Finally!!
Here it is: the story you've
all been on the edge
of your seats waiting to hear.
{Just pretend that you were, ok?!}
If you've been reading for a while, you'll remember that I was
dating a nice young man whose mother I adored and then he broke up with me, and I was devastated {because I really liked his mother. In fact, I just talked to her the other night for an hour and a half.}. So, anyway- the time after that relationship ended was time that God was teaching me a great deal about Him, about myself, about my identity in Him. I had the opportunity to go to Ukraine on a missions trip in May 1999. I wanted to go again that year (in part, to determine whether the Lord was calling me away from teaching to missions), but I could not take time off from my teaching job, so I planned to go alone (without an American team) over my Christmas break.
December 1999
I landed in Kyiv in the middle of December and was picked up by my friends Sergey and Ira Gladishko. Sergey is the head of the
Slavic Gospel Association's Regional Ministry Center for Ukraine. It is now located in Irpen, just outside Kyiv. I stayed with the Gladishko family- Anna was about 13 at the time, and Alona and Masha were 7 years old. They spoke limited English, and I knew even less Russian, but while at their home itself, we made it work without a translator.
While in-country, I simply played and shared words of testimony wherever Sergey and a team of Ukrainians went: a children's hospital, the twins' school, churches,
in a prison church
in Cherkacy.
An orphanage.
For village pastors picking up Christmas
boxes of gifts for their congregations at the RMC.
I believe it was that day that I got
food poisoning from the bortsch.
Sick as a dog is an understatement.
On Christmas Eve, I played in a church in Kyiv. On the way home, Ira wanted to stop at a little store not far from their home to get a torte for me to try. It was late, and because it was winter, Sergey left the car running while they ran in to pick out the sweets. The girls were in the back, and I was in the front passenger seat {they always insisted that I ride there} with my gig bag and purse on my lap ( I had taken off my little pouch I wore with my money and passport because we were going right home and tucked it in my bag). The heat and late hour had us in a sleepy sort of trance.
Soon, I was aroused by a rush of cold air as the door opened and I saw Sergey's navy blue jacket... good- we were ready to go, but as he turned to begin driving I realize that this was not Sergey! Everything seemed to happen so fast. I tried to open the door so I could yell for help, but the door stuck {like it always did!}. It finally opened, but we were already moving and going too fast for me to jump out- and the three little ones were in the back, hysterical. As we rounded a corner, my purse slid off my lap and out the door before I could catch it and get the door shut again. I don't remember much else except I could tell we were headed toward the main roads and I didn't want to get far from that little store; I grabbed at the wheel trying to make him run off the road into a snowbank. I then began hitting this man, and yelling in my {
extremely} limited Russian that I was an American and to STOP {that word, with a little different vowel pronunciation, is universal}!!
This is a weird thing- as I was yelling, it was like I was able to hear myself and think at the same time, "Wow! I sound really vicious!!" Not taking any more nano-seconds to dwell on my new found voice, I yanked the stick shift out of gear. He finally stopped, turned and looked at me and asked, "Do you want me to stop?" I thought, what an absolutely stupid question, but I answered in Russian "Da!!" He stopped, got out, and walked away.
The girls were screaming and crying. I was running on adrenaline. I did not know how to drive a stick shift, so I took the keys, grabbed Sergey's briefcase, and took the girls. We ran back to the store where we found Ira and Sergey waiting for us. They thought I had moved the car around the corner as a joke, but as they began to piece things together from our accounts, Ira fainted right there in the store.
My purse was nowhere to be found; some babushka must have walked by and grabbed it and kept going. Not a big deal - except- my passport was in it. The police were called. There were a lot of people who were standing outside, and one was willing to come inside to give a statement. ONE. This was a neighborhood store, so I can almost guarantee that
someone knew
something. Welcome to "it's only 8 years after communism in a former republic of the USSR."
We ended up going to the nearest police station where it seemed we sat for hours. Poor Masha had wet her pants. Sergey and Ira talked with the policeman, and I sat there. I did not know the language, and I had no translator. So I prayed and prayed. I prayed that somehow God would burden people back in the States to pray for me.
"At the beginning of your supplications, the command went out...." (Daniel 9:23)
Finally, we went home. We didn't celebrate much, and the torte didn't seem nearly so festive.
I then had to start the process of getting a new passport and visa. I had to have a statement from the police to take to the embassy. Sergey and I sat in another little room. It was dark except for one dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was one desk and an old typewriter on it that the officer used to type up this form. Essentially, it said my passport "walked away." As in, on its own. When I was at the embassy getting my new passport, I can't tell you how wonderful it felt to be an American and have access to that building. Stop and chew on that for a few minutes- do you know how many would love to have that status? (And what are our responsibilities with all that we've been given?)
Out for pizza.
SGA Christmas Party
St. Michael's in Kyiv
Suffice it to say, that when my new documents were put together, I was ready to go home. EXCEPT...one of the biggest snowstorms to come through Europe in years- I mean,
years, people!- came through the night before I was to fly out. I prayed and prayed and prayed God would make a way to leave. Sergey shoveled his driveway, his road, and part of another road so he could get me to the airport.
Once I got to Borispol, the upstairs was dark except for the natural light coming in through the windows of that very gray morning. It was questionable whether any flights would be going out. I prayed again and just asked God to bring me
someone who spoke English. Some guy- I can't remember if he was Canadian or American- doesn't matter- came along and was an instant friend. He shared my native tongue and that brought a lot of comfort in a stressful situation. Finally, we got out, and as we flew through the clouds into blue sky, I was relieved. {Deep breath.}
When I got home and began talking to people, I can't tell you how many asked me, "Tara,
what time was it that you prayed- because I could not get you out of my mind!" Do I even need to write that the timing was
exactly when I asked the Lord to burden people with my need? Praise Almighty God, huh?!
Mr. YH and I got married in 2000. Shortly after that, the pastor that led the first trip I had gone on wrote me and asked me to seriously consider going on another trip. We prayed about it, but felt God was saying no at that time. Then the
Olmsted came up and we were assigned to... Kyiv, Ukraine! We were there from 2003-2005. And now we're ready to
embark again {another amazing God thing!!}.
So that's it-
my most memorable Christmas-
hands down-
E.V.E.R.
And because this was the longest
post known to mankind,
you will probably not
hear from me the rest of the week!
