Peaks and Valleys: Family. Here.

I love being here in Russia with my sisters and parents. My sister Renee is busy mother of 4 active (She sometimes even uses the word "wild") children ranging from 11 yrs. to almost 2. My sister Kaylyn is a nurse working the night shift in Salt Lake City and being supportive auntie to 23 nieces and nephews. We rarely have uninterupted time together. My own supportive auntie, my mother's sister Sheralee, only a few years my senior is also with us. I am soaking up these women who make me laugh and who contribute to the richness of my life.

Today was such a full day. We began by leaving Moscow and heading to a much smaller city/town? in the countryside. We were traveling in the mission van with a driver and an interpreter, Ana, to visit a hospital where with funds from church humanitarian aid 13 windows were purchased and installed. We arrived at an ancient building complex and were welcomed by the chief of staff, a woman. She and my parents and the local branch president sat down together and chatted briefly. My father, acting as voice, thanked them for the opportunity to partner together on a project. He expressed the wish that the church could have done more and a hope that perhaps in the future they could work together again. He explained that the windows were paid for by small contributions made by members of the church throughout the world. My mother expressed exuberantly her admiration of the hospital staff who work so hard to care for others, especially in conditions that were often difficult. The chief of staff acknowledged that her work and the work of the nurses was more like a calling than a job. Then we put up our umbrellas and walked outside and across lush and slightly unkempt grounds to the maternity ward where the new windows had been installed. We could see from the outside of the building the spots where new windows stood out from many old windows still waiting for a chance to retire. Entering the building we could see peeling paint, leaky and separated ceiling, and worn linoleum floor which reminded me of the linoleum in the attic bedrooms of my paternal grandparent's home. We walked past a small group of nurses standing quietly in their long white jackets. We smiled. They smiled. The set of windows we looked at were in the delivery room. I won't describe it as I am including a picture but let me just say that having delivered 5 babies of my own in very plush maternity wards my heart beat a little faster when I thought of my Russian sisters delivering their babies in such an austere situation.

Kaylyn also snapped a photo of the operating room nearby.

As we left Renee expressed her admiration (through our translator) to the little grouping of nurses. She told them how caring and courageous they must be to work and help others in the way that they did. They told us that until they had gotten their new roof they sometimes carried umbrellas through the halls because the water dripped in when it rained. We thanked them for allowing us to visit. They thanked us and we walked back out into the rain leaving modern Florence Nightengales to their important work.

The local church member who helped arrange for the partnership between the hospital and the church is named Vladimir. Unfortunately his last name is Pumpkin (in Russian of course). As we leave the hospital he leads us up the road to the local bath house which I suppose could be compared to a Russian spa. We later learn that he had cleared the premises (he manages this complex) for our little group and that we were invited to bathe there but my mother declined. This is why.

Here is a picture of the women's "locker room." This is the place where everyone disrobes. Did I mention entirely?

After a shower, please walk (naked) into the sauna to be steamed. Stay as long as you like.

Next, and here is the most interesting part of the whole process, lay (yes, still naked) across these wooden benches.

A friend or if you prefer, one of the employees now beats you "gently" with switches made of birch branches. This is to draw the toxins in your body to the surface. Steam. Beat. Steam. Beat. As many times as you like. Stay for one hour or five. When you are ready to leave soap yourself up all over and rinse off (or an employee can do this for you). And the cost for all this pampering? About $5.

Our young guide, Ana, tells us that as a child she had a bathhouse in her home and once or twice her grandmother took the switch to her to get her really clean. Lacey Grace, how about it?

After a meeting with local government officials we pick up the branch president's wife, Natalya from the place where she works. She looks to be in her mid-fifies with light blond hair and a modest suit. Her fingernails are painted and she is wearing a slightly tarnished gold necklace and earrings. She is very feminine. You know that place in the Book of Mormon when the people are so overjoyed they clap their hands? Picture that. When we greet each other she expresses her joy at being able to spend time with other church members. It is not just talk. She is earnest. We have never met until this very minute but she loves us like an old friend or a lost family member with whom she is meeting for the first time in years. I am completely arrested by her warmth. I am not alone. We enter a lovely new-looking restaurant on the second floor of the bathhouse. It is the closest thing to American that I have seen here besides the modern Moscow mall. We are shown to a private room and platters of fresh sliced vegetables and cold meats (including tongue with horseradish) are brought out. As we eat we talk. We learn that Vladimir and Natalya moved to this town from Ukraine when their only child was a young boy. They came because their former home was close to Cherynobyl where the terrible nuclear accident occurred and the doctor told them that for the health of their son they needed to leave the area. In the branch where they live there are only 8 members and their family (their son has now married and he and his wife have a daughter) are five of those eight. They went through terribly lean times during the first years after their move. Though they were working, salaries weren't always paid. People kept working even with erratic pay in order to keep jobs that were scarce. They grew a garden and that helped. They payed their tithing and somehow, with the Lord's help, they survived. As they talk both are wreathed in smiles. I am not exaggerating. Wreathed. We mention this and explain that we haven't met many smiling Russians during our stay here. They grow serious. Natalya explains that their country is going through a very difficult time as they emerge from the shadow of communism. Times are very tough. People don't have enough. She tells us,"We smile because we have the gospel and that gives us hope." Looking at them, comparing them and the other church members we have met here in Russia so far to the people we see in the subway and on the streets and I see for the first time in my life, the power of hope. I see it written in the crow's feet around Vladimir's eyes. I feel it in the clasp of Natalya's hands. I sense it pumping in and around and through them. I look at my sisters, my parents and my auntie sitting around me at the table. And I feel like these two are part of our family. A line from the scriptures comes to my mind as I write this, "...and there were no strangers among them." Family. That's how it felt.

Our driver and our translator were part of all this felicity and shared our meal. Our driver is a man about my dad's age, I would guess. I spent a lot of time looking at his face in the rear view mirror from the back seat of the van. I think the best way to describe it is jolly. In spite of this, I don't think the deep wrinkles across his forehead were made by laughing. I study them wondering what kind of expression he wore to achieve those award-winning lines. He tells us that he joined the church when he was about 55 years old. 55 years without the gospel. That answers my question. Looking at him smiling and mischievious I have a hard time imagining a time when life may have been different. I especially watch him during some rather harrowing driving escapes, a few causing several of us to gasp and once or twice, scream quietly. (Yes, quietly. It can be done and we have no wish to offend.) Through it all he looks benevolent. ">

Ana, our translator, is serene. She is young, ready to leave on her mission in a few months. She is accomplished. I sit behind her in the van watching her smooth ponytail bob up and down when she nods and says, "Mmm," which indicates that she is listening. She speaks well and can translate even very obscure conversations about proteins in cow's milk. (Don't ask.)

What I see with such clarity here in Russia is the power of the Lord in people's countenances. If the spirit could be seen and not just felt it might look like Russian saints. I'm not saying that everyone is happy all the time. I'm simply saying that the contrast between those who are actively living the gospel here and those who don't have it is staggering. I wonder, am I filled with the power of God in such a way that it shines out of my countenance? Do I exude the same powerful hope and peace that these people do? When people look at me do they see that I have one bottom tooth that is slightly crooked or do they see my heart? Do they see that I recently colored my own hair or can they see that with every "fiber of my being" (to coin a church phrase that makes me laugh)I believe in the Savior? Because this is what I see when I look at these people.

When we leave we visit two monasteries and two military sites. I need to look them up to learn more because I have very few details and the signs say very little. At the monastery, there are no signs. Both monasteries are functioning but unfortunately we don't see any monks.

Joseph Monastery