I Was Worried

I was worried. All night, I hardly slept a wink. By the time I had to get up and give my presentation, my worry churned into utter fear. My voice trembled softly and my knees quivered beneath my pant legs threatening to snap like over wrought rubber bands at any moment.

I was in Miss Leece’s 6th grade class. My assignment was to tell my classmates about last night’s news. I do not know how I made it through the five minute presentation without disintegrating in front of everyone. I was absolutely terrified. Even now, I shudder thinking about it.

From earliest childhood, I had difficulty speaking. I use to say “wawa” for water. My family seemed to understand and I got what I wanted. But to outsiders, I guess, I was hardly intelligible.

I arrived in first grade needing to both read and pronounce my A-B-Cs. For three years I was given speech therapy so that I could say sounds like SH and CH and TH along with S and K and D and of course, A, E , I, O and U.

I remember my father. He drilled me several times a week in the back bedroom. It was tough going. I think I taught him patience as he taught me the sounds I needed to know. He did a good job. Thanks Pop. I know you would be proud of me now.

Last week I was invited to tell a new group of 35 Peace Corps volunteers about my 1st year experience in Ukraine. I was standing front of my peers again. This time, I stood with confidence.



My talk wove together 20 tips for survival and community integration along with stories of people I met and projects I accomplished. Most have been recorded here in my blog.

I told them how I learned my Russian numbers and colors by playing UNO in Russian. Every time a card is laid down the number and color must be said in Russian. My host family still loves to play the game. My friend Jim sent me extra games to give-a-way. Thanks Jim.

I told them about a wedding and how I was toasted by the father-of-the-bride as the first American to set foot in his home. “You are welcome here in my home - always.”

I told them about a former Soviet military man who lived his career preparing for war against America, and how he wrapped his arm around me in an embrace declaring to all present, “This is our American.”

I told them about Konotop’s first charity auction and the 11 new business contributors. “We didn’t have the confidence to ask businesses for donations. You gave us the idea that we could do it.”

I told them about another Peace Corps volunteer who sometimes doubts she has had much impact. But then a neighbor tells her, “You have changed my family’s life. “ Imagine….

I told them about teaching English and Leadership English and my new project to strengthen NGOs through Organizational Development Seminars. I shared an idea for a Leadership Network in Konotop and my hope to see it meeting regularly.

I ended with more tips and a refrain that they will succeed. “You can do it. Take time to build relationships. Be patient with your language learning. And manage your attitude. The Peace Corps is one grand adventure.”

As I sat down, there was applause and then a comment from the new Country Director of Peace Corps Ukraine. He said, “Thank you so much. Thank you, Jud. Your presentation was outstanding, simply extraordinary.”

As I beamed with pride and satisfaction, images of Pop’s language drills and speech classes and Miss Leece’s news report flashed across my memory screen.

And I thought about my dear mentor, Dr.David G. Buttrick who in my Seminary years taught me about the power of words. “Speak in images. Evoke pictures in the mind. And remember your structure. Structure is meaning.” Thank you, David, your teaching and friendship are treasured.

How strange it is. A kid, who had a hard time talking, has spent a good part of his life informing and motivating others. With words and stories, I think I am helping others in more ways than I will probably ever know. At least, I hope so.

I will savor last week not only for the kind and generous comments, but for all the history – my personal history - rolled into a job well done. What a grand adventure this past year has been.

A Pie Plate

Sometimes wanting something is more than half of the pleasure of getting it. The mind has time to image anticipation. Over and over, the story is replayed and refined and savored. When the day of getting finally arrives, it almost feels like a special event.

And so it was in my quest for a pie plate.

For several months, I wanted a pie plate I have been thinking that it would be nice to make a dessert when I get invited to a family dinner. Pies are not common in Ukraine. So a homemade apple pie would be so American and a special way to say thanks.

Unlike America, there is no Wall Mart. I cannot just drive to the Mall and choose from a dozen possibilities.

No, in Ukraine, you have to hunt. Different shops specialize in different products. If you want bedding, you go to the bedding shop. If you want fish, you go to the fish shop. And if you want a pie plate, you need to find a shop with household goods.

In Konotop, we do have a “Department Store.” It’s like I imagine our grandmothers once shopped at. It’s small about a quarter of the size of a dollar store.

There are no consumer friendly shelves. Everything is behind the counter. Rarely are prices marked making it difficult to comparison shop. You must ask to be shown everything.

I am in the cosmetic section trying to buy tooth paste. “How much is that one,” as I point to the shelf behind the clerk? “No, not that one…a little further to the right.” Of course, I am doing this all in Russian, my version of Russian. It’s amazing that I end up with Colgate Total.

In another section are plates, cups and vases. They are all displayed in square cases made of glass and dark mahogany framing. The cases stand about seven feet tall and glisten from the sun streaming in the front door.

If you want a closer look at an item, you must get the case unlocked. I think you must really want something in order to ask to have the case unlocked. Otherwise, it is too intimidating. I have been in the shop many times and have never seen the case unlocked.

The “Department Store” did have one oven-safe plate, but it was big and oblong. I wanted a small round one. “No, we do not have,” said the clerk. Instead of being annoyed, I found myself bemused and drawn into the quest. “Where will I find a pie plate,” I thought?

Of course, I could have asked a Ukrainian friend. But this time I wanted to do it on my own. After all, I have been in Ukraine for an entire year and it is time for me to navigate all by myself. If I can now buy my own train ticket, surely I can find a suitable pie plate.

I went to several other stores, but no pie plates were to be found. The challenge intensified. I branched out to hardware stores. I recalled that sometimes they carry house hold items. One hardware shop had a glass plate, but it was square. I was running out of options.

On Saturday, I got up early and made my way to the Bazaar. As I got close to the Bazaar, I saw a small shop that had a few plate and cup sets in the window.

“Maybe I will find one here,” I thought. I had written the Russian words for pie plate and a small dialogue on a card so that I could more easily and correctly ask.

But again, the answer was “Nyet.”

I think I sounded a little desperate when I asked, “But where?” The kind woman smiled and beckoned me to follow her outside. She pointed out a yellow building about three blocks away. I thanked her and scurried up the street.

Excitement!

In the shop were several choices. There was a small and round one, a pretty ceramic one and a spring cake pan which might also double as a deep dish pie pan. I went for the spring cake pan and its versatility. And maybe with my next Peace Corps allowance, I will return for the small ceramic one. My quest was complete.

In America shopping is often on automatic pilot. We hurry into the mega market, pick up a few things and then drive home. There are so many ways to be instantly satisfied.

Maybe it sounds silly, but I think I will enjoy my spring cake pan more because of the hunt and anticipation.

On Easter Sunday, I was invited to a family dinner. I made an apple cake. It was delicious. I noticed a sister-in-law of my host snatching a second piece. "Perfect," I thought.

International Day for Women

Today is the International Day for Women. At Hearts of Love, we celebrated a few days early with a special event. I am not sure it would be considered politically correct by those who keep score on such things. Still the young girls, who participated, and their families were so proud and happy.

The International Day for Women harkens back to Soviet times. It got tied to socialist politics and rights for women workers in the early 20th century. Maybe that is why it never really got much noticed in America. The UN adopted it in the 1970s and promotes a different theme each year. This year the focus is on ending violence against women.

For more information - http://www.un.org/events/women/iwd/2009/

Since the break-up of the Soviet Republic, it has lost some of its socialist stridency especially in countries like Ukraine. Woman’s Day has evolved into a combination of Valentines and Mother Day. It’s a time to honor women and recognize their contributions.

Unknown to me, a plan to commemorate Women’s Day was being discussed at Hearts of Love.

That’s the way it works here. I use to think that Ukrainian people did not plan. I was wrong. They just use a different kind of planning. Instead of flip charts and formal meetings or proposals and board of director decisions, a project is formed during informal discussions. Slowly, a consensus emerges, volunteers step forward and the project is underway.

”What are you doing,” I ask seeing two young women working on the office computer? “It’s for the International Day of Women. We’re making a beauty pageant for our children.”

“What,” I say? The two ideas collide in my head as I nod and feign a smile. I think they notice my lack of enthusiasm and tell me more about the project. I am being brought into the discussion.

The idea began with our December St. Nicholas party. As part of our outreach to the community, contact was made with Miss Konotop and her court of beauties. They came to the party coiffured and dressed in evening gowns, sashes and crowns. Our young girls were giggly with excitement. Everyone wanted their picture taken with Miss Konotop.

Could we replicate something like Miss Konotop for the children at Hearts of Love? The plain truth is that our children don’t get a chance to be recognized as beauties. Some are retarded or autistic. Others have internal disabilities like heart conditions or epilepsy. And still others manage with palsay and other physical disabilities. Hearts of Love has brought together a wide range of special need children.

It is hard on them and their families. I am told that during Soviet times, physical strength and perfection were applauded. Just take a look at the prowess chiseled into Soviet monuments. Disabilities represented failure. These kinds of children were hidden and a source of shame.

But times are a changing….why not a beauty pageant for our children? I warm to the idea.

The big day arrives. Fifteen girls participate and about 75 parents and friends ring the stage.
The music starts and the young girls walk down four steps and across the floor. They strike a pose and move on with poise and dignity. I look around and everyone is so proud.

Then I notice a little commotion on the side. One young girl has been crying. Nerves, I think. But then, I discover that one of her legs is deformed and she cannot walk without crutches.

On this day, she does not want to be seen with crutches. I identify since I spent several years on crutches when I was about her age.

She is beautiful in her evening gown, but apparently embarrassed to tears. Yelena kneels and talks to her. Then two men lift up the chair she is sitting on and carry her to a place beside the others. Everyone applauds and applauds. Another girl gives her a hug. She gives a tentative smile.

The beauty pageant continues with self introductions and talent performances and the making of love cards for mothers and grandmothers.
They all do such a splendid job.

At the end, everyone is awarded a title and a sash. The little girl confined in the chair becomes Miss Spring. I learn that she has been enduring a series of operations so that maybe one day she will walk just like the others. Let’s hope….

What a wonderful way to celebrate the International Day for Women. It makes me proud to be here.

Start With The End In Mind

“Start with the end in mind.” My friend, Jim, taught me this snappy aphorism while I was still working with AARP. Sometimes when I got bogged down, I would remember his words. But it wasn’t until I came to Ukraine that I realized its uncanny power.

Just a year ago, I was in the final month of preparations for the Peace Corps. I said goodbye to friends at the Lafayette Urban Ministry to return to Maine and hopefully sell my house. My days were spent sorting through my stuff and selling or giving away most of it. Daily visits to the Good Will got me on the first name basis. "Hello, Jud...here again?"

People asked me, “Now what exactly will you be doing in the Peace Corps?” I mumble something about helping and cross culture awareness. I sounded like talking points from the Peace Corps web site. To be honest, I was not exactly sure of what I was getting into and not sure what I would be doing.

Of course that’s part of the attraction. On the one hand it is scary to see your stuff compacted into a 9x12 locker and then embark half a world away into the unknown. But then, it is so exciting to not know what will happen next. To have an adventure at my age….Wow!

Somewhere in the back of my mind an idea was forming. Maybe, with my life time of experience in the non-profit world, I could kind of consult or teach leaders of Ukraine’s emerging NGOs. I had no idea how this might happen, but it became my “end in mind.”

I sold my house, said goodbye to friends and family and before I knew it I was in Ukraine. Cyrillic alphabet letters that I had tried to memorize in America now surrounded me. It was a little scary, but so exciting.

Ten weeks of training and some language development transformed those strange looking letters into words. I could speak Russian…at least, a little. I scored intermediate-low in our end of training test, but I think they were being generous.

Most of the time when Ukrainians spoke to me, I was in the dark. I got real good at saying, “So sorry, I am just learning Russian and I do not understand.”

How would I ever be able to consult or teach?

Our country director had given us some advice. She said, “Just show up every day and accept every invitation you get…. Something good will happen.” And I added, “Start with that end in mind.”

Summer and fall in Konotop filled up with meeting new people. One contact would open another and another. I started Leadership English. During my twice a week classes, I got to know leaders in local government and the NGO world. With my fledgling Russian and a help of a translator, I was learning that I could teach.

Then Yelena at the Hearts of Love Center asked me, “We need help with fund raising plans. Do you think you could help us figure out what to do.?” I jumped at the opportunity and Konotop’s first charity auction was the result. We raised 3000 grievnah ($375) and became known to 11 business owners in the community.

Several weeks later, our auction was copied by the well-to-do of Konotop and Hearts of Love benefited. At a local café, they auctioned off fancy drinks with some going for as much as 800 grievnah. The organizer was a woman who got the idea from our auction.

I felt like something good was happening.

After these successes, word spread. Yelena raised the possibility of teaching a few seminars. Many people were asking her if I might be able to help their organizations too. “Don’t you think a series of seminars would be a good idea?” she asked.

We held an informational meeting and 30 people showed up. Of course, there was a lot of curiosity. Like often happens, I was probably the first American that most in the room had ever met. I wished my ability to speak Russian was better so that we could freely communicate.

Instead, I spoke through a translator and outlined the kind of seminars that I had in mind. The seminars would be participatory with worksheets, discussions and projects. We would cover the basics of getting started with mission statements, goals and objectives. We would address the need for team building, leadership skills and funding plans. I asked people to prioritize their needs.

After the meeting, I was delighted to see many people hanging around. They were energized. It was a good sign.

Last week, I waited for my first seminar to begin. I was not sure how many people to expect. I was hoping for 6 or 7. Typically, Ukrainians do not commit until the last moment and they keep you guessing because they almost always show up 15 minutes late.

But I had no real worries. The room was set up for 12 and as people showed up, we had to pull in a couple of extra chairs. The room was full.

For 3 ½ hours we created mission statements, brain maps, SWOT analysis and goals. People worked hard and were very attentive. It was a good session.

As we winded down, I asked everyone to share one thing they might use from the seminar. Many were excited by new organizational tools and the chance to put their mission into words.

One woman wrote, “I came with a dream and no idea how to accomplish it. Now I have tools to make my dream come true.” I later found out that she wants to create a home for Pensioners who have no family.

“Start with the end in mind.” Powerful.

Worse gets Worser

Just when I thought it could not get any worse, it did.

The other night when I went to bed,I noticed that the temperature was just above freezing. Great, I thought. Maybe we are going to have a February thaw. I woke up this morning and the temperature was still a little above freezing. Fantastic! No more slipping and sliding. I was gleeful.

Then I went outside..

The rising temperature had managed to melt the top layer of snow. It's this layer of snow that provides what little traction there is.. In its place were huge puddles of water with pure smooth ice underneath. I repeat SMOOTH ice underneath.

It was horrible. It took me 15 minutes to go a half a block. I should have turned back, but instead I pushed on. It began to sleet. That's a nice way of saying freezing rain. I took off my glasses because they were getting misted and then freezing. I could not see.

Every step was tentative. I could not really walk at a normal speed. I felt like an inch worm who was in the wrong season. Thank goodness, I had my walking stick. It kept me from falling several times.

My normal 15 minute walk to the Hearts of Love Center took me about 70 minutes. I was soaked and chilled. Miserable to the bone.

Ukrainian friends tell me that this kind of winter is rare. They cannot remember the last time. Lucky me, I get to experience an old fashioned Ukrainian winter.

As I finish writing this, it's starting to snow. Believe me, I am very happy and relieved. Now Traction will return in the morning. And the worser will get a little better.

Winter Ice

I notice her from afar. Slowly she creeps up the incline leading to the Eco Market. Under each tentative step is 4 inches of ice.


The first snows in December were beautiful. I felt like I was walking through a Currier and Ives painting. I remember walking down a path in the city park and thinking how sparkling Konotop looks. Clumps of snow hung on pine branches. Other trees glistened in the frosty chill. I felt enchanted.

But December snows have compacted and worse yet thawed and frozen again into ice. The traction that compacted snow provides is disappearing. Everyday islands of ice expand as people-traffic takes away the snow.

I am no scientist, but I think it works like this. The friction of foot steps melts the snow and then wicked cold temperatures freeze it. I fear that the ice islands will soon transform into forbidding continents - slick and treacherous. Already the pathway to the Market is mostly ice.

The woman pauses. She is probably in her 70s or maybe older. She is well dressed with a typical long coat and fur collar and fur hat. She is dressed for winter.

In Ukraine, even when the temperatures dip to minus 20 centigrade (that's about 10 below zero F), people are out and about. There is food to buy and bills to pay. The mail is not used and each bill requires a personal appearance. People walk through the cold and snow and ice to do their daily business.

Today the woman is on her way to Eco Market. The Market is like an A&P that I recall from my boyhood. It's small. There are three aisles and a side meat counter. Half of one aisle is dedicated to Vodka and Cognac. A produce cooler and a dairy corner complete the display.

As the woman and I move closer, our eyes make contact. It's then that I see the panic. Her look links into something primal within me - my own fears. "Will I make it? Will the next step be secure? Or will this be the time I fall and break something?"

Like her, I inch my way along. My YakTraxs, that I bought from America, do not work on 4 inches of ice. I have fallen several times. Nothing serious, thank God. Constantly I search for compacted snow so that my YakTraxs can dig in. A 10 minute walk can take twice as long. It is mentally exhausting deciding where to take the next step.

Lenin in the snow.

I think I know some of what the woman is feeling. I am touched. I offer her my arm and hope that we do not slip together. Slowly we inch our way toward the steps which have been swept clear. She looks up at me as we depart. The panic is not gone.

Winter is hard in Ukraine.

As I finish writing this blog, I get a notice that a package has arrived from America. A friend has sent me a pair of walking sticks. What a blessing. These walking sticks will give me added traction and safety. But now I'm wondering - Is there a Ukrainian groundhog to predict how many more weeks of winter remain?

It's a Wonderful Life

Finally the holidays are over. It's not that I am complaining. I think I had the best of all possibilities. I got to celebrate both American and Ukrainian versions of the holidays. And I got to travel to Istanbul too. It's a wonderful life and a cheery counterpoint to this cold gray weather.

My holidays start with a visit to my niece and her family for Thanksgiving. They are living in Kiev and I have a great opportunity to be with my family and get to know their two sons - Brendan and Aidan. Both are smart inquisitive boys. They call me "Great" Uncle Jud and who am I to argue with their impeccable judgment.

Thanksgiving is great fun with other international guests. One couple is from Poland and another from the UK. Shannon (Jenny's husband) gives us a little quiz on Thanksgiving history and we all tell a few family tales.

I tell about a time when "Great "Uncle Peter ate a pound of butter from the dinning room table. Mom could not understand where it had gone until she discovered Peter with an empty dish under the table. At least that is the way I remember it.

Holidays pick up with the Ukrainian celebration of St Nicholas Day. At the Hearts of Love Center a big party is held for about 50 children. There are clowns who play a series of games. Miss Konotop, beauty pageant winner and her court of runner-ups, make a surprise appearance. They parade across the room with runway poise. The young girls and older men are delighted.

Then St. Nicholas comes along with another game and a special Bible lesson on the 10 Commandments. Sure its a potpourri of activities but when all get a sack of candy and sit down for cake, everyone is thrilled.

Next I leave on December 22nd for Istanbul. After a 3 1/2 hour delay I arrive near midnight to discover that my checked bag is no where to be found. ""Please help me," I whine to the woman behind the desk. She does not speak real good English, but she reads my exhausted body language well enough. I am close to melt down. I fill out a form (luckily I kept the little bag claim slip) and left with a promise.

The next day, the hostel crew follows up and my bag is found. The night manager teases that he will even place flowers on the bag when it arrives. I awake the next day and my bag is awaiting me...yes, with flowers! Hooray! You can read more about Christmas in Istanbul in my earlier posts.

I returned to Ukraine on December 29th. After a brief stop-over with my niece and family, I catch the Electrechka (electric train) to Konotop. While I was away. a new and more secure door is installed on my apartment. I also see a new cabinet doubling the space for food preparation to about two feet. Wonderful!

Tomorrow is New Years Day. For Ukrainians this holiday is more like American Christmas, but without the religion. Homes are decorated with New Year Trees. I am invited into a family's celebration.

By 10:00 pm we are all gathering at Babushka's house for a meal. Last moment preparations are underway. The 12 year old is excited because this meal features an entire roasted chicken. Yum! The dinner is delicious. As is typical, we nibble and drink and toast for several hours. As midnight arrives, a bottle of champaign is uncorked and hugs are shared.

A big bouquet of balloons is brought out. Everyone selects and pricks a balloon. We cringe as each explodes. Inside is a wish for the New Year. I think this is a splendid tradition and I pass it on. Simple, yet so magical and fun.

Later, Anna gives me a hand made card, The special New Years wish touches my soul.

We wish you health...so you may enjoy each day in comfort.
We wish you love of friends and family...and piece (sic) within our heart.

We wish you beauty of nature ...that you may enjoy the work of God.
We wish you wisdom to choose priorities...for those things that really matter in life.

We wish you generosity so you may share....all the good things that come to you.
We wish you happiness and joy...and blessings for the New Year.

We wish you the best of everything that you so well deserve.
Happy New Year!

Ukrainian Christmas follows a week later. I track down an Orthodox Church, but I think I missed the worship. Prayers are being said by a priest behind a wall, but there is no worship that I recognize. I must learn more.

A short Marschuka ride takes me to Oksanna who did not want me to be alone on Christmas Eve. My Ukrainian friends are so thoughtful. I vow to emulate their hospitality. It is such an important gift when you are a stranger in a different land.

Oksanna has prepared a wonderful meal and we all sit down for an evening of eating and laughing. Maxim, Oksanna's son, with Babushka.

Their Babushka joins us and at 79 she tells me she does not think of herself as older than 40. "But sometimes my body does not agree." She is healing from nasty fall on the ice. She needs a pair of YakTraxs. So I order her a pair and my friend Jim will forward them to me.

As I leave this loving home, it begins to lightly snow. Few cars or people are on the streets. I cannot help but feel nostalgic...home, family, and friends. It's a Wonderful Life... celebrating both American and Ukrainian holidays.
Town Square, Konotop, Ukraine

O Holy Night...Part II

Our Holy Night pilgrimage continues inside St Antoine's.

The pews are only partially filled. I lead the way and we take a seat a little less than half from the front. Then remembering my parents, my mind is flooded with memories. Every Sunday at the Presbyterian Church, they sat on the right hand side and a little less than half way from the front. So here I am in Istanbul replicating it 60 years later.

We do not know the worship schedule and wonder if the mass will be sparsely attended. The choir is up front and appears to be practicing songs. I notice that it's a multi-racial choir. Africans, Asians and Turks are all noticeable. They sing several beautiful melodies, yet unknown to our American ears.

Then they begin to sing O Holy Night. In this far off land this familiar sound floods my mind again. I lean over to Fran and say, "My mother use to play that song on the piano in our living room." Fran smiles and says, "I was just thinking the same thing. It was my mother's favorite too."

I sit listening and imaging all the places where this song is being played and heard tonight and every Christmas Eve. My eyes settle on the pulpit and I imagine Pope John XXIII preaching a Christmas message.

Christianity in Turkey has deep roots.

Emperor Constantine Christianized an empire here. Early creeds were formulated in the Hagia Sofia before the Church split in two - Roman and Eastern Orthodox. Crusaders came and went. Islam prevailed through centuries of the Ottoman Empire. Then in the 20th century, the Republic brought tolerance and Christianity found itself in a crowded Bazaar of faiths. Islam, Judaism, Secularism, Christianity and more contending with one another.

Would Pope John's years in Istanbul result in a faith with a siege mentality or would there be a generous openness to new ideas? Having just spent the afternoon at the Grand Bazaar, I know you can either fight the flow or move along expecting the unexpected.

I imagine Pope John teaching about the unexpected birth of a savior. I think of him trusting God to spread love of one another. I think of a grand bazaar of faiths adding understanding to the human experience. I don't know if Pope John XXIII said such things. Maybe I can find where his words are kept alive on the Internet.

Meanwhile the Church is filling up. Pew seats are no longer available. Rings of people are crowding into the aisles. Some are taking pictures and many are chatting on mobile phones. Humanity from the boulevards of Taksim Square is being drawn in. Spilling into this place, the buzz of energy grows louder. It seems some what surreal.

Then unexpectedly (at least to me) a television crew shows up along with a photo journalist. Aggressively, they push down the center aisle. The photo journalist takes pictures of the pulpit...the choir....worshipers...while the TV crew pans the front and captures the growing crowd...digitally.

I have never seen a Christmas Eve service covered as if it was a news event. But then again, maybe, it should be. Isn't it a better way to think about this holy night than the usual one all wrapped up in store-bought excess? I wonder how will they spin the story?

Alarmed ushers lasso the TV crew and photo journalist escorting them to the back of the room. They resist. They are not happy. I get the image of bouncers at a night club. The atmosphere is more charged than any prim and proper worship service that I have ever attended. I surprise myself. I like it.

The choir begins to sing in earnest now. Beautiful melodies. Are they Filipino words? I am not sure. A group of African men gather in the corner by the pulpit. Drums beat. Rhythmic chants are sung and shouted. The crowded sanctuary is captivated. At least six rows of humanity encircle the pews now. People put away mobile phones and listen. A carol is adapted to African drums.

O come all ye faithful...boom....boom...boom. Joyful and triumphant...boom...boom, O come ye...boom. O come ye...boom
to Bethlehem...boom...boom...boom."

The old and familiar is unexpectedly new and exciting.

Next to Fran is a young woman. Her name is Fatama. After some conversation about the Peace Corps and how it emphasizes cross cultural sharing, we learn that she is Muslim.

She is very engaging and explains that she is a practicing Muslim even though she is dressed in western fashion. I am learning that Islam has many forms and is much broader than the caricatures portrayed in western media.

Fran, always the inquisitive historian, asks the question we all are wondering. "How does a young Muslim woman come to a Christian Church on Christmas Eve?"

The young woman smiles and says,"Istanbul is my home. Islam is my faith. And the faiths and cultures of the world are my interests and passions. I wanted to pay my respects."

In a strange way her words are a Christmas blessing. I think if her thoughts can be shared over and over again, maybe, there is hope for this tired world.

I look up at the pulpit and find myself saying, "Pope John XXIII, Your words, your faith are still alive here." A captivated crowd. Fillapino melodies. African drum beats. TV news casters. Muslim passion and respect. All mixed together.

Expect the unexpected. O Holy Night...It's Christmas in Istanbul.

O Holy Night....Part I

O Holy Night...it's Christmas Eve in Istanbul.

Of course you would not know it. For most people here, it is just an ordinary Thursday evening. This is a modern Muslim nation. Mosques seem to be around every corner including the famous Blue Mosque

( http://www.sacred-destinations.com/turkey/istanbul-blue-mosque )
and Hagia Sofia which was an early Christian Church turned Mosque turned Museum.
( http://www.sacred-destinations.com/turkey/istanbul-hagia-sophia )

Now mosaics that were once covered up by Muslim intolerance of images are being stripped of plaster to reveal their original glory.


While the minarets announce prayer five times a day filling air waves with a strange wailing, men and women, for the most part, dress in ordinary western clothing. Many of the young are actually quite fashionable and carry ubiquitous mobile phones permanently attached to their ears or so it seems. They obviously are hip and have frequented the shops and boutiques which line the pedestrian boulevard running off of Taksim Square.

We have traveled there on our way to a Catholic Church for Christmas Eve worship. We use the modern Metro and Tram Way system that helps to move the population of over 12.5 million people across Istanbul.

What a surprise to emerge from the Metro and see a Square filled with holiday lights. While Christmas is not a holiday, the city seems to embrace all. I am struck by the openness of ordinary people.

Street vendors, couples strolling, shop keepers are all friendly and helpful. Not only do they offer to show you the "very best carpet in all of Istanbul" or "help you spend your money," but they also are patient and generous in giving directions.

We ask for directions to Saint Antoine Roman Catholic Church. We are told "it's about a kilometer stroll down" We walk down a very upbeat boulevard that's so alive with energy and festooned with blue lights. If I did not know better, I would think I was in Time Square...but only cleaner.

O Holy Night in Istanbul - an energized mixture of Islamic and modern hip cultures spanning both Europe and Asia. The earth crust may have split the continents in prehistoric times forming the Bosporus, but now Istanbul is bridging differences and seems to be conscious of its role and possibility of bringing people together.

We are making our pilgrimage to St. Antoine's. It's a longer walk than we thought. We stop several times to ask directions. People look at us with some puzzlement and then remembering they say "yes, yes" pointing further down the boulevard.

Fran is the first to see the Church. She along with Justin are Peace Corp Volunteers or as they say in the land of acronyms - PCVs. We have come from the far corners of Ukraine to meet in Istanbul.

Fran is an historian and has been an executive with the National Council for the Humanities in their DC and Florida offices. Justin is a philosophy and ethics graduate from the University of Northern Michigan. Fran and I work at Community Development and Justin is Youth Development volunteer in his small town of about 1400. We have become great friends.

St Antoine's is tucked behind a high iron fence and if it wasn't for the people streaming in through the gate, you might miss it amidst the glitter of the boulevard. We stop to take a few pictures. It is an attractive structure. Don't you think?

Near the front steps is a bronze statue. It is a likeness of Pope John XXIII. None of us realized that the reforming Pope who initiated the Second Vatican Council, also served here for 10 years before becoming Pope. I imagine him walking up these stairs. Greeting the people and preaching from that pulpit.

I wonder what he taught Istanbul and what Istanbul taught him. He was a Pope of Peace and ecumenical outreach. I think we need his spirit among us now more than ever. My heart is full and my eyes brim over as I mount the steps and enter the sanctuary.

O Holy Night in Istanbul...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Anthony_of_Padua_Church_in_Istanbul

Throw a Pebble

Throw a pebble into a stream and watch the concentric circles spread out. Every child who has ever gone fishing with his father knows how this works. Maybe with amazement he watches the circles form and with delight he follows them outward until they blend into the current.

That's the image that comes to mind as I think about the Hearts of Love Charity Fund's first ever open house and fund raising event. We took a pebble and plunked it into the stream of the Konotop community.

Yelena, Director of the Charity Fund, is the energy and passion. She is not alone. Others join in - mothers and a few fathers working together make things happen. "We want to raise awareness. We want Konotop to see the possibilities of our children. And how a little help can make their lives better."

So it is important to showcase the crafts and art of the children and their families. Yelena makes a special point of showing me a beaded flower that a mother and her daughter has made even though the child is unable to walk unassisted and rarely gets out. "They wanted to participate," Yelena says. I'm touched. It's important to be included even if your body does not always cooperate.

Look at the display of crafts. Imagine the stories that are behind each hand-crafted item. The circle expands including more children. Families are no longer alone.









I'm asked to be the auctioneer at the live auction or as some of the parents say "the loud" auction. We are having a silent auction too. But they want me for the "loud" one. I think they are type casting me knowing that I am comfortable in front of groups.

OK, if the truth be known, I can be a bit of the ham. Still this is different. Doing a "Russian" Auction gets my nerves on end. Is this Russian Roulette? I worry a bit. But then the adrenalin kicks in and the good humor of the people makes it all a lot of fun.


That night after all the people leave we decide to have some chi (tea) and cookies while we count the collected funds.

At the silent auction we are amazed to have 11 new businesses supporting the work of the Hearts of Love Center. One volunteer quietly thanks me, "You helped us get over our fear of being rejected. I didn't want to go into the shops. I was afraid of what they might say. But together, we did it."

Several of the businesses offered to give free haircuts for the children and their families. "Just give us a call, it doesn't matter how many. We just want to help." The circles move outward catching others in the flow.

A collection box in the shape of a giant golden heart contains over 700 grievnah. The auctions and sale of crafts bring another 2100. That's a grand total of over 2800 Grievnah. By American standards, it is not a great deal of money - about $350. But when you realize that I am living on about $200 a month, it has a lot of buying power. We are pleased.

We wish more people had come. Of special concern are some of our local leaders who were invited but did not show. A discussion starts on how we might do a better job next time. I smile thinking that having this discussion is a Peace Corps success. We are evaluating and planning over chi and cookies.

A few weeks pass. An article in the paper reports the results of our auctions. Prominently is a big thank you to all the businesses. A good positive energy surrounds the Center.

Then late one afternoon,Yelena is all smiles. She gathers an interpreter and ushers me into a class room. She wants to tell me something.

"Last weekend a local cafe had a benefit for us. We didn't know it was happening. They auctioned off drinks. Imagine, one went for 600 grievnah. A Konotop leader, who had failed to show up for our auction, bought it. They raised over 2000 grievnah."

My jaw drops. This is totally unexpected or is it? Throw a pebble into a river stream and the circles spread outward rippling across the water...maybe into infinity. I wonder what will happen next?