It brings a chill that seeps through my jean jacket. I blink back the prick of tears but I can’t hold back the voice inside that says, in a slightly desperate tone, but which I think is appropriate at the moment, Oh God, why did you bring me here? So I could fail, miserably?
I look upward, as if for answers, and the sky is blue and blank…and golden. Golden…arches. They rise into the sky like some ethereal sign, behind a haze of buildings.
I stand there, disbelief swilling through me as I look both ways and cross the street. I nearly sprint the length of the block until I come out on the other side and the sight takes my breath away.
McDonald’s.
The most beautiful golden arches this side of heaven. I can nearly taste my relief—and the salty fries and vanilla shakes—as I cross another street, then fast walk the length of two blocks.
I’m not lost!
And what’s better, I know that across the street from McDonald’s is Venetsia, my bistro. With the linen tablecloths and orange slushies. And Chase, delivering flowers. Someday.
I’m home!
I am nearly jogging, because I know that not much farther is the architecture that I know and love—Red Square, the walls of the Kremlin. And across the plaza, GYM. There are boots in my near future.
All is right with the world.
Until I stop at the light and look across the street.
Where there used to be white tables with umbrellas scattered on the sidewalk, with overflowing flower boxes, and a café that served sweet coffee, and tea, and cute cucumber or cheese sandwiches is a…Wallpaper World.
Wallpaper World! What happened to my Venetsia? The light changes but I can’t move. Tears have filmed my eyes and I’m an idiot standing on the corner, seeing my past…and my future turned into a home decor store.
This can’t be.
I blame the next five minutes and the ensuing events entirely on Junior. And the fact that in my pregnancy book it clearly says, “You may feel a flux of emotions over the upcoming changes in your body.”
I’m in full flux, tears dripping off my chin, standing there in my jean jacket, jeans and Birken-stock sandals, enduring the stares of assorted babushka and mafia boys, when out of the blue I hear, “I can’t believe it, Josey Berglund from Minnesota.”
Now, I believe in Divine Providence, those God moments when things happen that are completely unexplainable without the God factor. Like the time my purse was stolen in inner-city Minneapolis, right outside the Caboose, and it appeared three weeks later on my doorstep in Gull Lake.
Either that or the thief was Moose Collins, whom I also saw at the Caboose that night, but I’m not pointing fingers or anything.
So when I turn toward the voice and see none other than my grungy pal from two years ago, Caleb Gilstrap, I recognize a God moment.
“Caleb!”
And he looks good, too. His hair is shorter, which makes him nearly unrecognizable, and he’s wearing a new piercing—an ear bar—but I recognize the army-surplus attire, the Birkenstock shoes—I’m feeling very vogue suddenly—and the tie-dyed shirt. “I can’t believe it!” he says and crunches me into a hug right there on the street.
Briefly, two years ago, I thought Caleb might have crushed on me. But he was first and foremost a gentleman, one who knew just the right thing to say, and was the one and only person who kept me from throwing my then roommate over the balcony, so I hug him back, a little longer than normal.
I wipe my eyes when he releases me. “I can’t believe I ran into you. Where are you going?”
He nods toward the golden arches. Oh of course. Ex-Pat Central. It’s then I see the cute, size-two blonde next to him. She’s wearing a pair of hiking boots and a pink parka and a fluffy white scarf. And in a second I know she’s not from around here.
“Hi,” she says, holding out her hand. I take it, casting a look at Caleb. “I’m Daphne.”
Then, as if in explanation, Caleb wraps his arm around her shoulders.
Oh. “Josey Anderson, but I used to be Berglund.”
Caleb is only momentarily stymied, then he grins. “So he finally figured it out,” he says cryptically.
But Daphne hasn’t released my hand. “This is Josey?”
Caleb gives her a look, one I can’t read. Then, he nods.
Her eyes widen and suddenly I feel like the main player in a torrid soap opera. Do tell, Caleb.
But he only nods toward McDonald’s. “Want to join us for lunch?”
I glance at Daphne, but her eyes seem to shine and she’s nodding. “Okay,” I say, hiding the relief that rushes through me, again grateful for the immediate welcome Caleb always seems to extend.
“When did you get back?” he asks as we cross the street. I notice he and Daphne are holding hands. Cute.
“Yesterday.”
Caleb nearly stops, but he waits until we’ve crossed. “Where’s Chase?”
Uh-oh, I feel tears again. “Working. He got a job with WorldMar, helping start cottage industries. He’s really busy.”
Caleb and Daphne’s hands are swinging between them, and I feel the slightest twinge of jealousy. Chase should be here, sharing this moment with me. But no, he’s at WorldMar. With the women who don’t eat.
“Are you still doing your computer consulting?” I ask Caleb as he holds the door open for me. Still the gentleman. We get in line, and the smell of fries has turned Junior into a full-fledged beast, complete with roars.
“Yes. But I’m working with Daphne, too.”
I turn to Daphne, and ask the obvious question.
“I’m a nurse. I work with Operation: Home, an outreach program to the local orphanages designed to connect the children with adoptive parents. I oversee the volunteers from area churches.”
A nurse? I have the sudden and nearly overpowering urge to spill my secret. But, well, I haven’t told Chase yet, and since I already spilled to H, probably that’s enough betrayal. For now.
“Are you teaching English again?” Caleb asks.
I turn and study the menu. Of course it’s in Russian, but I can easily sound out cheeseburger in Cyrillic. It’s my turn in line and I repeat that, ordering also kartofily frees and maroshna for shake.
Caleb pulls me aside as Daphne orders for both of them. Her Russian sounds poetic as it flows from her petite little body. Petite people have this uncanny knack of making everything sound light and airy.
“So, what you going to be doing here? Are you working with Chase?” Caleb asks.
I don’t look at him. What is it about Caleb that I’m with him for thirty-point-six seconds and he can zero in on the truth? “I don’t know why I’m here, Caleb,” I say, and I can’t believe the words have left my mouth. Or that, with them, I feel as if I’ve ripped out my insides.
Caleb’s brown eyes find mine, and he says nothing.
I look at the ground. “I thought that God had a grand plan for me being here, but…” I sigh. “I thought I was coming here to help Chase. To be his partner, and serve the Russian people with him.” I shrug, fighting a sudden wave of emotion. “Now, I can’t even find my way around town without getting lost. More than that, Chase doesn’t need me.”
Caleb is silent as our food order is filled. Then he takes our trays, gentleman that he is, and carries them upstairs to the deck.
I always love sitting on the second floor and watching the world enjoy McDonald’s. Something about sharing the same food, despite the culture, is a universal bonding experience.
Daphne opens her hamburger, takes off the bun and eats the meat with a fork and spoon. Sorry, that’s not what I meant when I thought of bonding.
Caleb is diving into a double cheeseburger and large fries. Now that is what I’m talking about. Junior nearly cheers when I suck down my vanilla shake.
“Did it ever occur to you, Josey, that God sent you here not because Chase needs you, but because you need God?”
I am midbite, so I put my sandwich down. “I know I need God.”
Caleb finishes off his burger. “I mean, you need God in a way you don’t know you need Him yet.”
I frown at him.
“We live in what I call ordinary grace. Everyday understanding of God’s love for us.” He opens his ketchup packets. “But what if God sent you here so you could get a glimpse of just how much God loves you?”
Of course God loves me. He gave me Chase, didn’t he? But, if I search my heart, I have to agree that, well, I’m not feeling the love, lately. In fact, I’m wondering, especially over the last few days, what I did to make God mad.
I’m still frowning. Caleb grabs a fry. “I’m just saying that when we’re in over our heads, that’s a great place for God to show us how much He loves us.”
I take another sip of my shake. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daphne grinning. She looks at Caleb, then back at me.
“What?” I put my shake down.
“I have an idea—a great idea.” She leans close and puts her hand on my arm. “Come and work at the orphanage with me. Caleb told me you were a writer. We need someone who can write about our ministry and help us raise money.” Her voice raises an octave, which is a real feat. “Just think of the little lives you’d be affecting.”
It’s true that the first time I was in Russia I had visions of being a sort of Mother Josey to a flock of devoted children. But I’m over that. Really.
“Where is the orphanage?”
“Gorkovich.”
I’m seeing, suddenly, divine intervention. Would that be the same village as Chase is working in?
“Please, please, Josey? We could really use you.”
They could use me. And Need me. And Want me. And I could learn about babies. Which, we all know would come in handy, wouldn’t it?
I grab a fry, glance at Caleb, smile and give a little shrug. “Okay.”
Daphne launches herself from her chair and encircles me in her skinny arms. “Thank you, oh thank you!”
What exactly has Caleb told her about me? I extricate myself with the slightest of hugs and nod.
Daphne spends the next hour outlining the job and why, especially, I’ll be perfect for it. Apparently, she’s seeing divine intervention, as well.
Caleb and Daphne and I part ways outside GYM where I spend the next three hours in shopping therapy. It’s growing dark by the time I walk back to the central station, get on the purple line, then the gold line, then finally surf home on the blue line. Without getting lost once.
The air is brisk as I walk home. I nod to the gatekeeper. I don’t see Thug, but I don’t need him anymore, anyway. Doorman buzzes me in, and I take the elevator to the ninth floor and unlock the door.
Chase nearly tackles me as I enter, crushing me to his chest. He’s breathing hard and for a long moment I think maybe he’s having an asthma attack or something. “Where have you been?”
I drop my bags on the floor and encircle his waist. “Shopping,” I say. “I got some new boots.” In fact, they’re incredible boots—Italian, leather, with a spike heel. Totally impractical. I love them. “I even ran into Caleb and his new girlfriend, Daphne, who wants me to work at the orphanage with her.”
“Shopping?” He puts me away from him, looking at me with those big blue Chase eyes. “Igor said you walked right by him this morning. He looked for you everywhere, but couldn’t find you. I thought something happened to you!”
I frame his face in my hands, kiss him lightly. “No,” I say, “Nothing happened to me. Everything’s just fine.”
In fact, everything’s going to be perfect.
Chapter Nine
The Shoemaker and His Elf
There are a few habits we missionaries, or former missionaries, pick up while serving the Lord. We rise early. We find a quiet place. We read our Bibles and pray.
And most of the time it has nothing to do with the fact that someone has compelled us to get out of bed for early-morning sustenance.
Or maybe it does.
Whatever the case, Junior turned my stomach into his own playground, something I didn’t appreciate after having an excellent dinner of meat cutlets and mashed potatoes, so conveniently left in my fridge yesterday.
The case of the unseen Cleaning/Cooking fairy has been solved.
After three days of finding food in our fridge, Chase decided it was time for the shoemaker—or in this case, the anthropologist—and his wife to find out just who is our Housework Elf.
I grew up on the story of the shoemaker and his elves…you know the one, about the shoemaker who really can’t make shoes, but he puts out the leather and the next morning the shoes are not only beautiful, but finished?
Hey, I’m suddenly seeing a need for little shoe elves in my life. Imagine having a new pair of shoes waiting every morning when I got up.
A reason to live.
However, the story ends with the shoemaker and his wife discovering that their benefactors are naked, which leads them to provide clothing for the elves.
After which, however, the elves disappear, never to return.
See, there’s the glitch.
I like my laundry/cooking/cleaning fairy/elf. My argument—and a sound one at that—was: What if she is scary, with long nose hairs and gray hair down to her shins that she piles atop her head? Would I want to know that as I eat her mashed potatoes or blini?
See my problem? Food versus Facts.
Chase solved said dilemma by well…ah, staying home late the morning after I scared him into appreciation. Long enough to be caught by our elf.
Aka, Sveta the Svelte. Oh yes. Size six, which is still two, or maybe three sizes less than me, shapely, bobbed brown hair, hazel eyes. And wearing a leather miniskirt, knee-high boots and a silk top.
Which she traded for a pair of track pants and an old shirt after she arrived.
She still looked great.
I discovered that she’s employed by WorldMar. To care for our every need. Don’t go there.
The thing is, after Chase left, I tried to get to know her, and she offered a few things. Like, she’s a single mother of a six-month-old son. And she desperately needs this job after being fired from her previous employment. I don’t ask what that is. And she’s an exceptional cook.
God is on my side, after all.
This thought is on my mind the next morning, as I creep into the main room and sit on the black sofa. The sun is just sliding through the courtyards and around the high-rises, a golden river of light. For some reason, Caleb’s words have sent me digging out my Bible and I open it to Ephesians, and the passages I was studying last time I saw the sun rise over Moscow.
I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
I know, it’s a lot. I find it easier to just focus on the phrases that pop out at me. Like, “rooted and established in love.” It’s also true that sometimes when I read the Bible it goes over my head. But suddenly, these verses hit home to me, in a new way. Established in love…like conceived? Like being formed? My hand goes to my stomach, to the secret there. And not to be gross or anything, but he’s a part of me, too. Rooted, in a way.
So, is that what Paul is talking about here? That I might understand both my origins and my connectedness to God?
“What if God sent you here so you could get a glimpse of just how much God loves you?”
Caleb’s voice in my head makes me turn that thought over. I’m not sure I agree, but I’m willing to be wrong. I would like a fresh glimpse at how much God loves me. Because deep inside I think Caleb’s right. I do live with a sorta everyday understanding of God’s love. I don’t let it change my world, not really.
Ready, God.
I close my Bible and hug it to my chest just as Chase wanders out of the bedroom. He’s wearing his Scary Pants and a rumpled Gull Lake Gulls T-shirt that makes him look about eighteen—with scrawny legs. “What are you doing out here?”
“Praying,” I say. Because I’m the Proverbs 31 wife.
He gives me a smile. “You amaze me.”
Surpass is the word you’re searching for, pal. I hold out my hand. Now is the time. Right now, as the sunrise is gilding our room, and the room is quiet, to tell him about our future. About the love growing inside me, in a very tangible way.
Chase takes my hand, comes over and sits on the sofa, then lays his head in my lap. So sweet. I twirl my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes as I try to form the words to tell him how our life is changed, forever.
He beats me to the life-changing words. “I know I freaked out when I thought you went missing—I guess I forgot how capable you are.” He reaches up and takes my hand, pulls it down and kisses it. “I’m so glad you are comfortable here, G.I.” He blows out a breath and my chest tightens. “I’m not sure what I got us into. This is going to be harder than I thought. I met with Bertha yesterday and she’s been on this project for a year, and between the mafia, the gangs and the lack of business understanding, she’s having a hard time fulfilling the grant. If we don’t get a business going within the next six months, we’ll lose the contract for next year for WorldMar.”
He rolls over, looks up at me. “I’m so glad you have everything under control, because frankly, I don’t think I can focus on one more thing outside WorldMar right now.” He touches my cheek. “Except you, of course.”
Of course. I swallow, smile, hating the tears that have edged into my eyes. His words are sweet, but I feel panic rise inside.
Panic and dread.
I wipe my fingers under my eyes as he leans up and kisses me. “I’m sorry I overreacted. And I’m so glad you are working at the orphanage. You’ll be a hit. Now I know I don’t have to worry about you.”
Nope, not me. Or Junior.
But he sees my tears, and runs his thumb under my eye. “You okay, G.I.? You’ve been sorta…weepy lately.”
Chill Out, Josey! Page 9