into the thick darkness

The smoke is thick.

The winter cold means the ger fires are being fueled by coal, which in turn brings air choked with dust and pollution.

A gray haze hangs heavy in the air, making it impossible to see into the distance.

I know the large, yellow building that houses the church and the mission center is in the midst of the smokey cloud and yet seeing it won't be possible until I've ventured into it.

"When the people saw the thunder and the lightning and heard the trumpet and saw the mountain in smoke, they trembled with fear. They stayed at a distance and said to Moses, 'Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die.'

Moses said to the people, 'Do not be afraid. God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning.'

The people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick darkness where God was."

-Exodus 20:18-21

So often I am the people of Exodus. So often it is my fear that enslaves me- that keeps me at a distance as I watch others travel forward into the Lord's presence because of their faith and belief.

I love that the author of Exodus describes where God dwelled as a place of "thick darkness."

So often walking forward to meet Him means meeting Christ in the places that scare us, that cannot be seen or understood beforehand and that often seem downright terrifying.

I long to be as Moses was, to meet the Lord in the thick darkness, to not stand paralyzed but to walk forward- in spite of the presence of fear within me.

I long to lay that fear down in the face of His presence- to allow it to be fearful awe and not paralyzing fear.

O Lord,

It is in the thick darkness that you grant us wisdom, where we might meet with you, hear your voice, your call, your instruction and your love.

May you lead me there my King. May this next year be about walking into the thick darkness.

Create in me a heart that can go to that place.

stilles nacht (what they don't speak german in Mongolia?)

silent night, holy night

Walking to the bus stop after English class with my friend and student Od, our conversation turns to plans for Christmas Eve the next day.

"I want to have a worship time," Od says. "So we can get together and worship God."

In a country where Christmas is not celebrated by the vast majority, most churches don't have Christmas Eve services because their congregation members still have to attend school and go to work. Christmas Eve and Christmas day are days of work and homework and daily tasks.

I find myself suggesting our apartment as a gathering place, the words tumbling out before I even think of what it will mean to have guests or of how this will change my plans for the day. I always love Christmas Eve church and so I can't help but say yes to the chance for some version of that tradition to occur here.

all is calm, all is bright

Od and Teivna arrive the next afternoon, and we sit in my kitchen, hot chocolate in hand, planning the youth group's New Years celebration and laughing at Holli and I's kitten's antics.

We make spaghetti for dinner, singing worship songs and wearing silly santa hats as we chop onions, roll meatballs and boil water.

round yon virgin mother and child

The Advent wreath made out of styrofoam sits in front of us as we sit in the dark of the living room, taking turns reading the Scriptures for each candle that we light.

Hope.

Peace.

Joy.

The Way.

the Christ candle.

Alternating reading in English and singing hymns in Mongolian, I think of the beauty of sharing, of weaving together our lives, our languages and our celebrations.

holy infant so tender and mild

Teivna plays the guitar, Od sings.

And I let myself fall quiet- to reflect on sitting barefoot and cross-legged on a bed-made-into-a-couch in my Mongolian apartment, partaking in a new tradition.

of candlelit Scripture readings and Advent wreaths and the cadence of Mongolian coloring familiar hymns.

tears fall

and I fall in love all over again with a Savior born into a manger,

I fall in love all over again with a babe who came to remind us that we are brothers and sisters,

bound together, called to love, to serve, to worship and to journey, together.

sleep in heavenly peace
sleep in heavenly peace

ykylimw #5

you know you live in mongolia when...

...you have your intermediate English students play "I'm bringing ...... to the picnic" and this is the list they come up with:

apple pie
banana
cake
dog's meat (they found this hilarious and made a point of specifying that this is a Korean food and not Mongolian)
eggs
fish
green apple
ham
ice cream
juice
kid-friendly olives (I know, I know- I couldn't think of any k-foods)
lemon
mongolian byyz
national food- хуушууp
onion
pineapple
quick oatmeal
russian national food- perowshkis (phonetic spelling for sure)
strawberry
tea
underside of a cow
vegetable soup
wine
x-mas cookies
yak milk

christmas sounds

actual words about how I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas day are coming...eventually.

but until then- here is a video from my day of visiting with hospice patients- where we sang Christmas hymns, talked and prayed.

Silent Night in Mongolian:

and unto us a Savior is born

Merry Christmas from Mongolia!

triple crown: the stakes

part two of three on public transportation in mongolia. Look here for part one.

the preakness stakes:

eeny meeny miney moe
catch a tiger by its toe
if it hollers let it go
eeny meeny miney moe

Standing at a bus stop in UB is really like playing an elaborate, life-sized, adult version of eeny meeny miney moe.

different color buses, with different names, different numbers and different route maps.

Sometimes, just for additional fun, they have none of these identifying markers- they are just big old buses that pull up to the curb and open their doors.

There is no consistent pattern that I've been able to discern- no code of which color bus goes where or how you're supposed to know where they go.

Sometimes they have a map of their route on the side and this can give you some idea of what direction it's headed or where it will stop. And if it has a name you can possibly figure out which district (UB is divided up into numerical districts) it is headed.

Not being familiar with most Mongolian names/districts/neighborhoods- choosing what bus to ride becomes a game.

eeny meeny miney moe
where will this one go?

Holli and I make it a general rule to not get on any buses that don't have route maps, for there is too much uncertainty as to where they are actually going.

At first we thought this game of "pick a bus and see if it goes where you want it to" was the result of us having just moved here and not knowing how things worked.

Then we discovered that this is in fact how most people operate when it comes to the bus system- guessing, hoping and getting off on the next stop if the bus starts heading in the wrong direction.

eeny meeny miney moe is normal.

Once your bus of choice has ushered you on, sometimes still moving as you climb on, there are a few things it is good to know when playing (riding) the bus (game).

First, there is no such thing as an overcrowded bus. I blame this rule on the buses' smaller, although not less esteemed cousin the micro and its ever-expanding desire to cram in as many people as possible. Or maybe the buses first set a bad example for the micros. Either way, you can expect that people will just keep cramming onto the bus even when you're not sure it's humanly possible.

Second, distance does not determine fare. Everyone pays 300 tg unless you happen to ride one of the older, more likely to fall apart buses- in which case you get a discounted rate of 200 tg. Each bus has a money collector who walks through the bus collecting fare from the new passengers.

Third, public transportation is a largely silent affair in UB. It's not at all abnormal to be on a full bus and for it to be completely silent- no talking, no conversations, just silence. Sometimes this is nice. And sometimes it makes me wish for talking to fill the silence.

Fourth, when all seats are taken and an elderly man or woman gets on the bus, anyone younger than them should get up and offer them their seat. I tend to avoid sitting down because then I don't have to mentally debate who qualifies as elderly and whether or not I'm unintentionally being offensive by remaining seated.

Fifth, riding the bus is a test of a person's balance. Traffic and driving in general being what it is here in UB, drivers love to hit the brakes in the most abrupt fashion known to mankind. If you don't brace yourself you will go flying into the people standing next to you. And then you will have to apologize as you get flung black in the opposite direction because the driver just tried to avoid hitting the car that just cut in front of your bus.

Sixth, negative degree temperatures outside and heating inside the buses means the windows are always iced over. This makes knowing when to get off challenging, for the only way to know where you are is to look out said ice-covered windows. This hurdle can be handled in a variety of fashions- some scratch little spots in the windows so they can see, some maneuver to get a glimpse out the front of the bus and others just wait until the doors open to determine whether they should hustle out into the cold or not.

And last but not least, if the bus doesn't stop where you want it to, don't panic. Just get off at the next stop and walk back to the place you had wanted to be. Riding the bus ensures you won't get frostbite walking an hour to get to the store. It does not ensure direct, timely or uninterrupted transportation :-)

Welcome to bus riding in UB, where there are enough unwritten guidelines to make up for the guessing game that is figuring out which one to get on at any given time.

eeny meeny miney moe
can you figure out how to go?

bright blue snowboots

She is three, maybe four. Thick dark hair to her shoulders, held back by a black headband that blurs into the color of her bangs.

We are told to put on Christ and we think of Him in His private life.

Bright blue pastel snowboots, her neon pink pants tucked into them- puffy in the telling way that reveals the presence of other warmth-bringing layers beneath them. A yellow and gray striped sweater can barely contain her wiggling and waving arms.

His life of work, His public life, His teaching and His suffering life.

What would look eclectic on an adult just looks cute on her- a rainbow of colors that matches the smile filling her face.

But we do not think enough of His life as a little child, as a baby.

Worship begins and she begins too-

Dancing. Feet prancing. Hands clapping. Hands stretched up into the air.

Her whole being moves and her whole face is consumed with joy as she looks to the adults surrounding her. For their response. For their guidance as they too sway and sing.

His helplessness, His powerlessness. We have to be content to be in that state too.

She dances her way back and forth between her grandmother in the choir and her grandfather in the congregation, giggling as she receives hugs and bounces back to the front-

Not to be able to do anything, to accomplish anything.

to the place where she might lead us in worship.

"Then they asked him, 'What must we do to do the works God requires?' Jesus answered, 'The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent.'" - John 6:28-29

What can we do?

We can believe. We can be.

We can pray that we would be as a little girl in bright blue snowboots- knowing Christ as a babe in the manager and seeking a child-like faith.

(Italicized quote from Dorothy Day, "Works of Mercy")

ykylimw #4

you know you live in Mongolia when...

...You don’t blink when the power goes out for 5 minutes or 10 or 20 or an hour or more.

Last night, about 20 minutes after I got home from work for the day, the power went out. This isn't an unusual occurrence by any stretch of the imagination- in fact it seems pretty darn normal these days.

However, it usually comes back on shortly after it goes out.

We kept waiting...and waiting...and waiting.

Eventually we gave up, knowing it could be all night.

So we occupied ourselves with reading by flashlight, jumping rope in the dark hallway, making peanut butter sandwiches for dinner and wishing for hot water.

All ended well- the power came back around 8 p.m. and the hot water eventually filled our pipes- allowing for some emails to be sent and a shower to be taken. It's the small things you come to appreciate :-)

triple crown: the derby

part one of three on public transportation in mongolia.

The kentucky derby:

I trudge across the frozen basketball court, cutting through the interesting concrete playground that stands between my apartment and the alley way that will lead me to the road. There are concrete camels on this playground, which makes me laugh every time I see their pitiful selves placed in the midst of the frozen tundra that covers the ground. It is certainly a white desert that they live in, here among the other abandoned-till-spring equipment.

A short walk, a cold walk to the main road where I will do as the Mongolians do and jaywalk my way across the street to the other side (Thanks summer in Brooklyn for giving me jaywalking skills).

I stand and I wait, shaking my head at the taxi drivers who pull over in hopes that I will give up on the cold and seek warmth in their cars. Sometimes they win my presence, but not today. Today I am determined to wait- I wore an extra sweater. Take that taxi drivers.

Micro buses pass by, the names of their routes spelled out on their windshields, “callers” hanging out the windows or the doors, yelling their route as well- can you ever be too sure that your potential customers see and hear you? It seems the answer would be no, even when it means sticking your head out the window in negative degree weather.

I do a little dance on the sidewalk, trying to keep feeling in my toes. The tips of my hair are white, frozen by my breath’s presence upon them.

I glimpse the magical Cyrillic letters I’ve been hoping to see.

I wave the micro bus down, my hand stuck out, my fingers wiggling as much as they can while encased in wool gloves.

The driver swerves to the side of the road and the door flings open. “Where are you going?” the caller asks in Mongolian. I answer, hand over my money and wonder if I’ll get ripped off this morning. My fare is determined by my destination, although somehow this amount varies daily even as my route never changes. Call it the non-Mongolian speaking cost variance.

The micro is surprisingly empty this morning, which scores me a whole seat to myself and some semblance of personal space maintained.

30 minutes later, a few passengers in and out and I’m at my stop. The walk to the church is cold but lovely, as I navigate the slippery dirt path that is covered in ice and watch the sun rise over the mountains.

I catch myself, as the pinks and oranges stretching from the clouds cause me to lose both my breath and my balance.

(8 hours later)

It’s dusk, my breath warm as it seeps into my scarf. Curious glances thrown my way as I stand at the bus stop. I imagine their questions in their mind and smile with my eyes, my mouth covered by the fabric that is helping me maintain some semblance of warmth.

I flag down the micro I need as it passes by.

The door is thrown open and I am faced with the puzzle of “How many human beings can fit in a small van meant for 9 or 10 but already filled with close to 20?”

Sliding in, I give thanks that even as I am sitting on 1/8 of a seat, my feet on top of the man’s feet sitting across from me and my being leaning up against the woman next to me, I am warm.

I pull my fare money out of my glove- you best make your money easily accessible before you get in or the chances of you being able to pull it out of your pocket or jacket or purse in such close quarters is next to impossible.

The man whose feet I am encroaching on stares at my bag and its non-Cyrillic label.

“Are you American?” he asks. “Yes, I am,” I say.

He says something to the guy sitting next to him, Mongolian words I do not know or understand.

He reaches over and touches my nose in what I can only guess is one of those “cute as a button” moves.

I am no longer sure what to do at this point other than sit quietly and smile nicely while hoping he will refrain from further touching of my face.

The men at the front of the micro have turned the radio to English techno music and glance at me, perhaps wondering if I have noticed this shift in the musical accompaniment of our drive.

All that she wants is another baby
She's gone tomorrow boy

Ace of Base fills the tiny micro. I laugh because really, what’s more fitting for this adventure than a techno remix of Ace of Base?

All that she wants is another baby
All that she wants is another baby

The caller yells out the window. The nose-toucher gets off the micro. I scoot closer to the frosted window so more bodies can pile in.

She's gone tomorrow boy
All that she wants is another baby

The cars honk. The traffic lights are disregarded. The sun is setting.

This is life to and fro. In transit. In motion. With the soundtrack of 90s pop music and Mongolian.

All that she wants - all that she wants

ykylimw #3

you know you live in Mongolia when...

...It stops being weird to see entire sheep carcasses on the street, piled on carts, hanging in markets, in mass quantities on passing trucks and in bags that people bring onto the microbuses and place next to you."

One time we opened the front door to our apartment building only to run directly into a man carrying an entire sheep carcass. How he was planning on cooking this sheep in his apartment is beyond me.

a piece

He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.
- John 1:2-5

You, o Lord, gave a piece of yourself, that we might not be alone and in darkness.

You gave a piece of yourself, that we might not be forsaken.

You gave a piece of yourself so that we might see what it means to gain life by giving it up.

You gave a piece of yourself, that we might be brought comfort and know love.

In giving us the light you gave us a way to give of ourselves, that we might surrender ourselves to the light within us.

You gave of yourself so that we might see and recognize You manifested within each of us as your Creation.

You gave so that we might know what it is to give.

May I be still and know that you are God. May I be still in my soul and know that you have offered yourself so that I might know what it means to offer myself.

O Lord, you have given us the example. You are the King over the flood. You quiet the storm and settle the crashing waves.

Forgive me my Love, for all of the multitude of ways that I fall short.

May I not give up but give of myself.

May your example provide me with the way.

May I give of myself- as one small echo of your song. May all of our echos join together as one- that our shouts, our cries, our words would become one- rising louder and louder as a song to you from your watchmen.

layering up

How does one dress for negative degree weather in the coldest capital city of the world?

Step one: Long underwear



I have two different "levels" of long underwear, so depending on how cold it is depends on if I wear the level 2 or level 3. I also have a short sleeve top that I wear when it's not that cold. My legs would freeze without long underwear on, but if I wear enough other shirts/sweaters I can sometimes skip the long underwear top.


Step two: Shirt, sweater and jeans



Step 3: Down coat (650 fill), wool gloves, hat and scarf



Step 4: Lined boots and extra warm socks



Step 5: Everything on, zipped up, wrapped around and pulled tight.


I learned the tie the scarf around the hood trick from the Mongolians- it ensures that your face doesn't freeze and it makes the hood stay up over your head. It also means you have no peripheral vision, so you have to turn your whole body to see from side to side :-)

You get really good at taking all of these layers off too- especially on days like yesterday, when I visited hospice patients.

Entering each person's home you take off the scarf, gloves, hat, coat and boots. You drink tea, get warm and visit. Then you put everything back on again and begin the cold walk back to where you will wait for the bus.

Yesterday I was standing on the side of the road with all of these layers on and I couldn't help but think about how it was possible to still be cold even with all of these layers on.

It makes you want to move to Mongolia, doesn't it?

I knew it would! :-)

ykylimw #2

you know you live in Mongolia when...

...“The Cold Dance” is what your roommate calls the way you move from one room of the apartment to another."

baking in long underwear

Holli and I spend a lot of time cooking here.

Yes, part of it is due to the H1N1 quarantine and the cold. Not being able to spend tons of time outside had lent itself to some interesting food projects these past few weeks.

But we were also discussing yesterday how the amount of time it takes to prepare food here is simply a part of the reality of everyday life in Mongolia.

The conveniences of food preparation that are available in the U.S. are not readily available here. Things take time. Warming up leftovers, cooking meat that has frozen while sitting in your refrigerator, chopping vegetables.

We have found joy in these processes and in discovering new ways we can cook and bake in this new context.

And so it is that Baking in Long Underwear was born.

Check it out if you're interested in our baking and cooking adventures- it's heavy on the pictures :-)