this woman i love.

   there’s this woman i love named tomara. i wish i knew what relation to compare her to. perhaps an aunt, perhaps a grandmother, perhaps a cousin. but. no relationship seems to quite describe it, so i guess maybe i’ll just stick with her being this woman i love. labels are inadequate like that.

   this woman i love was waiting for me two years ago, though i think she’d been waiting without knowing much longer than that. when my heart has it’s yearnings for that which i can’t define or explain, for that which includes a world beyond this one, i think she’s one of the faces of that love. my ghița relationship and my tomara relationship are similar to me in that way—they don’t quite seem to fit in the pragmatics of this world. rather, they are in a world all their own. a world inside my eternity.

   this woman i love, i love. and i leave to god to order and provide. on stankovaya 4. did you know, the first time we went to her home, it took four busses and going in circles to get there? but in the end we got there. because nothing can separate us from tomara. nothing at all.

   tomara was baptized two years ago, the next day gifted the holy ghost. 17 and 18 november 2012. it’s been two years. those days were so fragile, so susceptible to falling apart. the things we care most about in life always are that way: on the brink of either falling apart or being one of the most wonderful aspects of our existence. but she did it. she made it. and. every piece of everything is baby steps since then.

   i’m not sure when i first fell in love with tomara. maybe when watching her light up with surprise when we gave her flowers the first time we met her. or maybe when watching her light up as she told us about the passage she’d read in alma 32. or maybe watching her light up with understanding of her divine nature and role as a daughter of god. or maybe watching her soul light up as it filled with peace after having the holy ghost conferred upon her.

   have you noticed the pattern? it’s a pattern of light.

   if i had ever been an investigator rather than born into the church, i am nearly convinced that i’d be just like tomara. obstinate and resistant, but all the same-sometimes secretly, sometimes openly-delighted. because. because deep down she really, really knows. and yet. it’s so hard sometimes for her to believe. so hard for her to understand based on the life she sees around her. because how can it all ever find harmony with the ideal amidst the reality? because all she wants is understanding. to gain knowledge.

   maybe my favorite moment of all was the surprise of seeing her one more time before leaving ukraine, almost a year after having first met her, 10 months after parting for what we expected to be forever. the way she looked at me and i looked at her. the way she noticed that i was taller. the way we sat in a surreal return to what had been. the way i saw so clearly in that night how much i had experienced and how i’d changed in those months. the way she went to the kitchen to peel potatoes and feed us food she couldn’t afford, but was dying to give as an expression of care. the way she asks her questions and i can see the way her thoughts process and come to resolution in the form of a new question. the sparkling blue of her eyes and the unmistakeable half smile that lights her face as she tilts her head slightly forward in a shy and unexpected delight.

   i don’t know where this woman i love is now. i have an unreliable address that i can attempt to send mail to, if that. but no real way to mutually communicate or contact her in the midst of her world. especially now. nevertheless, i know god is with her. he loves her, he wants her to have her answers. he sees her struggle and knows her intent.

and someday, in the end, all safe and blessed, we shall meet at last.

there just aren't any words that could describe a love like this, for words would be far too constraining.

the piece of my eternal kind of family i never knew i was missing.

the love i have for my toma.

(because i meant to record this over a month ago.)

on the way to general conference, i chitter chatted with some elders

who are in the same mission as one of my ukraine sister former companions.
and then we chitter chatted about the work of salvation.
on the way home from conference, i met a man from south korea on trax.
his name is hun.
we are best friends.
we talked about what he's doing here in america.
we talked about what he studied in university.
we talked about what i'm studying.
we talked about russian literature.
(because everyone loves tolstoi and dostoyevski.)
and just a little chitter chat about a little of everything.

these are the things my mission gave me.
these are the moments i miss.

#transportwithdrawals

sometimes i'll purposefully sit outside on campus for awhile.

reading or studying. (but not really.)

people watching. reading people. because i reaaallly like observing.

and nine times out of ten:

someone i know (or maybe didn't know until then) comes by for a chitter.

the best kind of sanity study break.

ever since my mission, i have this tendency.

not only a tendency, but a need to be filled.

this desire to just be outside among people.

just being there, to see who i see, talk to who i may talk to.

(kind of like this woman says.)

because a good ninety percent of life is showing up,

being in a place at a time where someone else also finds themselves.

this need to be outside.

this need to be among the people.

take those first steps out the door.

crossing the threshold.

that first moment is always hardest.

but if you give life a chance,

for better or for worse,

it's always worth it.

tea for two.

this is iraida on 3 november 2012. and behind her--that bald man in a grey jacket? that's our sasha.

so, those seven drafts are still just sitting there,

but today is an important day.

3 november.

two years ago today, two lives began.

one as an infant, and one anew.

our babushka iraida was baptized on this day two years ago.

Ираида Васильевна.

in our golden, beloved хтз.

two days after that, at internet i found out that my first niece was born that day too.

(over a month early, might i add.)

when we were together that fall, meg and i decided that one day, one of us will write a book.

(among others. maybe.)

a book that will be given the title iraida's apples.

iraida is the mother/mother-in-law/grandmother of some of my favorite people i've ever known.

the Клюев (klyuev) family.

there aren't enough words in all the world to explain or express them to you.

all missionaries adore them, and their family is one of god's greatest gifts to missionary work in ukraine.

but. there's something special about them to me.

this was my first area in ukraine, you see.

and we were not only in their branch, but also lived in their area of the branch borders.

so many of my memories of the beginning of my mission are tied to this family and being with them.

lessons in their home, teaching iraida at her home, coordinating lessons, planning her baptism.

there was so much goodness within them. so much love and acceptance. understanding and caring.

because they take everyone.

and to me, they were family, each reminding me of a piece of my own personal family-immediate and extended.

because iraida.

this stunning, wise now-85-year-old woman.

was so patient with my practically incompetent state. had already lived through so much.

made us borscht, gave us apples (every. single. time.), made delicious potatoes. (pasha's fav.) 

(seriously. those things were dannggg good. we never could recreate them.)

do you know what it was that really clinched it for her?

seeing her family. seeing the long-term effects in the lives of those who had joined the church--

a stark comparison against those who had not.

and because she really, really loves the lord.

i don't think she ever really needed us. but oh, how we needed her.

i don't talk about хтз enough. may i tell you about it--just a little?

this place. the letters for the area stand for 'kharkov tractor factory.'

there's a metro stop nearby ours by that name. tractor factory.

(наступна станция--тракторный завод.)

i was brand new in ukraine at this time. meg had just come from a looong, hard summer.

and here we were put in the most unlikely of places.

an almost-always-elder's-area.

an apartment that. well. let's just say. it only went up from there.

at the farthest eastern edge of the city.

we hadn't a clue what we were doing. me especially.

riding on faith, golden fall leaves, and sunshine that burned their way into winter.

seeing so frequently more and more reasons for exactly why we were there.

me and meg specifically. 

over and over again.

why we were with each other.

why we were in that branch.

why we were in that area of that branch.

and why we were in the very apartment/yard of buildings that we were in.

because there were people for us there.

people who we needed, and people who needed us.

including one another.

people that are pieces of our forever.

i couldn't list all their names. because some of them, i don't even know their names.

i just know that they are.

i just know that we were there by the hands of god.

that he watched over every last minute.

that he protected us. in a literal, physical sense.

and opened our eyes to things as they truly are capable of being.

all that gold.

for meg, so that she may heal.

for me, so that i may see what could be. so that i would stay even after gold turned to grey.

for both of us, so that we may love. пусть-ed in happiness.

a golden time of golden hearts.

so yeah, maybe хтз is a kind of ghetto, kind of sketchy (VERY) place.

but. to me?

it will always be home.

our own dusty, golden home.

12 апреля. дом 4. квартира --.

stay gold. where i can get back to you.