update on Amy

Amy has been plagued by a racing, irregular heartbeat this year. She has been hospitalized twice, and has had four other shorter episodes. There are two kinds of problems involved. The first is called atrial flutter, which is when one of the upper four chambers of the heart misfires its electrical circuit, and causes the heart to have a irregular beat (which makes it beat faster). The second is called atrial flutter, which is more common, and harder to treat. It is like aflutter, but arises in the other top chamber of the heart. The cardiologist said Amy had experienced both, but was hoping that the afib was caused by the aflutter, so that the procedure today by solving the aflutter would also cure the afib (confused yet?).

The procedure was called an ablation, which means using heat to create scar tissues that redirect the faulty electrical circuit. The ablation was successful in stopping the problem that caused the aflutter. Unfortunately, he found that the other upper heart chamber had problems of its own, which cause the afib, and these he could not fix today.

The upshot is that she will no longer have any aflutter, but will probably continue to have occasional afib. She will probably be able to control this with medicine. While we were hoping she could get off the meds completely (they make her tired), we are grateful that the problem is halfway solved.

She can do the ablation again (for the other side), but the procedure on that side is more invasive and carries more risk. We will wait and see about that.

Below is a link to a youtube video that illustrates most of what I have tried to explain.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZ1vMLPrHnk

Epilogue and Retrospective

I have settled back into my home and routine for the better part of a week now. This last post will close out this blog by allowing me to look back and summarize the meaning of the trip, not just its activities.

First, I would like to thank God for the wonderful wife He has blessed me with. I could spend many, many pages extolling her good points, but will spare you all the details. Let me just say that when she first heard of the idea of losing her husband to Siberia for a couple weeks, she was most enthused. Not in the way you think. She was enthused for me; she had genuine joy that I would experience something wonderful and meaningful, even if she would not share it. In fact, it would mean extra work for her, or at least fewer hands to share the work. But she actively encouraged me to make the trip; she knows I would not have gone through even the application stage if she was at all hesitant. My debt to her grows every year, and I thank God again and again for gracing me with a wife whose outer beauty is eclipsed only by her inner loveliness.

In a similar way, I would extend thanks to the elders of my church for approving and funding the trip. And, though they joked about making the ticket one-way, both I and the people of Siberia are grateful they sprung for the round-trip fare.


As I reflect on the trip, I find the experience very humbling. It was humbling on a very basic level, since one is forced to live so consistently on the kindness of others when one goes to a foreign land with a strange language (see the post on “what I hate about mission trips”). But it was humbling on a more profound level as well. It takes no fluency in Russian to see faces light up when the soul they belong to grasps a new level of God’s holiness and goodness. God’s spirit worked in special ways. I don’t say this proudly; far from it. I say it with wonder that He would use someone like me to be a channel of His blessing, a tool of his healing.

This is the God we serve: able to speak through Balaam’s donkey or just some jackass like me. Or you. And He has reminded me afresh that we don’t have to travel to Siberia to be used by God. The world is right outside the door.

About Russians

I’ve been in Siberia two weeks now, so that makes me an expert on all things Russia. Today, gentle reader, I will focus my luminous profundity like a laser on just one aspect of Russia: the Russian soul.

Okay, I got nothing….

I think it was Churchill who described Russia as something like, “An enigma, wrapped in a riddle, clothed in a mystery”. That was a pretty good line. But of course it overstates the case. In many ways, Russians seem to want and value the same things that we in America do. And certainly their diet and habits are less strange to an American than would be true in New Deli or Zanzibar (and I am very happy to have worked Zanzibar into this post). But one thing I did tend to notice about Russian people, and it seems more fundamental than food or custom.

Russians are simply deeper, and sadder, than Americans.

Now, of course that is a generalization. But this is what I mean. I noticed very little frivolity or playfulness among the Russians (with a few exceptions who were Christians). No-one on the street smiles. No-one makes small talk. You can walk down a narrow path and the Russian going the other way will walk past you within two inches and never acknowledge your existence by word or smile. EVERY TIME. This is not to say Russians are rude. I never got mean looks or harsh gestures. And a Russian will be quite friendly after they get to know you. It’s just that they have no patience for useless chatter or frivolous gestures.

But I will also say this. In talking with Russians, there is also a depth and substance in the conversation that is so often lacking in the states. Russians think. They reflect on the meaning of events, not just the events themselves. I am not surprised this country has produced the world's greatest novelists, as well as the greatest chess players.

It would take a larger intellect than mine (and yes, there are some; about four, I think), to discern the reason for this difference. But I can’t help but think that it has to do with how much Russia has suffered. We in America simply have no national tragedy like Russia has had repeatedly. The oppression of the Czars gave way to the oppression of the communists. The curse of collectivism led to decades of food shortage and political violence. Even the years after communism have not been kind; the nineties had all the pains of any new birth. And if you really want to make a Russian mad, imply that America’s sacrifice in World War II somehow compares to Russia’s. Some 20 million Russians lost their lives in that war. The country was invaded and sacked. In many ways, the country is just now recovering from the ravages of the first half of the twentieth century.

So I don’t blame the Russian soul for being more serious and subdued than its American counter-part. And I pray that prosperity and stability increase in this land. And I also pray that they will not drown out the greatness of wonder of what is distinctively Russian.

About the Calvinist, part 2

The Calvinist and I travelling 30,000 feet somewhere over Greenland (which, by the way, should win the prize for the country which most egregiously violates truth-in-advertising ethics by its very name). My mind begins to wander, as it often does around the Calvinist. I begin thinking I should write a post or two in the plane, so that you, gentle reader, will not be denied one jewel from my treasure chest of wisdom. Yeah, I’m that bored…. First, I should write a line or two about my seat-mate. As you may have discerned, the Calvinist and I are in some ways quite different. I am on the tall side; he describes himself as “diminutive”. I like the window seat; he prefers the aisle. I am a Christian; he is a Presbyterian.

But I will give the man his due: in addition to being a “big God-er”, he is undoubtedly the most consistently cheerful man I have ever met. Perhaps the two things are related. But I have been with him every day now for two weeks, and I have yet to hear him utter a harsh word or display a critical spirit. He has displayed not once ounce of anger or even annoyance. He didn’t even complain about the airline food. He not only enjoys my ribbing him, he seems to relish it.

He also makes a very good traveler, because he puts up with everything and loves to try new things. Offer him some monkey brain casserole, and he will say, “Where’s my fork?” Tell him you’re going to bungee jump off a local bridge, and he will go fetch his sport coat (he never leaves home without it). Work up a plan to graffiti some onion domes, and he would be right there with you, spraying TULIP in florescent green. He would even find something nice to say about the jail cell.

All in all, almost an ideal person to travel to Siberia with. Now if we could just do something about those puns….

Many partings

The alarm blared early this morning, waking me from another dream about Valerie Bertinelli (just kidding, honey). I was not enthused about the day, for it meant saying goodbye to Jeff and Amy. Also, it meant enduring two rounds of Russian bureaucracy for the joy of 15 hours inside flying tin cans.

As we left the Cultural Center last night, we said goodbye to many new friends. I gave Igor my small English Bible, and left gifts for my translators. For Jeff and Amy, a leather-bound copy of Chekhov seemed appropriate.

At the airport in Tyumen, we discovered I lacked a registration paper proving I had spent two weeks there. Yes, foreigners must register with the government. Old habits die hard. Anyway, Jeff suggested this might be a problem in Moscow, and we had a “concerned moment”. We then remembered the internet kiosk in the Moscow airport, to which Jeff could email a scan of the form. Problem solved.

We gained two time zones from Tyumen to Moscow. The flight was fine, except that they served dinner food at 8:30 in the morning. From what I’ve learned, the idea of special foods for breakfast is quite foreign to Russians. In any case, my breakfast salmon was excellent.

As I write this, the Calvinist and I are waiting in the Moscow airport. I’ve just pulled him away from performing another embarrassing karaoke number at the bar. The man just loves Madonna. Who knew?

I am now psyching myself up for ten hours with my 6’4’’, 180 pound frame crammed inside an airline seat. Okay, I might have fudged the numbers a little. I’m only 6’3’’. I am reminding myself how many Saturdays I wished I had this much extra time.

So far it’s not working.

testing, testing...

As I write this, my students are taking their final exam. Though it will only affect a few of them career-wise, they seem to take it quite seriously; maybe too seriously.

They want to do well, and several of them quizzed me quite closely the last few days on the content of the exam. I am glad to see their desire to learn; I have more ambivalence about their desire to do well on the test. I want to tell them, “It’s the learning that is the important part. Your score on the exam will affect your life very little. Relax.” But I cannot. I don’t want to play the hypocrite.

You see, I too seem to be more concerned about the visible success of my life and ministry, rather than focusing on just learning the things God wants to teach me.

I saw a cartoon once where a man stepped to the microphone before a speech, and spoke into it, “testing, testing”. A fellow in the audience muttered, “that seems to be the metaphor for my life”.

But really, I don’t think so. The metaphor for life is learning. Learning to live a life of love in the fullest sense. Learning to become the person God created us to be. And the outward signs that you “got it” pale to the glory of truly “getting it”.

Will there be a test? Yes, but not in this world’s terms. And I have a feeling God would like to speak my own words back to me some times: “It’s the learning that is the important part…relax”.

And now, a word about our hosts...

I realized today that I have said very little about our hosts, Jeff and Amy.

First, I must give them full props for putting up with us for two weeks. The old saying is that fish and houseguests start to smell after three days, but my nose must be more sensitive, because it usually only takes only one day before I tire of guests. Jeff and Amy, however, either genuinely enjoy having houseguests, or they are very good at faking it. I’m okay with it either way. Because the Calvinist and I have received nothing but smiles, kind words, and good food. At no time have we gotten “negative vibes” as I used to say back when I was cool (and yes, gentle readers, there was indeed such a time; it lasted about twenty seconds). They even put up with the Calvinist’s snoring. I, of course, have never snored a day in my life, and if Keith Walls wants to say otherwise he can get his own blog.

Jeff left a six figure job to take his new bride to Russia, just because he thought God wanted him to. Crazy, I know. He made the irrational decision that the God who created him and redeemed him actually has a claim on his life. What do they teach kids these days?

They have both worked hard to learn Russian, and are both fluent, which is pretty impressive since after two weeks here I can count my Russian words on one hand. They put up with a schedule that would burn me out in a month. I respect and admire them, and thank them publicly for their patience and kindness.