Frogology



"Thousands of years ago, tribes of human beings suffered great privations in the struggle to survive. In this struggle it was important not only to be able to handle a club, but also to possess the ability to think reasonably, to take care of the knowledge and experience garnered by the tribe, and to develop the links that would provide cooperation with other tribes. Today the entire human race is faced with a similar test. In infinite space many civilizations are bound to exist, among them civilizations that are also wiser and more "successful" than ours.
Yet this should not minimize our sacred endeavors in this world of ours, where, like faint glimmers of light in the dark, we have emerged for a moment from the nothingness of dark unconsciousness of material existence. We must make good the demands of reason and create a life worthy of ourselves and of the goals we only dimly perceive." (Last paragraph of Andrei Sakharov's Nobel Lecture, December 11, 1975)



“Frogology” is my invention, my theory of life. The fairy tale of the Russian writer Garshvin comes to mind. It is my favorite story, Ligooshka-Puteshestvennitsa, or “Frog the Traveler,” with a moral lesson.

Becoming the first woman pastor in Russia, I was exactly like the frog that decided to learn to fly. The ambitious little frog bravely approached some geese one day and asked them to teach her to fly. The geese found a simple solution for the little frog’s dream: a stick. The frog was asked to take that stick into her mouth; then the two strongest geese lifted her up into the blue sky on the stick. At first, the little frog kept her mouth shut. She observed the earth from the sky and was amazed how tiny everything looked compared to her; she was bigger than even her swamp. The freedom made the froggy’s head spin. No one from her relatives and friends could ever even imagine how high she could fly. When the geese made a circle before leaving for a foreign land, they flew over the swamp. The frog saw her little village and her community from above and, naturally, wanted to let them know that she could fly.

She opened her mouth to proclaim her achievement and, at the moment when all her relatives and friends looked up at her, she fell into the swamp. Fifteen years ago I lost everything and had to start from zero. This theory supports scriptural teaching, "He that keepest his mouth, keepest his life. He that opens his lips too wide shall bring on his own destruction." Proverbs 13.

I see analogy between my life and the life of my denomination. I think, our denomination got too proud announcing to the world that we became the biggest denomination in the nation. Instead of being humble and continuing intentional spiritual development and pursuing risk-taking missions and practicing radical hospitality, we got too big and too business minded. The result didn’t have to wait: United Methodist Church was in decline for the last twenty years.

My second hypothesis of “frogology” came out of a scientific experiment that was done also on frogs. A frog was placed into a pot with boiling water, and as you would expect, he immediately leapt out if it. Who wouldn’t! The paradox was in the same frog’s behavior when it was placed into cold water first and then the water was gradually heated up to the same boiling point. The frog remained still, oblivious to the heat.

I applied this experiment to human life and found some similarities to us slowly being boiled, but noticing little. We were all like hard-boiled soviet zombies, not only ignoring the danger but even enjoying it. My American Methodist friends would come to Russia to visit my first church and look at us Russians like we were insane, “Why don’t you ask for political asylum?”

“For what reason? I am not a Jew.”

“Religious! Ecological! Political! You name it! You have all the reasons to ask for political asylum!”

“Then the whole country should emigrate.”

“Why do you Russians keep silence, then? Why don’t you rebel? It will take several generations to rebuild Russia, why don’t you leave it behind?”

Americans, as well as other foreigners, wanted to jump out right away when submerged into the Russian boiling pot, but we stayed there for life, because we were unable to see the gradual degradation and inevitable death from where we were. The problem is that frogs like their own swamp that is always warm and familiar. We don’t see much of a difference, because all the changes happen gradually, from one generation to the other.

When I first came to America, I realized that church people around me were afraid to express their opinion no less than in the Soviet Russia. They don’t even notice that the water is already too hot. Americans are afraid to step on somebody else’s toes, as if they will be physically persecuted for that. Creativity is choked, simply because people are more concerned about not sticking out their heads. American Christians never had genocide like Soviets had under Stalin, Germans under Hitler, or Cambodians under Pol Pot. What did they fear? It was my turn now to ask, “How, in this whole world, did you learn to keep your mouths shut? Why fearing?” I learned that “once bitten; twice shy.” People are afraid of conflicts, especially in the church, letting same leaders to control congregations for decades, rather leaving than learning new ways.

When Americans complain that they have countless immigrants and have to feed and educate us on their tax money, I want to argue, “You need us for our fresh perspective. We can save you as you saved us! And maybe together we can save at least something that can be still saved.”

My coming to Kansas City was exactly like that scientific experiment, a frog thrown into the already-boiling water. I felt everything with my skin: racial prejudices, social classes, county lines, healthy and vibrant congregations and small internally focused stagnant churches. If I had grown up in the Midwest, I would have missed lots of things. And here is my point: United Methodist churches can still get out of a decline if there are enough leaders, who can help local churches to sense that the “temperature” is way too high in our denomination right now without vision, purpose and strategy. Churches are too focused on keeping their doors opened instead of taking risk to get out into a mission field. Revitalization starts with telling the truth.

My Raytown Wednesday Night Alive group studied Adam Hamilton’s book Seeing Grey in a World of Black and White. The most important question was to ponder why Christianity has become a wedge that drives people from Christ, rather than drawing them to him. Churches are polarized because Christians treat each other in distractive ways. Every time I take a new member into our church, I ask myself, how this person will be treated when I am not around and how soon this woman or man will leave. How can I, as a pastor, prevent rude comments, arrogant attitude, and yelling that makes normal people want to run away? How many people left the church because they refused to be treated in unchristian way?

Unfortunately, too many churches act and live their Christian lives like tribes that try to survive, competing with other churches rather than cooperating and learning from each other. “Without the vision people parish.” (Proverbs 29:18). The role of leaders is to educate, lead and empower local congregation away from survival toward effective ministry to glorify God. The church is not about paying bills and keeping its doors opened, but about bringing people together in the name of God.

Adam Hamilton writes, “part of the polarization we are experiencing in our country today is a result of pastors and church leaders who have abandoned the teachings of Jesus and the apostles regarding the way we speak of those with whom we disagree. Part of the healing of our nation must come from the church modeling for our society how we are to love those with whom we disagree. Right now we’re modeling for society how we destroy with our words and actions those we disagree with.”

Why can’t we do better? Why shouldn’t we? Don’t we want to see those signs of fruitfulness? Radical Hospitality – Passionate Worship – Extravagant Giving – Risk-Taking Mission – Intentional Faith Development? The first fruits cannot mask what is missing in our church. "There is one body, and one Spirit, even as you were called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all who is above all, and through all, and in you all." Ephesians 4:4-6. We need to be of one Spirit and of one calling to transform our church otherwise we are not the church of Christ.

What do we model as a church? While Adam Hamilton is trying to unite Methodists and teach them to accept different positions on evolution, homosexuality, abortion and etc, our church continues arguing about the money, and arguing about the money, we see the world as black and white only; we see the world in dollars and cents. Churches worship their bank and investment accounts more than they worship God. They rely more on money. There is little space left for love and acceptance. There is little space left for God.

Do we even remember why we are Christians, sitting in our small pots or our small swamps with the temperature rising to its boiling point…

The problem of employees’ evaluation is a puzzle.
No one likes to be evaluated, no one likes to be stressed out about it, and, especially, no one is looking forward to live in anticipation of it. Been there, done that myself: been evaluated multiple times and been evaluating my staff not once. When I am evaluated, I am taking suggestions for my personal growth seriously, though I  might not always agree with what I hear. At the end, if I do not agree with what is expected, then I might better look for another job…

When it comes to evaluating others, that’s even worse. Then, it comes to touchy feelings, that, for some reasons, during my personal evaluation were not welcomed. When I am evaluated, I am expected to be a stoic. When I evaluate others, I am not allowed to expect stoicism. I am watched. I’m suppose to be nice to even the laziest person, who breaks all rules because in a “tribe” everybody is connected and protected, but the boss. The boss is the only outsider, because she/he is not a tribal leader, who truly rules the show.

That was the first strange inconsistency that I discovered being on both sides of the evaluation process. Now, this is what I really want to ponder. The new recommendations teach to step away from  an individual evaluation for not putting stress on people and for not alienating them, but, instead, to practice team evaluation, when people are encouraged to improve team performance rather than individual one. I wonder how can one thing improve without the other?

Rewards for good performance are also not recommended. Firing is not recommended either, instead, it is more beneficial to encourage long-term employment. How about unhealthy settings, where people live in a tribal mode, covering each other’s down falls, never addressing problems and never performing their best because nobody stimulates them to do so?

An old Russian anecdote comes to mind: a customer is trying his new jacket in a tailor’s shop. He looks into a mirror in horror: his sleeves are of different length, his buttons are sowed into wrong places.

“Who made my jacket?” Ten people come out of the back of the shop: “We did!”

“Who sewed the buttons on my jacket?” Four people stepped forward: “We did! Do you have problems with the buttons?”

“No, they’re sewed in for eternity! My jacket would fall apart, but the buttons would stay, but they’re all in wrong places! Who made my jacket? One sleeve is shorter than another! Who sewed in the sleeves?”

Three people stepped forward: “We did! Do you have a problem with how they are sowed in?”

“No, they are also sowed in for  eternity! You can’t tear them from the jacket!  But who cut the fabric, who made my jacket?”

“We did!” – all then tailors stood like a wall against one customer – “Do you have a problem with us?”

The customer shrunk, “I don’t, but who made my jacket?”

Team work is needed, and I personally would seek team synergy, but personal responsibility should not be excluded.

I do not want to be a victim of negligent team players, neither do I want to supervise them! I would rather fire and bring new qualified people, who are interested in excellency!

Ameri-CAN 

My sister finally became a citizen. When she answered the last citizenship question, the INS clerk commented, “I wish all Americans knew as much about our country as you do.” My sister called me proudly, “Do you know what the word ‘American’ means?” To my embarrassment, I didn’t.  Irina explained, “Think about it: ‘ameri – CAN’. It means, I CAN do anything now!” It took me a while to understand what made my sister so ecstatic – the freedom of choice and plenty of opportunities that immigrants get when they become Americans. 

Unfortunately, not every American makes full use of it. I met lots of young and older Americans who didn’t believe that if they only try, they can achieve almost anything. If we women and men from other countries can get our second Master’s degrees, get highly paid jobs, then why do so many Americans choose the easy way? If immigrants CAN, Americans CAN do anything even sooner and faster!

Purple Frog

Purple Frog

My new book From Misery to Mystery: story of a woman trapped in a man's world is in my hands!
My new book is a result of many years of work. It's a funny and very thoughtful book.
Nothing can be more exciting than to hold my own book for the first time...

My father was a professional rescuer, taking teams up on the mountains. He watched that not a single girl or boy got killed. Once, he took our team of teenagers up on Konzhakovski Kamen, the highest peak in the Northern Urals. The snow was seven feet high, but you notice it only when taking your skis off: the snow immediately swallows you. It is such a pleasure to get on the well-pressed ski trails and glide forward. The crisp wind pokes my red face with sharp frozen snowflakes. The skin feels drier and drier with each extra kilometer. All signs of sunburn are there on my face, while the temperature is around ten with a huge minus in front of it on the Fahrenheit scale. My lips are white from thirst, and I bend down but do not slow down to grab a ball of snow to cool my inflamed mouth. My father passed me on the right and cut me off. I had to stop, breathing steam and joy out of my lungs.

“Lida, what are you doing?! Look at me, I am a strong man, but even I do not attempt to lead the team all the time. Did you not notice that from time to time I get at the tail of the group, and it allows me to recover from the cold and the wind before I lead again? You are the only one who pushes and pushes for the last few hours. All the boys are behind you, if you didn’t notice.” My father was an experienced skier. No, I didn’t notice anything. I was ecstatic, rushing through virgin piles of snow without even knowing where I was going. I didn’t even have a compass with me; neither did I bother to learn to read maps. I naturally followed my intuition, knowing well that my father was somewhere behind me, letting me lead. 

 “When you cut yourself off from the group, you should know that a cougar waits up on a tree and attacks the loner, not a group. It is safer with the group!”

“I’m watching my back, do not worry, Papa!”

I was so determined to see everything first, to experience everything first. I had no fear. I also knew that, regardless what each team member wanted, there was only one way to get forward: following the leader.

Mysteriously, I was not attacked by cougars, nor was I frozen on the snow. Little did I know that I survived only because of my father’s constant watching over me from afar.

Reinventing the Church

Are you the same person you were twenty years ago? How about ten? Five?

We change inevitably: our views, our looks, and our habits; our actions change because we get older and hopefully wiser.
Same happens with churches. The church you began attending twenty years ago is not the same church you attend now: the person next to you on a pew goes through the same transformation. Or maybe you find a few new people on the pews around yourself and it challenges you to make new friends. The new way of being Church is to accept change with joy, to take change as a blessing and as God’s way to stimulate our further change and growth.

Jeff Spiller, the pastor of Christ United Methodist Church in Mobile, Alabama believes that he served five different churches since he started that church. “I have served five different churches, but they all had met in the same location for the past twenty years!” What he meant is that as his church has grown and developed, he and his members have to grow and develop along with it. Every four years, Church has reinvented itself as it has reached new people in the community. Today it is not the same church it was when it started. The Church of Resurrection goes through the same development: it has to reinvent itself with every new stage of development. Any church, big or small, has to reinvent itself every four-to-five years to not just survive but to fulfill its God’s given purpose to serve others.

The role of the church in the twenty-first century is to affirm afresh the core values of the Christian faith. God calls us to go deeper, pray harder and learn the Scripture more diligently.

Our church is working and praying hard to reinvent who we are. Since we started two years ago, we discovered that we can do lots of new things we never tried: Hope Kitchen, Wednesday Night Alive, Lighthouse for Kids, and RETHINK Training. As a result, our church joined the Small Church Initiative. Our leaders learn that it is not enough for a church to have a building, offer a worship space and Sunday School classes to the community, the church should be a fruitful congregation, capable of making a difference in the world. The new way of being church means to be constantly aware of what is effective and what is not. It takes courage to give up old ways and accept change as the only way to stay healthy and fruitful. Our Small Church Initiative group is building a new bridge that will connect our congregation with the Raytown community.

Lent is a good time to re-align all areas of our spiritual journey and the best time to reinvent ourselves to step on that newly discovered bridge fully equipped with faith and enthusiasm!

The good news God is not dead! That’s the news we share! Simple and clear!

Corned Beef

St. Patrick’s Day inspired me to extempore cooking: I got a piece of corned beef for the very first time in my life. I opened the pack and to, my surprise, didn’t find any traces of corn – not even a single kernel. “What a big deal! Beef is beef!” I put the beef in foil and baked it for two hours; in Russia we did not believe in rare or medium rare meat. All available meat was of unfortunate bluish color after multiple freezings and defrostings. Sometimes the meat we got in the store was the meat that expired from nuclear shelters for governmental officials.

“Hm, the temperature is probably not high enough, Paul.” I apologetically explained the issue to my growing son, who was wandering in and out of the kitchen, looking for dinner. “Look the beef is still red. Let’s wait for another hour.” Three hours later the beef was as red the rawest meat. It was surreal: my son and I both looked inside the chunk of meat. I thought that it might be the oven, but the temperature was set at 350 degrees, as usual. I touched the meat, and it was hot, so the oven did work! The beef was hot but still not cooked. Five hours later I called my friends,

“I cooked corned beef for five hours and it is still red. What am I doing wrong?!”

“Oh, Lydia…” The laughter on another end was too loud and I had to move the phone away from my ear.

”Eat it. We will explain it to you later. Oh, my-y-y-y! I can’t talk anymore…”

There is a Russian saying that was surely coined with me in mind, “with me, you’ll never die bored.”

Driving on Ice
“Honey, I had an accident. I am on the shoulder of I-435, waiting for the police.”
“Oh, no! How did it happen?!” My husband’s voice is full of concern. “Are you OK?”
“My neck hurts, but I think I am fine.”
“What happened?”
“I know what you would think because I hit a car from the back. That was not my fault. For twenty-five minutes, I drove behind that very same car before it suddenly started coming toward me because the driver slammed the brakes. I drove with the required three-car distance between us and, out of nowhere, this distance started shrinking. All I did was look down, looking for my cell phone. It didn’t even take a second before I looked back on the road. It didn’t matter how hard I tried to manure, I hit the truck.”
“What did you do?”
“I manured and manured, but it didn’t help.”
“Honey, manure is not a verb; it is a noun for cow poop. You maneuvered… Though, it does stink when you hit someone on the ice. Oh, my poor girl, you broke your bumper again…”
“It does stink! Ok, ok, maneuvered. Still, not fair to give me a ticket!”

Smooth American roads made me ecstatic after Russian rollercoaster-like roads, until one time, when I noticed a thick metal plate on the road, just a few feet in front of me. I was scared for my tires, and slowed down, but the car jumped up anyway. I got curious - who would place a metal board in the middle of Antioch Street? Then I saw similar dark-silver-colored patches here and there and realized that our cultures are way too similar - we look for a seemingly quick fix for problems that should be fixed once and forever. Metal plates really amused me by their obvious inability to be an affordable solution for a nagging problem.

One day, a Shawnee Mission School District bus drove over a plate like this and fell into a hole, because the plate didn’t hold the weight of the bus with 17 students. The whole city watched the rescue operation on the news, just to keep tolerating the same practices. Poka rak ne svistnet – muzhik ne perekrestitsia. “Until a lobster whistles, a peasant will not cross himself,”  meaning that nothing will change until the lobster whistles, and it never will because lobsters do not whistle. This is how Russians, who are tired from bad roads in their neighborhoods, would comment on situations like this one. Which means no one would ever change evil patterns until something bad happens – otherwise, why even bother?

The metal plate requires blocking the traffic, bringing a crew and machinery just to get a very temporary result. Why not dig deeper the first time, removing the old pavement and putting a new one to remove the hole all together, at once?

I see a direct connection between how the roads are fixed with how human problems are usually addressed - rather than digging deep and removing the layers of old habits, we take a shortcut, patching the problem over just to fall into the same hole again. Every time I see another metal plate on the road, I remind myself how I should deal with a problem when it occurs. No shortcuts. Fix it once and forever, regardless of what it takes.

My friend Kerry Herndon and I talked about leadership once. My understanding of leadership was inspired by listening to the symphony orchestra: it was stunning to see the conductor making all musicians waiting for his stick to give them a sign to begin. 

“Kerry, community is like a symphony: there are wonderful, professional musicians in the orchestra and each of them knows how to play their individual parts, but without a conductor getting in front of the orchestra and leading the whole group, there is no music. It will be a cacophony, a chaos! The role of a leader is crucial!”

Kerry looked at me with interest and countered with the question, “How much do you know about jazz?”

To tell you the truth, I knew very little about jazz. Kerry speaks with growing strength in her usually soft Southern voice, “In jazz, every musician steps in and plays, improvising on the major theme and then all musicians play together by listening to each other. What you hear is spontaneous and unique every time the group gets together. The mystery of making new music is right there in front of you. There is no conductor, but the musicians know when to step in and how. There is no chaos.”

 “But how do they know when to step in?” – I was puzzled. Only now, after I studied jazz a little, I started getting a sense of disciplined freedom in jazz. Yes, there is no conductor, but there is a leading musician, who nods at a certain time, giving a sign to a guitar player or a drummer, or a sax player to step in and take the limelight. Everybody has an equal role in making the music and everybody has a chance to shine, but nobody seems to be concerned about it. What truly rules the stage is Music, and all musicians have a mature sense of responsibility to make the best music.

This is how I would love people to function: everybody comes up on the stage and takes a leadership role because everybody is given a gift. It is the same with music: the talent is there, but it needs to be sharpened and developed through regular exercises. I asked a guitar player once how much he practices, and he answered, “2-3 hours a day.” This is the secret to making a truly new sound:  practicing, practicing, and practicing our leadership… If everybody develops at least one skill to contribute to the common sound, then one day people around will finally hear new music; music that is so unique and so good, because each of us made an investment in it.

The manager of the First Watch on Shawnee Mission Parkway winked at my husband, paused with the playful and mischievous smile and flirtatiously danced us to our table.
“Do you think he is gay?” Scott grimed, “Of course, he is, look he wears an orange sweater!”
“I am not an expert in gays, though you might be right. Look how he walks!”
Next time we entered the restaurant, Jason – the same manager - wore another bright sweater but he winked at me and paused with the same playful and flirtatious smile, dancing us to our booth.
“Did you see it? He is not gay!” I was confident.
My curiosity made me spy after Jason without any shame. “Scott, look, did you see that? The manager almost ran toward the door and took an older lady by her arm…” We both twisted our necks watching Jason and his next partner. The procession was so out of space – it could better fit a wedding, but it seemed bothered no one.
We found Jason’s charm to be authentic and warm.
“Jason, could you sit down just for a second? I have a question for you! How do you select who do you take to the table by the arm?” He winked and smiled, “That is a very complicated question. I look for non-verbal signals and if I see someone who can be blessed by special attention. If I see a woman, who looks lost or sad, I immediately act upon my intuition. But I am more careful with those who are reserved. It is all about being observant and non-aggressive. I take it very seriously. Especially I am very careful with people in wheelchairs – they want to prove their independence and I do not want to take it from them.”
I looked at Jason and caught myself thinking about how the Kingdom of God is: God doesn’t hurry to those of us who are strong or prideful, but he waits at the door for those who are lost and those, who mourn.

And Who Is Talking, Please?

Who doesn’t want to hear the voice of God directly?! The question is how to distinguish the false source from the real one?

One Friday, I was on the road, driving home, when I heard the sirens. Opening the windows, I looked up to the sky - Yep! Tornado warning - I already learned that a certain green color of the sky and the silence all around highlight the possibility of it. I turned on the radio and almost dropped the wheel at the sound of the voice in my car, “If you are driving, get out of the car and find the nearest ditch. Get on the ground as low as possible, facing down, and cover your head with your hands.”

I got goose bumps - what if it was the voice of God? Then, I looked around and didn’t notice a single driver leaving a car on the street and running to the road’s shoulder. The rain made me feel like Noah in his ark. What if it was another flood? We never learned from the first one.  What if God took his promise away?

Nobody stops. My common sense interrupted my frustration: if I get out of the car and lie in the ditch face down, I will be dirty and look like an idiot if the tornado never strikes. If I do not get out of the car and dive into the nearest ditch, then will I be mad at myself, flying away in my car into eternity?

It was embarrassing to be the only one who got panicky and so I relaxed – the main thing is to have control over the situation. The voice interfered with my peace of mind, “Get out of the car…”

“What if it is God speaking? What if God offers me salvation, but I ignore?”

I pushed the gas pedal down and got ahead of the drivers in front of me. Setting up my personal time record by driving home on a quiet street, I almost envisioned how my house flies away right at the moment of my victorious entrance into the garage. But it didn’t happen either, so I guess, it was not the voice of God to begin with, but I thanked Him for giving me common sense and not making me look stupid in front of the whole Kansas City.

Where Would You Go?

On my way from Raytown to Shawnee, I listened to my abused and grumpy stomach – I skipped my lunch again. The dilemma was in either going home, which is just another ten minutes away, or finding good food. I am picky. I can’t just eat anything. That time passed. I served my term in Russia, eating frost-bitten bluish meat and chicken. Here in America, I learned to smell a well-cooked meal, looking at bright colors, before I bite something crispy and fresh. I am not a fast-food eater. I want to live longer.

The music didn’t help to cheat my tummy - it continued singing its long, sad song. I took the first exit, where, as I remembered, was Panera Bread. After circling in and out of street malls, I finally found the sign and parked. I never paid attention that Panera’s door was next to the door of another restaurant.

I stood up in front of two doors, practically next to each other. That was unusual, and my dilemma between eating on the road or at home shifted toward the choice between Panera and Waid’s. Both doors led to a restaurant, but which one should I choose, if both places are located in the same building?  The day was cold, and my time was short. I took a step toward Waid’s and stopped. I didn’t know the menu nor did I know anything about the service: how long will it take to get my food, and how much should I tip? Rather than trying, I changed my direction and, in a second, I already had my hot soup with the best bread in town. I set in front of the fireplace, ate my soup, and wanted to scream out of joy about how good my decision was that led me to this moment of nirvana and bliss.

Panera’s interior is modern and intimate. The tender care of the manager, who personally came to check on my food and took away my tray, made me feel special, and his smile changed my plans. I wanted to stay in that place longer. I pulled out my laptop and took advantage of the free Wi-Fi. In awhile, lost in my leather chair, I thought of a church. What if people make their decisions about which door they open, just like I did? What do they look for? Nice food? Fancy interior? Luxurious restrooms?

When I go to church, I always start with a restroom. I know that the presence of God is not in a cabin, in a bowl of soup, or in toilet paper, but somehow I connect it with God’s commandment to love your neighbor as well as I should love myself. I do not want to remind myself over and over again that I deserve better, stepping over the pile of trash on the floor or eating tasteless food in a crowded place – been there, done that in Russia. I served my term for the rest of my life. That is why I chose Panera.

Is it what makes old dusty churches die? Is it a natural path for those who are afraid of change? No, I do not vote for Crystal Cathedrals; I’d rather worship in a hundred-year-old tiny church, where the air is saturated with prayers and incenses, where hundreds of candles are burning, and the singing elevates you from the mundane. I’ve never seen anything cleaner than those churches. The humble servants reverently and tirelessly polish icons, candle holders and statues in the house of the Almighty.

No, churches do not have to be big, but they should be warm, and people who stand at the door need to know that. It is just like I “voted” for Panera with my feet, because I KNEW it was good! Waid’s might be even a better place, but I had no knowledge of it.

There are churches in Kansas City on each corner. Now, during the recession, when I see more new churches built, I wonder why. Churches are dying. How many people will stand in front of a church, trying to make a decision what door to open? And how many will vote with their feet?

Nothing to Wear

In Russia, we had one-two suits, two-three dresses, several blouses, a few skirts, and a couple of sun dresses, and never thought we were poor. In America, I filled my closet over the years: ten times more of everything, and I am constantly puzzled what to wear.

We are in the time of an economic crisis, and old survival tricks that we practiced once might become needed again.

I remember, how we “strengthened” pantyhose from instant running: we either boiled or froze them. You might think, “Pantyhose? Big deal!” For us, Russian women, pantyhose were a very big deal. The cost of one pair was seven rubles seventy kopeks with the monthly salary of 120 rubles. Imagine paying for a pair of pantyhose over 6% of your monthly income! Proportionately, it is around $180 or even more per pair. Then, you will be afraid to even open a package…

Sometimes Americans criticize Russians for not smiling as wide as Americans do – try to smile when you are out of tooth paste or tooth brush or both, and you can’t buy it anywhere. Again, we had the solution: sometimes we brushed our teeth with a finger with baking soda on it. It worked!

Lipstick… that was tough. But have you ever noticed how much lipstick is left on the bottom of the lipstick case? At least a third of what you paid for.

Solution? Collect all remaining lipstick out of plastic tubes and put it into a small cup that you place into hot water until the lipstick is melted. Then, you pour lipstick back into plastic containers and cool them in a freezer.

All beauty products are insanely pricy. Try to wash your hair with egg yolk or rye bread – that actually is much healthier than any known shampoo, and there is almost no cost.

The lesson of economic crisis is in simplifying. No wonder I couldn’t find anything to wear – my brains simply refused to process so many colors and fashions and pieces of clothes at once. In Russia, black was black, and I never thought twice before putting on a black sweater with a black skirt. Not in America, where I was told that black was the hardest color to match.

I will never forget Fern Twichel’s testimony. “Lydia, I have a closet full of new clothes with tags. Why do I have to go through all those things instead of doing something valuable before I die?...”

It motivated me to go back to who I used to be – a minimalist.

I packed all extra clothes that I didn’t wear for at least for 6 months and gave them away. I inspired my mother to do the same, telling her about Fern. At first, mama thought I was insane wanting to give up my fancy clothes, but then she got the point. She had to agree that she had too much also.

I looked at seventeen extra-large boxes taken out of the house to be picked up and, suddenly, realized how much money I put into those boxes. How much time I spent shopping for those items that I never even tried. I hope they will make someone happy.

I feel freer and happier. I have fewer things to take care of and I got more time for myself and for my family. I already read three books in a short time. Where did I even find the time? The answer is, IN THE CLOSET: everything I need is now right in front of my eyes.

God created this world beautifully simple but we, people, made it so complex. It is like we are trying to run away from ourselves. So start thinking less instead of more; think egg yolk rather than driving to a store to get  pricy shampoo. And do not panic – recession can be really good to get closer to God and to your family.

Why don’t we use this time of recession to go deeper into ourselves to find new resources to relate to the world around us and to give even more?

Smile! We still have tooth paste…

Easter Confusion

Russians celebrate everything twice, I like to joke. I don’t make it up - we do. Christmas is celebrated on December 25^th just to be repeated on January 7^th, according to the ancient Russian Gregorian calendar. We grew up happily celebrating the New Year twice: first time as all Westerners, on the New Year’s Eve, and second time, on January 13^th. The first time - with family; the second time - with friends.

Still, Christmas is not as important in the Russian Orthodox tradition as Easter. We were raised eating colored eggs and Easter cakes even under the fear of being caught. I am not sure how it works, but my body knows when Easter comes. It took me a while to understand the reasons behind my irritability and frustration each spring, when I prepare Easter services for my members. Holy Week in America is the worst time of the year. I see colored eggs in every store, I smell Easter cakes and I want to scream, “It is too early.” This is the time to fast, not to eat eggs. When it is Easter in America, it is Verbnoe Vosckresenie in Russia – sort of a Palm Sunday but with Pussy Willow branches instead of palms.

I can’t color eggs and bake Easter Cake before my Russian Orthodox Easter. So, I celebrate Easter twice: first time - with my church, and then second time - with my family. We color eggs, eat Easter Cake.

I hold a hard-boiled egg in the morning of the Russian Orthodox Easter. It is like an egg fight. The one, who cracks the egg of another person, wins. Then we say, Khristos Voskres! Voistinu Voskres! – “Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! And we kiss each other three times.

Then I know that I celebrated Easter and finally calm down, until next year.

Crystal and clear is water, blue and frisky is my fish.

How this tiny creature knows how to breathe?

The nest is finished and ready to make promised eggs

Love making boils water it is getting hot to watch.

Weave, weave your nest of hope

Out of bubbles of breath

Build, build your future

Airy, crystal and fresh.

Intense color of flippers, bodies clench in a dance

I was so blessed by beauty in my holy land.

The fish eggs fall on the bottom of the crowded fish tank

“Let them go!” – I scream at 3 am.

The babies are safe between their parents’ lips.

The music turns from tango into a bed-time swing.

I got tired, watching – left for the faraway land.

Came home and froze, stunned by a dry fish tank.

My nest of hope got empty on my return.

When I was gone fishing the life didn’t go on.

Oh, no, not without me, watching

Not without me, loving

Not without me, loving…you all.

Weave, weave your nest of hope

Out of bubbles of breath

Build, build your future

Airy, crystal and fresh.

I dialed my husband’s number from my kitchen, trying to finish my snack and not to lose site of a never seen strange looking animal walking through our back yard, away from the house. “Honey, I think, we got a fox… wait a second, not a fox. The tail is long and straight. Oh, myyyyy…. I think, this is the cougar in our back yard again.”
My husband had already called the animal control after a few episodes with our uninvited guests. Our house is right behind a stream, and we get raccoons, skunks, and now God knows what this is. This time, I saw the animal much closer comparing with a year ago when we were having dinner and I saw a light color animal landing on a thick branch that went down under the weight of the animal with the long tale. This animal that I first took for a dog looked just like the one I saw through the window. Yes, it was the same color, same shape…
“Yeah, I remember that the animal control confirmed that there is a cougar trail going through Shawnee.”
“Oh, I remember how ‘helpful’ they were: ‘Is the animal wounded? Don’t worry, it won’t attack humans.’ How about us humans? Does anybody worry if someone from us is wounded? It is all up site down when it comes to animals in this country!”
“I know. It is all about protection of animals. Are you sure it was a feline?” – my husband sounded as reassuring as possible.
“How do I know? And why is this so important? This is cougar! I got this time too close anyway but not that close!”
“Maybe not. Do you think it was a feline?”
“What do you mean by ‘maybe not’ did you expect me to get even closer to check it? You can’t be serious! I can’t grab him by the neck to check what it was,” I was beginning to feel irritated at the questions I perceived as totally extraneous.
“You do not have to grab, why grabbing if it is enough just to look.”
“The animal was not as tall as I found on Google, so maybe it was a female.”
“The height doesn’t matter. The posture does, the shape of the head, the walk. Felines have a very specific walk.”
“I never knew that. I thought, both male and female walk in the same way.” It was right here when it hit me what my husband was really asking.
“Ah, you ask me was it a cat! Feline!... I thought, you asked me was it a female or a male, oh, my Gosh… as soon as I said, ‘female,’ I realized that it sounded different from ‘feline.’”
“Are you saying that you thought I wanted to know was it male or female?”
“Of course, is it not what people ask about cats or dogs first? I assumed, for a second, that you were insane, expecting me to grab the cougar by the neck and check his belly.”
“I would love to see you doing that, honey. My wife is tough…” I grabbed my husband’s shoulders and started shaking him. “You would love to see that?”
When my husband shared at work the story about the cougar, the guy from the next cubicle overheard it and came to hear the end of the story. That was a very young, gorgeous Indian man “You have a cougar on your backyard? What is your address?”
“Does he want to come visit us to see the cougar? What if she is not here? I do not see her every day. I do not want this young man to wait in the house forever.”
“Oh, honey, how could I explain this? It’s a joke. He doesn’t want to see a cougar animal.”
“What else can it be, if not an animal?”
“A woman…” I looked at my husband like he was crazy.
“An older woman is called ‘cougar’ when she is after young men.” We both looked at each other and burst out.”
“I am sure, I am at least a little older than he is. Did you give him our address?”
“Don’t even hope!”