Church

I’m starting to wonder if my entries are at all exciting anymore, or like the culture shock I have recently experienced, are they old news? Whatever your answer may be to the rhetorical question, be prepared, this time I’m going to talk about church.

My life is very small. I wake up, homeschool my kids, feed everyone at least five times, do dozens of loads of laundry, and repeat each day. So going out on Sundays is a special treat for me. I walk away from the dishes, the chores, and hope that for a few hours, everyone’s bellies will be silenced out of reverence.

Our latest fave is located about 15 minutes away. This, in itself, is a large miracle. Thanks to some ex-pat friends, we were invited a few weeks back to a fully Russian church. I mean it. No translation, no subtitles. Just everyday people in their church. I have to admit that I like walking in without fanfare or special treatment. I like blending. Our kids love the Sunday school program where they get to practice their Russian and help other kids practice their English. Number 4’s class uses flannel-board. Remember that stuff? She repeats the entire Bible story to me after class with impeccable precision although it was told in Russian.

My favorite part is---no surprise here---the music. Sometimes they sing American worship songs, but they definitely have a Russian flair. I like mumbling bad translations in the safety of singing. I love practicing the name of Jesus or singing Hosanna in a different way. This week we took communion. Our friends were kind enough to translate the majority of the sermon for us. When the service was over, like clockwork, our stomachs were growling. My husband looked at me and said, “what time is it?” We had been in church for 2 and ½ hours. The time flew by.

When we left church, it was 55 degrees and sunny. For the first time since we’ve been here, our kids were wearing fancy church clothes and nice shoes. They skipped and hopped along the sidewalk saying, “this was the best day ever!” I agree.