgiving!

“God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share in every good work.”

- 2 Corinthians 9:8

Today is American Thanksgiving and I’m excited to be spending it in Budapest with the other YAGMs (three serving in Hungary, and three in Slovakia) and Trazy and Jeff, who are Americans serving in Hungary with the Reformed church. Dick and Caroline Otterness have been gracious enough to invite us to their home in Budapest for the occasion.

Raking leaves outside the church on a warm late November day

Of couse, for us Canadians, Thanksgiving was more than a month ago already. In October, as I thought of my friends and family back home sitting down to eat turkey, I realized that the holiday meant more to me than ever before. Being so far from home, I appreciated my blessings even more. More than that, I realized that, as I adjusted to a new life, God was providing for me in new and often surprising ways. My family has a tradition that before our Thanksgiving meal, we go around the table and share some things for which we are thankful. I started a list of my own in my journal, and would like to share some of those things with you now (in no particular order!). There is so much to be thankful for, and here are just a few:

Weather

The weather throughout September was unseasonably beautiful—cloudless, clear blue sky, not a breath of wind, and temperatures in the mid 20s nearly every day. Weather might not seem like such a huge thing, but when you’re getting settled in a new and unfamiliar environment, blue-sky days instead of rain are definitely something to be thankful for. Though autumn definitely arrived with November, last week we had two or three days that were warm enough for me to sit outside on the porch in a t-shirt!

Hobbies

Two hobbies that I thought I would miss during this year

Down by the river

were playing the guitar, and ballroom dancing. I left my guitar in Canada, but to my delight, I have access anytime to a beautiful guitar right in the house I’m staying in. What’s more, Péter is teaching a young Roma man from the village how to play the guitar and invited me to join in the lessons. I’ve never been able to more than dabble in guitar playing, but now with somebody to teach me, I can learn much more.

There’s no ballroom dancing in this village of 800 people, of course, but I learned that every Saturday a woman is offering free lessons in gypsy dancing, so I have been a couple of times. I’m so grateful to be able to pursue these as hobbies, and am finding that for the first time in five or six years, I have time to pursue other hobbies, too, like reading, drawing and even some yoga.

Helping out with a grape harvest in early October

Correspondence

When I committed to this year, I accepted that communication back home might be extremely limited with high rates for international telephone calls, pay phones located in shady areas, and limited or no internet access. Not so. I have my own key to the office next door where there is a great internet connection. I bought a Skype package before I left—and the sound quality has been excellent—and so I can make unlimited calls home. The only thing limiting me is the time change!

Food

September was a lovely time to arrive in a countryside village. I have enjoyed plenty of freshly picked fruit and nuts, grapes

Harvesting grapes

off the vine, and fresh homemade apple and grape juice. I even got to help with a grape harvest! I’ve tasted homemade jam and sausage, milk still warm from the cow, and lots of home baking. I’ve been introduced to lots of Hungarian cuisine and am even learning to prepare some of it myself. Tomorrow I will spend the afternoon learning to bake some Hungarian dishes with a lady from one of the Bible school groups.

I have been invited several times to share meals with families in their homes and have been blown away by Hungarian hospitality (today I thought the meal was complete after finishing my soup, pasta and pork when the hostess bought out the main course—rice, potatoes, and two more kinds of meat!) I’ve don’t think I could, in good conscience, say I’ve ever truly been Hungry in Hungary. There have been times when I have not had time for a meal on a busy day because we’ve been rushing from one place to another. Though we have never let on that we hadn’t eaten, every time this was the case, it seems that somebody generously and mysteriously offered us food—whether it be a plate of fresh baking from the pastor or an invitation to sit down for soup after teaching the children in the next village. I am thankful not only to be surrounded by such generous people, but also that God provides at exactly the right time.

Support from Home

The lady that delivers the mail in the village came to the local pastor’s home one day while I was there and was commenting on all the mail I’ve been getting from home. I’ve decorated my room with all the cards, postcards, and photos from home and I’ve received some beautiful emails as well (thank you everybody!!). I feel so grateful for all the support I’ve had from family and friends—from those who have sent letters or emails, who have asked parents how I’ve been doing, and who have been remembering me in their thoughts and prayers. I’m blessed to have such a strong support system, and I can definitely feel the strength that it provides all the way across the ocean.

Enjoying a day in Budapest

Daily Challenges and Joys

There have certainly been challenges thus far in my time here, but for every moment of homesickness, frustration, or discouragement, there is a moment of joy that more than makes up for it—whether it be a sunshiny day, sitting around a table with new friends, teaching a little girl her numbers, or having a conversation with a Hungarian co-worker that I know I couldn’t have had a month ago. There are definitely “up” and “down” moments in such an experience, and while I can’t quite bring myself to say I’m thankful for the “downs,” I am thankful for the opportunity to challenge myself and for all that I am able to learn in the meantime. And I am thankful that an “up” always follows each “down.”

The Adventure Begins in Earnest

During our 2-week language training course, our class visited the beautiful town of Tapolca on a day off

It is the evening of my first full day of service in Sárszentlőrinc, and I’m finding myself in front of my computer with a serious case of writer’s block. I begin to type, only to erase the words a few seconds later. I simply don’t know where to begin in relating the last twenty-four hours, let alone the last three weeks, to you. I arrived here yesterday. I came by car from Monoszló, where we had been for two weeks of language training and five days of orientation. I travelled with Julia, who is a volunteer from Switzerland, and Dick Otterness, who is an American pastor working with the Reformed Church in Budapest. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversations on the way here, about Hungary from a foreigner’s viewpoint, and about the impact of the European Union on Hungary since it joined in 2004.

When they dropped me off, it struck me that this journey, which began when I sent in my application in February and has been in the making in one way or another ever since, was now beginning in earnest. The interviews and decision making was behind me. Vaccinations had been taken care of, paperwork filled out, fundraising completed. There had been a week of orientation in Chicago and another in Hungary, along with two weeks of language training.

With Emilie, my roommate from both our Chicago and Hungary orientations

In all of this I had been encouraged to think about the meaning of service, the theological and social aspects of mission, the intricacies of minority issues, the impact of poverty on local populations, and the implications of my approaching year of service on me as an individual. I had been cautioned about culture shock and language difficulties, and provided with advice and tools to help me deal with them. Above all, I had been told that this experience would change my life. After months of preparation, of anticipating this moment in abstract terms, I was about to dive in headfirst.

When I arrived in the village on Tuesday, I had been in the country three weeks already, but had been living in a bubble for most of that time. During language training and orientation I had been together with other volunteers, including other North Americans, at all times. English was the language of operation, and when we were addressed in Hungarian, everything was translated for us. Now I was on my own in the village—the only volunteer, the only foreigner, the only English speaker, and the only one who has no idea what is going on most of the time.

Now let me clarify, I don’t mean that in a bad way. I am most certainly not alone in the literal sense. Péter, my mentor here, has been incredibly helpful and generous in helping me adjust. He has gone out of his way to make sure I have everything that I need. And others—coworkers and those around the home in which I live—have been very gracious as well. I have an incredible support system of friends and family back home, other volunteers around the country, program support staff in Hungary and the United States, and individuals in the village. I’m very grateful or every aspect of this support system. And for anybody reading this, that includes you. So by “alone,” I only mean that I am no longer surrounded by people in the same boat as myself.

The language was definitely a wake-up call. I can’t communicate at all, other than a few very simple words and phrases. I am grateful for the language training we received, for at the very least it helped me move beyond the point at which Hungarian words just looked like a random and haphazard collection of letters and allowed me to accept that, just maybe, they might actually mean something. As those of you who have studied another language already know, two weeks is a dreadfully short time for language study, no matter how good the teacher or how eager the student. And when that language is Hungarian, which has ranked on lists of the most difficult languages in the world to learn, well, it makes fourteen days seem even shorter. But when immersed in the language in my day to day live, and with Péter and others coaching me and being so patient and kind as to bear with my haltering attempts to communicate, I know that the language will come, however slowly.

My language skills, or lack thereof, have definitely been a frustration, yet not so much as to overshadow the many joys of my time here so far. Yesterday evening we went to a Bible study in a home in the nearby village of Uzd. There were about eight Roma women gathered, in addition to Péter and myself. The women were wonderfully warm and welcoming. Their warm smiles and kind eyes put me at ease and made me desperately want to learn the language quickly so that I am able to communicate with them.

This evening, Péter and I travelled to yet another village, known as Hensce, to give lessons to some Roma children there. Peter and two others from the church go each week to the village to teach the children some basic lessons, which is seems are a supplement to what they learn in school. As our car rolled down the tiny road, we were greeted by the children, on their way to the home where we would be meeting. They were grinning from ear to ear and waving excitedly. As children have a way of doing, these kids found their way into my heart very quickly, even though it was our first meeting.

We sat, four adults and about seven children, around a couple of tables in the yard. The children worked on the simple writing exercises and math problems we gave them, getting distracted every once in a while by chickens ambling by the table and dogs darting in and out between the children’s legs. I wasn’t able to help much, as my Hungarian language skills were far outstripped by even the smallest child in attendance. But somehow children seem to care less about language than do adults; kids will chatter at you uninhibitedly, even when they seem to understand quite well that you have no idea what they’re saying. They did gaze at me with curious smiles, however, when I couldn’t sing along with them to the Bible songs and seemed amused by the fact that they could speak the language, but I, an adult, couldn’t. I look forward to getting to know these children better, and I know that I will, as I will be seeing most of them twice a week.

Péter has informed me that there is great flexibility with my placement. He’s left it largely up to me to decide how I would like to serve in the community here. We’ve talked about me teaching English to adults and/or children here in the village and that’s probably what I’ll end up doing, or at least one of the things I’ll end up doing. I’m very excited about that prospect, though nervous as well. I have no idea how to be a teacher and I have no materials or curriculum to teach from. I’m glad to try though! I have already met people in the community who are eager to learn English. I truly do want to serve this year in any way that I can, and if, as an English speaker, I can help others learn the language, then I am excited to give it my best.

My Embarassing Moment

It’s always fun to hear about other people’s embarrassing moments. Well, I have one of my own to share from my time here so far…

Myself and the four American volunteers with whom I was traveling were attending a conference on our first full day in Hungary. At the close of the conference, the delegates—ten pastors from Hungary and ten from Sweden, as well as bishops from both countries—were offered a tour of a nearby church. It was an architecturally unique building, designed in the last thirty years and rich in symbolism. Even the materials used in its construction were painstakingly selected and obtained to convey a special meaning.

The local pastor who gave us a tour seemed particularly excited about the wooden pipe organ, which took up a good part of one wall. He told us that he had asked an organist play for us, so that we could hear this splendid organ in use, but the organist had backed out at last minute. The musician’s absence was no problem, though, because, as the bishop related, “we have two here among us that are able to play for us. Bishop ___ [bishop of the Swedish diocese in attendance], I believe you play, and also one of our American visitors.” In a jetlagged stupor, I wondered which of my new friends he was referring to, as none of the five of us, to my knowledge, played the organ.

The Swedish bishop found his place behind the organ. Clearly very experienced, he began making various adjustments on the instrument, poking buttons and pulling levers as though he were preparing to land an airplane. To my chagrin, I heard one of our hosts—who, I suddenly remembered, knew from my application that I play the piano—whisper in my ear, “you’ll play for us Kristy, won’t you?” My heart began to pound faster. There were a number of problems with this plan. First, and most important, I don’t play the organ, let alone a fancy pipe organ. Both instruments may have a keyboard, but the piano and the organ are not the same thing at all. Not only do I not know how to use the numerous settings and controls on an organ, but there is an entire row of foot pedals that are supposed to be played at the same time as the keyboard. I’m really not that coordinated. What’s more, I have played the piano only very rarely and casually in the past four years. And one final strike against me, I had no music, and no songs memorized. As the bishop played a grand and triumphant piece, full of bold chords, I quietly explained to my host that I really didn’t play the organ. He seemed to accept my answer.

When the Swedish bishop had finished at the organ, the Hungarian bishop thanked him. He then turned to address my friends and I, asking whichever of us played up to the organ to entertain the group. I began again to explain my musical limitations, politely but firmly protesting that I really couldn’t accept his invitation to play. Though becoming increasingly desperate, my pleas went unheeded. “Just play a song like you would on the piano, just to try it out,” he said, apparently unaware of my discomfort.

I was out of ways to politely decline, and flatly refusing the request of the bishop of the Hungarian Lutheran church wasn’t something I was about to do in my second day in his country. So I got out of my pew and, with dread, approached the organ. As I slid timidly onto the bench, trying to keep my feet as far away as possible from the frightening array of foot pedals, I realized that even my physical presence was far less impressive than that of the bishop. I cringed at the very thought of how mediocre my musical presentation was about to be by comparison.

I tentatively plucked out the notes of the only song that I could remember, Fur Elise. The sound was lost in the huge church, and the simple melody, void of the impressive chords of traditional pipe organ music, sounded childish. I missed a note or two, and forgot even parts that I knew well. It sounded horrible. My only consolation as I found my way back to my seat, was the thought that, “Well, at least now they know that I wasn’t joking about my musical abilities.”

My audience was very gracious. They applauded. The Swedish bishop nodded at me approvingly and said, “Fur Elise,” as I passed him, my face flushed with embarrassment. A few delegates told me afterwards that they didn’t envy my position. The highlight of the experience was what the story that my roommate later related to me. There were two female pastors sitting beside her in the pew whispering back and forth to each other as I went up to play. “I feel so bad for her,” one said. “Ja, we should encourage her,” said the other, before offering in heavily accented Swedish, “You go girl!”

When you leave your home behind, there are bound to be moments you feel awkward, uncomfortable, or even downright humiliated. I am certain that there will be many more “embarrassing moments” as I struggle to learn the Hungarian language and understand this new culture. Even if it involves a great deal of blushing and stammering of explanations and apologies, I think something good can come of humiliation. Making mistakes and showing weakness is what makes you human. As with so many other human emotions, it’s something that crosses cultural barriers. Others can sense when we feel embarrassed, and like the Swedish pastors cheering me ahead with “you go girl,” maybe humiliation is something that can unite us. So as I enter my year of service in Hungary, I’m trying to learn to embrace my more humbling experiences as opportunities to build relationships connect with others. And as you can imagine, I’ll also be avoiding pipe organs like the plague.

My First Days in Hungary

Sziasztok (“hello everybody”)! As you can tell, my Hungarian vocabulary has expanded (albeit only a bit) since I left Canada a week ago tomorrow and could only say “igen” (yes), “nem” (no), and “jó reggelt kivánok” (good day). The past week has involved a lot of communication made possible only through the translation skills some very gracious English-speaking Hungarians who have been accompanied us as we have been introduced to their country. I hope that we will become more linguistically independent soon, as today we began two weeks of intensive Hungarian language instruction in a village just north of beautiful Lake Balaton, the largest lake in continental Europe. Legend has it that Hungarian is among the top ten most difficult languages to learn. The class so far has been challenging to say the least, but it will be so good to be able to communicate with people in the village in which I’ll be living, even if I can only muster a few broken phrases to start.

Before coming to Monoszló last night, we spent about five days in Sárszenlörinc, the small village in which I’ll be spending the upcoming year. It’s located about two and a half hours southwest of Budapest and is home to about 800 people, with another 200 or so living in a second village nearby. We—myself and the four Americans that will also be serving in Hungary this year—had a wonderful time meeting the people and getting to know the village. We were introduced to some very special aspects of life of the Hungarian and the Roma people. There are two people in the village who make traditional Hungarian handicraft for a living. They weave incredible baskets, rugs, and even pillows out of reeds taken out of local rivers and then dried. We even were able to try our hand at making some small handicraft decorations ourselves—with much help and guidance from our hosts!

At church on Sunday there was a special celebration marking the 125^th anniversary of the local choir. The night before, we were taken to the home of a very kind older woman who attends the church. She and a friend were baking a traditional bread/cake, baked only for very special occasions, called kalács. We were told that we were there to “help.” Of course we knew very well that the presence of five North Americans would most certainly not be any help to these very experienced bakers. Rather, we were invited so that we could witness this very special tradition. To make the occasion even more special, the kalács was to be baked over hot embers in a traditional stone oven. The next day after the service in the local Lutheran church, the kalács was served to all in attendance, along with gulyáslevesh (“goulash,” a special Hungarian soup).

Food has been a focal point in our stay here thus far. The food has been wonderful and the hospitality overwhelming. One very special meal was when Jozsi—a Roma man who is originally from the village but now works in Budapest in the office of the organization with which we’re serving—took us to his home where his mother had prepared traditional (and delicious!) Roma cuisine for us. We had a wonderful evening. Matt, one of the Americans, plays the violin, and he played for us together with Jozsi on the guitar. Before long, Jozsi’s brother had brought out two more instruments that, we were told, are commonly used in Roma music—a milk jug, and a set of spoons! Gathered in their kitchen, we enjoyed listening to them sing and play traditional songs, and even the North Americans attempted to keep a rhythm with the spoons and milk jug. It got to be quite late and we were worried that a storm was brewing, so we set out for the two-kilometre walk home. Minutes later, we were caught in a torrential downpour. We showed up back at Jozsi’ house wet to the bone. His mother graciously lent us some dry clothes and they telephoned the local pastor, whose daughter and son came to pick us up with the car and take us home. It was a memorable adventure!

I hope to update my blog again soon with more stories about language training and about adjusting to life here in Hungary. But until then, I’m off to learn some more Hungarian! I hope that all is well back home and thanks for your thoughts and prayers!