Who Says Liberal Arts Majors Don't Do Numbers?

7899 Kilometers between Regina, Saskatchewan and Budapest, Hungary

1903 The year the house I live in was built

55 Temperature, in degrees Celsius, in the sun earlier this week

120 Price, in forints, for half a loaf (half a kilo) of bread

3 Jars of homemade jam remaining from those I was given this year

3 Number of weeks I have to use up said jam

365 Days between my departure and arrival at Regina airport

Snail Shell Economics

From my journal, April 14, 2010

“I know that the experiences f our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work that he will give us to do.” – Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place

I opened with this quote because I’ve been inspired by it ever since I read it in The Hiding Place years ago now. I love the idea that God can use every moment of my life—my joys, my sorrows, my frustrations—for a purpose that perhaps only God knows. No tear shed this year, nor knowledge gained, nor lesson learned, nor hand held, nor laugh shared will be in vain, because each is an integral part of this experience and an opportunity for growth. I’m grateful to God and the people beside me for helping me make sense of it all and learn through it.

Juli, a friend of mine, in her beautifully tended (and huge!) garden in the spring. Juli hosts the Tuesday evening Bible study. She is the most gracious hostess and always has baking or some other snack for us to enjoy after the Bible study. Several times she's sent me home with fresh garden produce.

Today was certainly a learning experience and an eye opener. Yesterday at Bible Study, one of the ladies invited me to go snail collecting with her. “If it rains, I’ll come to your place at 7,” she said, indicating with her fingers to make sure I got the time right. Sure enough, shortly after 7 am, I heard knocking at my window, which opens onto the sidewalk.

I later learned that she’d been up since 5:20 (her usual time), tidied the house, and got ready to go to another town to work in the vineyard—where she works trimming grape vines for 400 ft (less than $2) an hour, only to find out it was raining there and so not possible to work. So she hurried home, changed clothes again and came to pick me up so we could go snail hunting instead. Meanwhile, I’d set an alarm, woken up and seen that it wasn’t raining, and thus that my friend had gone to work, and fallen back to sleep. Talk about lazy by comparison!

Sporting rubber boots, she and I made our way to a field near the cemetery, where we began plucking 2-inch snails from stumps and branches where they’d come out of the soggy soil, and dropped them into plastic bags. I tried to disguise my reluctance to touch the snails, but even after a few, “bátor legyen!” (“be brave!”)’s, I was still careful to touch only the shell in order to avoid anything potentially slimy.

We did this for about an hour and a half (far less time, and covering far less ground than she would normally). It’s reasonably tiring work, with lots of walking through wet grass and rough terrain, and bending over. To my surprise, we ran into more than half a dozen other people doing the same. I had no idea such a practice existed.

The sun started to come out (not so good for snail hunting, plus it might mean my friend could go out to work after all) so we stopped at her meticulously tidy home for coffee and a short visit. She showed me a photo of her son, who hanged himself in the back yard when he was only 20. He had trouble in school, his mother said, and I remember hearing months ago about some cutting remarks made by a teacher about him being a gypsy that may have contributed to the suicide. This was years ago now, but she still keeps photos of him in her cupboard to look at when she works in the kitchen.

She proudly showed me paintings of Jesus and the two Bibles that she keeps in her home—one at her bedside so that it is beside her always. She also read aloud from the útmutató (daily devotional with Bible verses published by the national Lutheran church), because she forgot to in her rush in the morning. She seemed proud of her faith, saying several times that she goes out to work and collect snails because it’s “muszai” (necessary), but also that she trusts in God to provide.

We then brought our now heavy bags of smails to the home of the daughter of one of the other ladies I know from Bible study. This woman buys the snails people bring to her and sells them to somebody else and somehow they make it into the market as escargot. When we arrived, they were trying to affix a handwritten sign to a cement post: “csiga: 70ft/kg” (snails: 75 Hungarian forint/kg). That’s about 35 cents for an entire kilo, and all the work that it entails. The woman measured out our bags on an old wooden balance-scale, chatting friendlily all the while. For an hour and a half of work—in which time I collected 2 ½ kilos of snails—I received 175 forint, less than 90 cents. My companion collected 4 kilos. Until then I thought I’d been doing pretty well with my collecting. How she worked that fast I don’t know.

I had tried to—with a variety of different methods—just add my snails to her’s so that she could take the entire profit home for her family. After all, if I hadn’t been there, there would have been all the more snails for her to find. But she would have nothing of it. “It was your work,” she insisted. I badly wanted her to have the money, but out of respect I didn’t argue. It was a humbling experience, though, walking away with my 175 forints. At home, not even enough for a chocolate bar, and here, maybe enough for a loaf—or at least half a loaf—of bread. I wouldn’t normally notice 90 cents in my wallet. Here, people went out of their way and worked hard for an amount I consider inconsequential.

Snail collecting is, in fact, relatively undemanding compared to the work this woman does in the fields. I see my friends when they come back from a day’s hard labour--getting up as early as 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, working, often more than 8 hours in 35 degree + heat. Their skin is so dark they barely resemble the people they were in winter, their feet are chapped and swollen, the weariness shows on their faces. They receive a few dollars for all this. The international studies major in me could turn this reflection into a comment on the injustices of the global economy. There is another aspect that strikes me, and that is the unfairness of stereotypes that blanket an entire people without regard to individual traits. My Roma friends here in the village, who surprise me continually by their work ethic, still face the stereotype that they are lazy and don’t want to work, based on nothing more than the superficiality of skin colour.

Hungarian Words I've Heard a Lot this Week

Ballagás

That means graduation. The school year has wrapped up here; the kids are on summer vacation. This weekend, the older brother of one of the little boys I work with graduated from grade 9. Here grade 9 graduation is a big deal, as it marks the successful completion of one level of education and perhaps the transition to another. For these particular families (the families of the children with which I've been working), finishing high school isn't a given. The graduate's mother, from what I understand, probably only finished grade 3 or 4 and I've even met adults in that community that cannot read or write. So for this family, their son's graduation was really a reason to celebrate, and celebrate they did. I felt so honoured to be invited, along with Peter (my site supervisor) to attend both the graduation and the party the family hosted afterwards. And it truly was a wonderful afternoon, full of good food, laughter, Roma music (which I enjoy thoroughly) and dancing.
Tanévzáró
The little ones, too, had a special event to mark the end of the school year. A carload of us who worked with them at Wednesday tanoda (homework help) and Saturday Bible school went to the ceremony. The kids were precious. Some of them did some folk dancing, and the group that comes to Bible school got up and sang one of the songs they've learned in front of their classmates. I was so proud of them. It was another reminder of how I'm going to leave part of my heart behind with these kids (those reminders have been coming more often lately, sometimes bringing tears to my eyes). They were excited to see us there, smiling and waving from their seats. Afterwards, one of the little girls came running up to me, threw her arms around my waist and gave me a big hug. Take one look at them and tell me you don't fall in love with them too!
Szabina and Náti (above on right), Tibi (below, looking at the camera). I didn't have to say a word, they just saw me with the camera and looked, cute as buttons, right towards it. Bicikli Túra
You may be able to guess this one: "bicycle tour"! I went on my first ever bike trip last weekend. One full day and two half days and we biked 350 km! It was an absolutely fantastic experience, and the most physically challenged I'd ever been. I went with another volunteer and three of her friends. We began in Southwest Hungary, pedaled into Croatia, where we pitched a tent in a field for the night, and then all the way back home to our respective villages (tenting another night in Hungary this time). It was difficult, but the camaraderie was fantastic. Looking back I don't think I can remember anyone complaining even once (someone inclined to complain could have found plenty to complain about from rain to sunburn, mosquitoes to stinging nettle. One of the guys fell 3 metres out of a tree (we were picking cherries alongside the road), picked himself up, dusted himself off, and got back on his bike.) At the end of it all, I had such a feeling of accomplishment as I pedaled into the village again (oh, and let me tell you it felt good to be home!)


Időjárás
The weather. I talked to an elderly woman the other day who remarked, "I'm the oldest person in this village, and never in my life have I seen this kind of weather in May." Temperatures were, for the most part, cool, and it rained, rained, rained. There was flooding in many parts of the country. Fields were beginning to look like rice paddies and lakes began to form in places where there shouldn't have been lakes. Rivers, like the Danube and the Tisza were swelled to fearsome high levels. In this area we were lucky to have avoided the flooding that affected other parts of Europe.

My Letter

Dear friends and family,

I had a bit of a freak-out moment yesterday. Looking at my calendar, I realized that, though I still have 3 full months until my return to Canada, I only have a little over 40 days that I will be here, at my placement. Between closing seminars, camps and other commitments with the Roma mission that take me away from the village, and then some travel after I finish at my site, it's going to be a busy summer, and it's going to go fast.

In my panic, yesterday I cleaned my room top to bottom—going through books I've borrowed, mementos I've picked up, and a massive stack of papers that have accumulated from one thing or another—with packing for my return trip in mind. I kept thinking "how am I ever going to fit this all into one 23-kg suitcase?” Talk about déjà vu . It’s strange that I'm feeling now some of the same emotions as I did a year ago, when I was preparing to come here--that bitter-sweet feeling of anticipation mixed with sadness, that jittery feeling when your mind is going in a million different directions thinking of all the things you need to do, and strangely enough, a bit of fear.

One of the country coordinators for the YAGM program suggested that, now that the date on our return tickets is dancing (or looming) before our eyes (August 31 for me), we write a letter back home to share how we’re feeling at this point. What they call “re-entry,” our return home, is not always an easy transition and I’ve heard many times about how strong can be the effects of reverse culture shock. Once the excitement of reunions quells, we begin the not-so-easy process of coming to grips with what we have experienced in the past year, understanding how we have changed, and reconciling our new selves with our old life. This is my attempt to write (with my usual lack of brevity) such a letter.

My life here—which is quiet and peaceful on the one hand, but varied and unpredictable on the other—is so different from my student’s life back home, yet, against all odds, it’s become my new norm. I’m going to miss not knowing what new adventure the day will bring, whether it’s helping with a grape harvest, traveling with a Roma musician to a funeral, tasting wine at a family’s 200-year-old wine cellar in the hills just outside the village, or having a conversation with a child guiding a flock of sheep or a man gathering firewood alongside the river.

I’m used to operating in Hungarian, or a strange combination of several languages, having coffee with a group speaking Swiss-German (I exhausted almost my entire vocabulary with “danke schön”), or making a frenzied attempt to translate for a conversation between an American missionary and the local Hungarian pastor. Saying the Lord’s Prayer in Hungarian is almost as automatic as in English, and when I need to know how to spell a word in English, I look it up in Hungarian (hooray for phonetic languages.)

The privilege of getting to know the people here is the most valuable aspect of this experience. As they have become a part of my life, and I their’s, they have secured a place in my heart. The people here in Hungary—no matter to which cultural or ethnic group they belong—have introduced me to their culture, welcomed me into their families and their lives, and patiently helped me learn a new language. I’ve been inspired by examples of deep faith, perseverance, and commitment to one another. This year has been an exercise in humility, trust, and accepting my own weakness and vulnerability.

I’m going to miss the everyday life: being greeted by the warm smiles of the people that come to the senior’s centre every day and playing infinite games of Uno with them, going to the grocery store with my wicker shopping basket (handmade by a Roma man I know) and asking for half a loaf of bread and 20 dkg of cheese, going for runs along the river and bike rides in the countryside. I’m going to miss instant heat from the propane stove (you can have water boiling in 45 sec-onds flat), and stress-free shopping (there is only one kind of toothpaste—no decision to make!) and yes, I might even miss the coziness of heating my room with a wood stove in the winter (though will I be ever so grateful for electric heat at the turn of a dial!) I love the new things I’ve learned and that I’ve had time to dabble in hobbies I haven’t been able to enjoy since I was probably about sixteen: playing the guitar, crocheting and knitting, biking, running, yoga, reading, drawing, baking. I’m afraid of leaving it all, especially the people, behind.

In a way, I’m afraid of going home too. I’m afraid of how things have changed. Both sets of grandparents are moving into assisted living or nursing home facilities. My parents have sold the cabin, which in a lot of ways has felt like my childhood home, and it won’t be long and they’ll be moving away from Langenburg to settle in northwest Ontario. I’ll have other friends that are moving away too. Some have finished school now; some have new jobs; some have even gotten married.

I’m also scared about the things that haven’t changed. I’ve become a different person since I’ve been here, and maybe even in ways I can’t recognize yet. There are surface changes: I handwrite now, for one. I always used to print, but here found myself teaching children to write in cursive, so I had to learn it myself (Hungarian cursive is a little different than English), and the efficiency of it won me over. I’ve learned things about myself, some good, some not so good, but overall I’ve become more comfortable with the person that I am. I won’t even begin to delve into the ways that my world view has changed, or the lessons I’ve learned about race, poverty, faith, service, or belonging to each other as people, because most of these things I’m only beginning to sort out myself.

On a daily basis I’m doing things that I used to be afraid of, or that I never thought I’d ever do, often without thinking twice about it. I can chop wood on my own and navigate the Budapest metro (including the death-defying escalators) without a rise in my blood pressure. After being called upon so many times to play the guitar or sing in front of people, it doesn’t seem like a big deal any more (the thought itself used to be enough to turn my hands to ice). I’ve learned that you don’t have to be talented at something like music, but if you can use it to bring someone else a little bit of joy, then you have a gift to share. People who read my blog entry way back into September about my horror at being spontaneously called upon to play the organ in front of a group of Hungarian and Swedish pastors and bishops, despite my protests that I don’t play the or-gan, will appreciate the irony in the fact that I’m the regular organist at church now (on a pipe organ at that!) This experience has eroded me, changed me, and I’m grateful for it. But how will the new person I’ve become fit back into my old life?

Maybe the changes won’t be obvious to anyone else, as to a large extent they’re changes to the way I look at the world, and the way I know myself. It might come as a relief, actually, to the people closest to me that I’m still the same Kristy. While it’s a bit disconcerting that maybe nobody will notice that I’ve changed, the prospect is even scarier that maybe I’ll go back to exactly the person I was before I left (not that that person was all that bad or anything, just that I don’t want to lose the lessons I’ve learned here.)

All that said, I really can’t begin to list all the things I’m looking forward to about being home: being together again with family and friends goes without saying. I can’t wait to have long visits with friends at the coffee shop; to see my hometown again; to walk around Wascana Lake and see the U of R campus (where I’ve spent more hours than I could possibly count); to begin ballroom dancing again with my boyfriend; to go out to my favourite restaurants; to eat sushi (which, for some bizarre reason I’ve been craving since September). I’m eagerly anticipating my first visit to my grand-parents, who are moving to Saskatoon, so will be living nearby for the first time in my life. I’m ex-cited to recommence the tradition I have with my sister of going to Smitty’s for lunch after church every Sunday.

I look forward to a hot bath, to eating peanut butter again, and drinking a big mug of coffee (not espresso-sized!) or a London Fog from the Java Express near my apartment. I even look forward to public washrooms you don’t have to pay for, to pedestrian right-of-way, and to North American-style light switches and power outlets and toilets that flush in the way I’m used to… things that don’t represent a better way of doing things, but just one that is more familiar to me.

I look forward to be to being in a place that I know. To going back to the flavours and smells and sounds that are familiar. To overhearing English spoken in the streets and on television and to understanding what’s being said to me without any struggle. To going to church back home at St. Paul’s in Langenburg, and knowing the songs and understanding the sermon. It’s just not the same worshipping in a language that’s not your native tongue. I’m probably going to cry when I hear “go in peace, serve the Lord,” because I haven’t heard those words since they brought an end the commissioning service last August.

For every single thing that I am anxious about, there is at least another for which I am excited, which is maybe what makes the process of going home so complicated. It helps having people understand that if there is mixed emotion about coming home, it does not mean that I am not happy to be there (quite the contrary) and if I’m always talking about my time in Hungary, it does not mean I preferred that life, or that I don’t want to hear about what has happened in your lives over the past 365 days.

It might take me a little while for my head to stop spinning once I get back home, but I can’t wait to reconnect, to tell you my stories and to hear yours. I can’t thank you all enough for your support through every step of this journey, and for your cards and letters, and thoughts and prayers. See you in less than three months!

Peace, Kristy

An Open Letter to the Friends & Families of Returning Young Adults in Global Mission (from the Mexico Country Coordinator, a former YAGM herself)

My name is Andrea Roske-Metcalfe, and I’m the Country Coordinator for the Young Adults in Global Mission program in Mexico. During our second-to-last retreat this year, I asked my volunteers to write a letter to their friends and family back home. I asked them to write about how they felt, given that they only have a couple months left here. I asked them to write about how they’d changed and what they were afraid of in returning home. I asked them to write about what they had discovered about themselves, and what they were looking forward to in returning home.

I asked them to write it raw. I asked them to be as honest as they could. Sure, I told them, you can send it if you want to. You can make it part of your final newsletter or blog post. But you can always go back and edit for that later.

Write this one raw.

This might seem like a strange request, but I wish that someone had asked it of me. Reverse culture shock is nobody’s idea of a good time, and I’ve gone through it enough (including after my own YAGM year) to know that it doesn’t only affect the person returning home; it affects everyone around them.

So I wish someone had asked this of me. I wish someone had asked me how I really felt, because I only rarely admitted that to myself. I wish someone had asked me to write it down, so I could go back to it later and process it. I wish someone had asked if there were parts of it I wanted to share with friends and family before I returned; something that might have, at least in part, prepared all of us for what would be a bumpy landing.

But no one did, and so I didn’t.

Maybe I’m projecting my own needs onto my volunteers. Maybe they’re all so perfectly well-adjusted with such uber-functional families and uber-supportive friends that everyone will sail through this transition without even blinking.

Then again, maybe they won’t. Either way, I figure it can’t hurt.

The funny thing is, when I asked my volunteers to write a letter, I didn’t exactly expect to write one myself. My husband and I aren’t returning home for good for at least four years, so that transition isn’t exactly looming over my thoughts. Hindsight is 20/20, though, and I know what I would’ve said had someone asked.

And so, I wrote a letter (or a list, as it may be) to you, in case your very own Young Adult in Global Mission doesn’t get around to sending theirs:

10 Suggestions for Helping your Young Adult in Global Mission (YAGM) Return Home

1. Don’t ask the question, “So how was it?” Your YAGM cannot function in one-word answers right now, especially ones intended to sum up their entire year’s experience, and being asked to do so may cause them to start laughing or crying uncontrollably. Ask more specific questions, like “Who was your closest friend?” or “What did you do in your free time?” or “What was the food like?” or “Tell me about your typical day.”

2. If you wish to spend time with your YAGM, let them take the lead on where to go and what to do. Recognize that seemingly mundane rituals, like grocery shopping or going to the movies, may be extremely difficult for someone who has just spent a year living without a wide array of material goods. One former YAGM, for example, faced with the daunting task of choosing a tube of toothpaste from the 70-odd kinds available, simply threw up in the middle of the drugstore.

3. Expect some feelings of jealousy and resentment, especially if your YAGM lived with a host family. Relationships that form during periods of uncertainty and vulnerability (the first few months in a foreign country, for example) form quickly and deeply. The fact that your YAGM talks non-stop about their friends and family from their country of service doesn’t mean that they don’t love you, too. It simply means that they’re mourning the loss (at least in part) of the deep, meaningful, important relationships that helped them to survive and to thrive during this last year. In this regard, treat them as you would anyone else mourning a loss.

4. You may be horrified by the way your YAGM dresses; both because their clothes are old and raggedy and because they insist on wearing the same outfit three days in a row. Upon encountering their closet at home, returning YAGMs tend to experience two different emotions: (1) jubilation at the fact that they can stop rotating the same 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, and (2) dismay at the amount of clothing they own, and yet clearly lived without for an entire year. Some YAGMs may deal with this by giving away entire car loads of clothing and other items to people in need. Do not “save them from themselves” by offering to drive the items to the donation center, only to hide them away in your garage. Let your YAGM do what they need to do. Once they realize, after the fact, that you do indeed need more than 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts to function in professional American society, offer to take them shopping. Start with the Goodwill and the Salvation Army; your YAGM may never be able to handle Macys again.

5. Asking to see photos of your YAGM’s year in service is highly recommended, providing you have an entire day off from work. Multiply the number of photos you take during a week’s vacation, multiply that by 52, and you understand the predicament. If you have an entire day, fine. If not, take a cue from number 1 above, and ask to see specific things, like photos of your YAGM’s host family, or photos from holiday celebrations. Better yet, set up a number of “photo dates,” and delve into a different section each time. Given the high percentage of people whose eyes glaze over after the first page of someone else’s photos, and the frustration that can cause for someone bursting with stories to tell, this would be an incredible gift.

6. At least half the things that come out of your YAGM’s mouth for the first few months will begin with, “In Mexico/Slovakia/South Africa/etc…” This will undoubtedly begin to annoy the crap out of you after the first few weeks. Actually saying so, however, will prove far less effective than listening and asking interested questions. Besides, you can bet that someone else will let slip exactly what you’re thinking, letting you off the hook.

7. That said, speak up when you need to! Returning YAGMs commonly assume that almost nothing has changed in your lives since they left. (This happens, in part, because you let them, figuring that their experiences are so much more exciting than yours, and therefore not sharing your own.) Be assertive enough to create the space to share what has happened in your life during the last year.

8. Recognize that living in a very simple environment with very few material belongings changes people. Don’t take it personally if your YAGM seems horrified by certain aspects of the way you live – that you shower every day, for example, or that you buy a new radio instead of duct-taping the broken one back together. Recognize that there probably are certain things you could or should change (you don’t really need to leave the water running while you brush your teeth, do you?), but also that adjusting to what may now feel incredibly extravagant will simply take awhile. Most YAGMs make permanent changes toward a simpler lifestyle. Recognize this as a good thing.

9. Perhaps you had hopes, dreams, and aspirations for your YAGM that were interrupted by their year of service. If so, you may as well throw them out the window. A large percentage of returning YAGMs make significant changes to their long-term goals and plans. Some of them have spent a year doing something they never thought they’d enjoy, only to find themselves drawn to it as a career. Others have spent a year doing exactly what they envisioned doing for the rest of their lives, only to find that they hate it. Regardless of the direction your YAGM takes when they return…rejoice! This year hasn’t changed who they are; it has simply made them better at discerning God’s call on their lives. (Note: Some YAGMs spend their year of service teaching English, some are involved in human rights advocacy, others work with the elderly or disabled, and at least one spent his year teaching British youth to shoot with bows and arrows. The results of this phenomenon, therefore, can vary widely.)

10. Go easy on yourself, and go easy on your YAGM. Understand that reverse culture shock is not an exact science, and manifests itself differently in each person. Expect good days and bad days. Don’t be afraid to ask for help (including of the pharmaceutical variety) if necessary. Pray. Laugh. Cry. This too shall pass, and in the end, you’ll both be the richer for it.

From: http://andreaandluke.blogspot.com/2009/05/open-letter-to-friends-families-of.html.

Easter Monday, "Sprinkling" the Women

Zöld erdőben jártam
Kék ibolyát láttam
El akart hervadni
Szabad-e locsolni?

Locsolkodás after the Easter Monday church service

Today I was immersed, quite literally, in a Hungarian Easter custom: Locsolkodás. The word means sprinkling and it's a folk tradition practiced on Monday, which is considered the second day of Easter. Basically, it goes like this: boys visit girls in their homes. They recite a verse (like the one below), then spritz some perfume on them. The girls then reward them with chocolate, eggs painted bright red, or pálinka, a fruit brandy. Traditionally, in place of perfume, the boys doused the girls with buckets of water. I'm glad the tradition's evolved to perfume (though not always--I started my morning by being lured into the kitchen and doused with a cup full of water. The culprit, a friend of mine, got wetter coming over to my house in the pouring rain than I did, though!)

Everywhere I went today (and it was a busy day--with two church services and visits to four different homes), there were people partaking in the tradition. The most priceless was three little boys, aged 5-13, who recited a poem for me when I came to visit and then all took turns spritzing me with perfume.

By the end of the day, I'd been sprayed with generous amounts of perfume six or seven times--and, as you can imagine, with the different scents mixing together, I was eager to take a shower! But it was a fun tradition, and I'm glad I got to share in it.

Another highlight from the day was an Easter Monday service in a lovely little (seating room for 18, max.) church with no electricity in a nearby village. Probably what brought the biggest smile to my face was paying another visit to the family I mentioned in my last blog post. They had invited me back again today, and apparently the kids kept asking when I was going to arrive. I had fun playing some little games with them, and they taught me some Roma dancing! It was amazing to see their little feet move, especially the youngest, who's a tiny little guy, but quite the little dancer!

It's definitely been a memorable Easter here in Hungary!

P.S. The poem at the beginning of this post is basically about walking in the woods, seeing "Blue Violet," meaning the flower but also referring to a girl's name, and asking permission to "sprinkle" her to keep her from wilting.

Happy Easter! Boldog Húsvéti Ünnepeket!

It's Easter Sunday and Easter so far can't be summarized as anything less than delightful. I've just come back from a truly joyful visit with a lovely Roma family from the village. I know the grandmother from Bible study, and at the morning service she invited me to stop by in the afternoon. She's been inviting me for some time because, in her words, she wanted to "show me how they live."

Her four grandchildren are in town for Easter, and they won my heart in no time at all, especially the five-year-old, who was full of giggles and liked playing peek-a-boo with me around the corner. I brought some Easter party crackers for them, and they loved them, especially the crowns. Somehow I was roped into singing a couple songs, and before long, they wanted to learn an English song, so I taught the kids "Jesus Loves Me." They picked it up really fast, and even though the words weren't always intelligible, it was priceless. Then they taught me some Hungarian children's and folk songs, which I'm afraid I took much longer to learn than they did!

Yesterday afternoon we had our weekly Bible school and "tanoda" with the kids. We decorated Easter eggs--which was fun, if not chaotic--and went for a little "field trip" down to the river bank. The kids were so full of energy. I love their vigor for life. When we got back, we set them loose searching for candy that I'd hid around the yard earlier while Péter did the Bible lesson with them. I think I was even more excited to see them search for the candies than they were to find them


Easter celebrations began last night, already, with Easter supper with the pastor's family at her mother's home (which happens to be right next door to me). I was with them for Easter lunch today, too. They have family visiting for Easter, and it was fun to have kids around. Earlier in the day, after tanoda, we decorated eggs together. Traditional Hungarian Easter eggs are red in colour. In fact, they call decorated eggs "piros tojás" (red eggs) even when they're not red. A custom I really like is that a lot of families have beautifully decorated eggs (wooden or ceramic I think) hanging on ribbons on the branches of trees outdoors. I love it. The húsvéti nyuszi (Easter Bunny) even visited me and left some decorated eggs and chocolate on my door step last night! I strongly suspect it was Erzsi, the pastor.
Easter really is magnificent here, because spring is in full bloom. The grass is green, the leaves are beginning to appear on the trees, and there are daffodils, and violets, and hyacinths everywhere! The cherry trees in bloom are my favourite--I intentionally took this route today so I could walk by the cherry blossoms. How I would love a yard full of cherry trees some day!