CHANecdote #11: You Dance Over Me While I Am Unaware . . .

“You Dance over me while I am unaware. You sing all around but I never hear the sound. Lord, I’m amazed by you. Lord, I’m amazed by you. Lord, I’m amazed by you. How you love me! How wide! How deep! How great is your love for me!”

Dear Friends and Family.

At home now. Back to the land of Reality T.V., English speaking, Wal-Mart, fast food restaurants around every corner, hamburgers, iPhones, mindless entertainment, and of course two slobbering golden retrievers. I have been home for about a week-and-a-half now, wrapped up in the comfort of my newly-decorated bedroom (thanks Mom!), and I have taken time to reflect on my 6-week adventure in a little Eastern European country called Bulgaria . . . a land of rolling green hills, endless fields of dancing yellow sunflowers as far as the eye can see, and the beauty of God’s Creation around every bend and crossroad . . . Bulgaria, a land that is nestled securely in my heart and a land that has become my second home.

As I sit and reflect on the work that the Lord has done, I ponder where He has led me and what He has done in me. My tongue is still a contorted, discombobulated mess and my mind is still slightly fried after weeks of speaking mainly Bulgarian and I find that I am still occasionally thinking in Bulgarian, dreaming in Bulgarian, and mentally translating everything I say and hear into Bulgarian (exhausting!:) . . . but I thank God for speaking in me and through me and for giving me the ability to communicate in this difficult, obscure language. I marvel at the wonder of where He has led me and the plans that have unfolded before me in my 33 years of life and I stand amazed at the experiences that have shaped me, molded me, and made me who I am. And I know there is so much more to come and so much work left to be done, yet (despite my exasperating insecurities) I have to continually learn to trust. I pause to reflect on all of the adventures, experiences, and special moments of the past 6 weeks . . . from watching “Doctor Electronica” fix even the most complex gadgets in Panagyurishte, to telling countless stories and singing songs with adorable children at the Montessori School in Sofia, to worshipping God and praying with pastors in the Roma (gypsy) village of Banya, to reuniting with my Bulgarian sister and Baba in the village of Boshulya, to loving orphaned children and whispering, “Jesus loves you” in their little ears. I thank God for each blessed encounter and for allowing me to be His hands and feet . . . one little footstep at a time.

I am humbled to consider all of the amazing families that took me in this summer . . . accepted me as one of their own, stuffed me with delicious delicacies until I was ready to pop, invited me into their lives and conversations, made me feel right at home. God has given me the privilege of meeting so many different people and the honor of forming so many unique relationships; He has given me the freedom to embrace new cultures and traditions and the opportunity to sit at the tables of so many diverse families and partake in lives that are worlds apart. I embrace these relationships whole-heartedly and I feel so blessed to have sat at the tables of those who have so little, yet are so hospitable and selfless. I go with the desire to serve, yet I always get so much more in return. As I have sat at many a table–surrounded by “family” and stuffed to the gills with grape leaves stuffed with rice, gyuveche casseroles, piping hot moussaka, soft palachinki crepes filled with sweet chocolate, and fresh shopska salad with juicy tomatoes and cucumbers straight from the garden–I have watched with awestruck wonder as God’s plans have unfolded little by little. WOW . . . I stand amazed and humbled.

When my 6 weeks in Bulgaria were drawing to a close, I became anxious about returning to my family, my “comfort zone”, my snuggly bed and even “snugglier” golden retrievers, and my job as a kindergarten teacher. My last day with an amazing team was spent touring Sofia, the capital city of Bulgaria. There was one last thing I had hoped to accomplish on this summer adventure, but it just hadn’t worked out for various reasons. I had hoped and prayed about re-connecting with this amazing man of God named Dobri. When I look at Dobri, I can picture what Moses must have looked like . . . strong hands, long white beard and flowing hair, wise old eyes that take you places and tell stories when you look into them. Dobri used to be a guard for the king of Bulgaria when Bulgaria had a king and now he spends his humble days begging for money at churches to restore Bulgarian Orthodox Churches all over his beloved Bulgaria. He is an amazing man of God filled with so much wisdom and insight and I got the privilege of meeting him and translating for him during my last visit to Bulgaria in 2008. Dobri is a legend in this country, lovingly refered to as “Dyado Dobri” . . . “Grandfather” Dobri. I yearned to find Dobri somewhere along the journey, but God saved that for my last day in the country. I was overjoyed to see him when our group entered the Alexander Nevsky Church, the largest Orthodox church in Bulgaria, sitting by the door of the church clutching his money cup and prayer beads. As first, Dobri struggled to hear my excitable Bulgarian and his memory of our last encounter was foggy . . . yet, when I returned with pictures, recognition and remembrance flooded his wrinkled face and he instantly lit up and began to smile and hug me as we reminisced. I was convinced that God had led me to Dobri as this journey drew to a close, as I listened to the mumbled speech of this amazing man of God comment on the good works of a gracious Heavenly Father . . . Yes, I am humbled and I am awestruck by this amazing journey called life. It certainly always succeeds in taking me by surprise every step of the way.

As I said goodbye to a beautiful land called Bulgaria, to the relationships and the experiences, I once again promised to return. In my mind, I watched as a sea of faces, new foods, experiences and adventures, rolling green hills and fields of smiling sunflowers danced before my eyes; in my heart, I longed to return to each memory for just a moment as more of my heart was once again deposited in the fertile Bulgarian soil. My thoughts and prayers are now consumed by this journey; my desire to serve and be His hands and feet are what continues to inspire me and set me on fire. As a bright, yellow sunflower dances silently in the wind, he dances over me when I am completely unaware.

Keep Dancing,

Chantel

CHANecdote #10: Smiles that Last a Lifetime

Dear Friends and Family,

Their little smiles and excited giggles are what made it all worth it. Every stroke of the paintbrush, every sore back and tired mind, every dragging foot and worn finger was all made worthwhile in their little smiles, their joyous laughter, their excited shrieks and squeals of delight. As the warm summer sun set over the little village of Kaspichan, Bulgaria, the tiny orphanage rang with the joyous sounds of a project completed . . . an art and music room that would bring joy, peace, and therapy to the orphans who called this place home.

The project seemed slightly daunting as it began . . . there was shopping to be done, walls to be painted, and murals to be created. A room was going to be created in the little Kaspichan Orphanage that would provide a sanctuary of music and art for the 3-7-year-olds who lived there . . . and time was ticking as the project had to be started without delay. We had spent the afternoon before engaging the children in art and craft centers and outdoor play, but now it was time to work. We knew it wasn’t going to be completely easy when, as we slopped paint onto the walls of one room that needed painted and chunks of plaster wall crumbled under our fingers and our brushes.

But, we persevered . . . the teamwork of an amazing team was inspiring as we painted, created, assisted, planned, discussed, and organized. Music notes were drawn on one wall, murals of roads and vehicles were drawn on another, furniture was moved in and shelves were stocked with a litany of musical instruments, art supplies, books, puzzles, flashcards, learning materials, and so much more. We worked tirelessly, enveloped in a thick July heat, praying for God to guide us and sustain us every step of the way.

As progress was made, the task seemed lessed daunting in our limited time at Kaspichan Orphanage. Before long, as we pulled together, we were able to gaze upon a completed art room . . . filled with music, art, and learning that was gauranteed to nurture and comfort the orphaned heart. Soon, the children, with wide and curious eyes, were allowed to see the completed room for the first time. Before we knew it, the room was full of little, excited bodies . . . exploring the art materials, playing the musical instruments in a noisy symphony, and becoming enveloped in a variety of children’s books. They smiled, they giggled, they banged their little fingers along the piano keys. Excitement and exhiliration truly eminated from every crevice of the little Kasichan Orphanage.

As the sun set over the tiny Kaspichan Orphanage and a team of tired missionaries shared smiles and hugs with several small, excited children, we celebrated the completion of the project and our time there with a clown performance, dancing with streamers, little gifts, and bubbles galore. Each little smile, each little giggle, and each little hug was a reminder of the greatness of our God and a reminder of what this life is truly all about. Ahhh, what a joy it is!!!

Still Smiling,

Chantel

CHANecdote #9: Walking in His Footsteps with a Smile and a Hug!

Dear Friends and Family,

God never ceases to amaze me . . . At His feet, I am humbled; At His feet, I surrender; At His feet, I am amazed by His mercy, by His grace, and by His never-ending love. I am left in a state of awe and wonder as the God who created me desires to use me, mold me, and guide me as I surrender to His will and to the plans that He has set before me, footstep by trusting footstep.

My team from America has arrived in Bulgaria, including my college friend Michelle, and so the journey continues . . . visiting Bulgarian orphanages and loving hundreds of precious children who call an institution home. We began yesterday in a baby orphanage and I was once again given the ability to translate Bulgarian for my team . . . something I know is never accomplished in my own abilities and something I must totally give to God. Through any insecurities or fright, God consistently proves that He can use us . . . despite any nerves, anxiety, or feelings of insecurity. Today, we visited the Dobrich Orphanage, a place that can easily nestle into your heart when you first visit it and never let go. I have visited Dobrich a few times in my past trips to Bulgaria and I was anxious to return and see some familiar faces . . . but, as our bus wound its way through narrow Dobrich streets and approached the home once again, nerves bubbled up inside of me and I wasn’t sure what to expect as I returned to that special place full of special children.

As we approached the Dobrich home–laden with toys, balls, bubbles, Frisbees, jump ropes, shoes, toiletries, socks/underwear, and so much more–I immediately spotted a familiar face standing on the pavement. “Nagay!” I called, spreading my arms out to embrace the smiling teenager who was rushing at me with a large smile plastered to her face. “Kika!” I shouted as I wrapped my arms around another child who has been in my heart all these years. Two little faces that have entered my thoughts and my prayers for so many years, now so grown up. Nagay clung to me, hugging me and holding my hand, leading me around the play area with her arms wrapped around me in happy remembrance. Within moments, kids began to cluster around us, in eager anticipation for a little “Christmas in July” celebration. I recognized more familiar faces, as I was bombarded with smiles, kisses, hugs, and rapid-fire Bulgarian from every direction. “Did you bring shoes?” The ones who remembered asked eagerly. “Did you bring gifts? What about pizza? Are we going to eat pizza?” They remembered those special moments of previous visits fondly, though we have been unable to return for a couple of years. So many memories of past visits to Dobrich came flooding back, as I greeted and embraced children who were small when I was last here and have now grown in leaps and bounds. My little friend Nagay kept fighting for my undivided attention as she clung to me, whining if my attention was diverted, and darling Kika thought it was funny to pop loud balloons in my face.

I quickly put on the shoes of a translator, as children and team members strove to communicate and interact. I was pulled in all directions and, though I am by no means perfect and nothing I could ever do is in my own ability, I once again attempted to give it all to God and allow Him to speak for me and through me in each new conversation and event. The toys came out and Dobrich Orphanage became a vast sea of balloons, jump ropes, Frisbees, balls, bubbles, conga lines, and even a wacky clown named Charity. Smiles lit up each little face as each child was able to step out of their situation for a moment to play, laugh, and be outrageously silly. Before long, the anticipation grew as the pizzas, sodas, shoes, and bag full of wonderful little gifts were delivered to each eagerly waiting child.

As we hugged each child and brought smiles to their young faces and laughter to their hearts today in Dobrich, we hope that these moments would last for another year until we could return again. My friend Michelle was instantly hooked the moment she set foot in Dobrich Orphanage, changed from the moment she entered this world and destined to never be the same again as she was totally in her element, as she was challenged and amazed beyond her expectations, and as she also came to realize exactly what this life is all about. It is always hard to leave Dobrich Orphanage, to re-enter our own lives and leave these precious children behind . . . the memories, the prayers, the pictures and thoughts, are what must sustain us for another year. Ahhh, Dobrich . . . a place that nestles deeply into your heart and never leaves.

 

Keep Praying!

Chantel

Here are Nagay and Kika when they were much younger from my previous visits to Dobrich.

CHANecdote #8: A Village Reunion!

Dear Friends and Family,

It amazes me how, even when we are weak–when we have doubt and fail to trust–God always reminds us that he is in control of everything. This week, I knew in my heart that I had to go find what remains of my Peace Corps Host Family. You see, the lack of work and the effects of poverty can be a constant struggle in Bulgaria and the family that I lived with during the training part of my Peace Corps Service, the Kostovi family, has gradually drifted to Italy, one-by-one, to find work. All that remains is my Baba (Bulgarian Grandmother) and my little Bulgaria Sister Iva, who is still in school here in Bulgaria. I lived with the Kostovis in the town of Panagyurishte, and you can probably recall my search for them when I first arrived in Bulgaria . . . only to find a locked house and no trace of the family. So, my plan? I had decided to forge a path to the little village of Boshulya, where I knew my Baba was living, in hopes of finding the remains of the Kostovi family.

As I set out from my hotel the morning of The Great Search, I felt like I was going to throw up. I had an idea of how to get to Boshulya thanks to my friend Diana, but I had never embarked on this journey by myself and I was overcome with pulsating nerves about how exactly it would all play out. I had prayed about this new phase of my Bulgarian adventure, but I was still completely forgetting to, “Trust in the Lord with all of my heart and lean not on my own understanding and in all my ways acknowledge HIM and that He would direct my path.” My trust was weak, but my God is strong.

That morning, I had decided to take a taxi to the station I needed to get to because of all of my bags and I ended up in the taxi of a really nice guy. When he realized that I spoke Bulgarian, he was excited and pleased and he immediately struck up a conversation with me. He asked where I was headed and I gave him the details . . . and then he offered to drive me all the way to Boshulya for a price that was definitely worth it–it was definitely worth it to not have the uncertainty of multiple trains and busses and then having to lug my stuff all around a village trying to find a Baba that I didn’t quite know the exact location of. To me, that was totally an answered prayer (that “Angel in Disguise”) in the face of doubt and uncertainty. “Trust in the Lord with all of your Heart and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your path.” Proverbs 3:5-6

When we arrived in Boshulya, the taxi driver knew exactly where to take me to inquire about the whereabouts of my Baba and we arrived at her little home in no time. When I burst through the gate into her little yard, she was busy tending to her amazing little garden. “Baba!” I called out. “My Baba!” A mixture of shock, surprise, and happiness washed over her face and she hurried towards me and wrapped me up in tons of hugs and kisses that only a Baba is capable of. Her Bulgarian was Rapid-Fire as she talked to me about the rest of the Kostovis, asked me about my life and my family, and rattled on in a bundle of joy and excitement in this quiet little yard in this quiet little village. We talked, shared news, reminisced . . . as the rooster crowed, the dogs barked, and flies flitted noisily around our heads. I learned that my little sister Iva is actually living in the town of Pazardjik, where she now studies, and that everyone actually already knew that I was in Bulgaria and looking for them because word had reached my host mother in Italy! Baba became somber and tears came to her eyes as she discussed the family’s departure to Italy and her worries as to, in a country in which people care for their elderly, who would care for her as she gets older. I could see the stress, loneliness, and worry in my Baba’s eyes in this visit and all I could do was hope to be some form of comfort to her during my few days there.

These days, Baba’s best friends are her poorly-dubbed Turkish soap operas. We spent a lot of time watching these together during my time in Boshulya, watching as so-and-so cheated on her turban-clad stud and as so-and-so told off her flashy jewelry-wearing friend. Baba laughed uproariously, she agreed and disagreed with the characters, she yelled at the T.V. and gasped and commented as if our new Turkish friends were right there with us. “Don’t do that! What did you tell him? Why are you going there? Don’t be so crazy!” she commented and admonished in Bulgarian. Laughs, gasps, and exclamations constantly escaped her lips as she entered the lives of a bunch of ramshackle Turkish soap opera characters.

During my time in Boshulya, I also had the “pleasure” of apparently sharing my room with a mouse. And it wasn’t Mickey! The first night, I was awakened by a little scratching noise . . . armed with my book light and my shoe, I set off to investigate. I could have sworn I saw a little tail disappear into my bag . . . but further investigation proved useless and the creature was nowhere to be found. I was up most of the night with wide eyes and trembling teeth, listening to the scratching of some unknown creature and listening to the sounds of a village: the crows of roosters unaware of the time, cows mooing and munching in the distance, flies buzzing madly as if they own the world, cats yowling and fighting, strange “night birds” calling out to one another, dogs barking as if to wake up the entire village. Another clue as to the presence of my “roommate” was a trail of mouse droppings all over my bed a couple nights later . . . apparently the sneaky little thing had decided to take a nap in my bed while I was gone! Needless to say, I didn’t get very much sleep during my time in the village of Boshulya!

The last few days, I was also able to go to Pazardjik to visit my host sister Iva. Iva was 7-years-old when I first arrived in Bulgaria and she was 9 when I left. I was then able to come to Bulgaria and visit her when she was 12 and 13. She is now 17-years-old and so much has happened in her life and her family in the last 5 years! When Iva was little and I lived with her family for 10-weeks and then when I visited them once I was on my own, we had so many fun adventures together. When I first met her, coincidentally in the village of Boshulya where she was visiting Baba at the time, she immediately took my hand and led me all around the yard and garden, pointing things out and giving me their names in Bulgarian. We had an instant bond from that moment on. After that, we spent many warm summer nights running around the cobblestone streets and playing “feather ball” with the other neighborhood kids, many afternoons watching the neighborhood go by and spitting fresh sunflower seeds off of the balcony of the house, and many cold winter days playing endless games of “UNO” and “Go Fish”, which I taught my host sister and brother how to play. We truly developed a connection and we became “sisters”, sharing secrets and ideas and occasionally pestering one another. I remember one day of training, when I was feeling ill and was in bed with a rumbling tummy, Iva became my nurse bringing me bread and cheese, making me drink gallons of juice, and slipping a million little notes of encouragement under the bedroom door. She was always a “little mother” to me, which meant that she could be quite a bossy little thing!

So, when Iva saw me this week, 10-years after we first met, she was visibly excited and she kept hugging the life out of me. We had a great reunion, my little Bulgarian sister and I . . . playing Uno once again, chatting like old times as if we’d never been apart, visiting an amazing park that they now having in Pazarjik,and meeting Iva’s boyfriend . . . YES, she now has a boyfriend. Iva is still so much the “same old Iva” and it was like we’ve never been apart, yet so much has happened in her life lately and she is going through so much of what typical teenagers go through, but without any proper guidance, nurturing, or mentoring. She has made some “not-so-good” choices in her life, I’m afraid. I am so glad that I found my Baba and Iva and that we were able to be reunited once again, but I also left there so worried about the welfare of both of them . . . please pray for my dear Bulgarian Baba and my little Bulgarian sister.

So, now I have once again returned to Sofia and I am at the apartment of my friend Tanya for a few nights. My team from America will arrive on Sunday and the rest of this journey will be spent rocking and comforting babies, playing with kids, having special pizza parties and handing out gifts and supplies, playing games and doing crafts, creating an educational/developmental center, and following my heart’s desire and our “Greatest Commission” at various orphanages all over Bulgaria. Please pray for the safe arrival of my team and for God’s guidance and direction as we work with Bulgaria’s orphans. It’s hard to believe that I have only 11 more days of this amazing journey!

Love,

Chantel

CHANecdote #7: The Road Less Traveled . . .

Dear Friends and Family,

As I tread upon the road less traveled, one little footstep at a time, I find that I am a collector. A collector of new sights, sounds, and smells; a collector of new adventures and experiences; a collector of sweet words in foreign tongues and new relationships to cultivate and embrace. As I tread upon the road less traveled, I attempt to capture every collected detail in my mind so as not to lose a single moment, a single experience . . . I attempt to capture every warm and welcoming home with tantalizing delicacies spread out on the table, every sweet-smelling flower and twisted tree with a story to tell, every beautiful smile and child’s giggle, every ounce of both happiness and sadness that encourages me, teaches me, and opens my wondering eyes.

As I walked upon the dirt road that led me to the tiny gypsy village of Banya, I was once again amazed at yet a new path that God had put before me with each faithful, trusting footstep. The gypsy (Roma) community in Bulgaria is very isolated and very discriminated against and it’s a community that struggles greatly and bears a very heavy burden . . . as I forged my way into their community with smiles and greetings, I knew instantly that this path was going to be a very special one. I trudged over rocks and potholes, bypassed chickens and stray dogs and children, as an entire community of wide, dark eyes stared at this new addition to their tiny, isolated village. “Dober Den,” I greeted them, lugging my American backpacks and luggage behind me. “Dober Den!” I marveled at this unique little village, tucked into the edge of the beautiful Pirin Mountains . . . tiny homes with clay tile roofs and smokey chimneys, a few little ramshackle shops selling only the necessities, old men racing past on horse carts loaded with hay and wood, wooden pens enclosing lush gardens and noisy livestock (cows and roosters would become my alarm clock!), grassy fields of horses and cows munching in the distance with the mountainous backdrop behind them, dark Roma faces milling in every crevice with wondering eyes and bright smiles. I knew the moment I set foot in this little village that I was in love.

I was immediately welcomed into the home of the local pastor and his wife, who make it their ministry to serve several gypsy churches and communities in the area. Upon my arrival, the table was spread out before me with hot Bulgarian sausages, sizzling french fries, cabbage salad, and all of the fresh bread I could eat . . . a meal in Bulgaria is not a meal without fresh-baked bread! We dined, we chatted, we prayed and shared about the goodness of God . . . once again I was reminded that God is HERE, even in Bulgaria. I was thrilled to discover that, that night, we would visit one of the churches in one of the nearby villages for an evening service. I have attended church services in gypsy villages in the past (though this was my first time actually staying in one), so I was well aware of what a special experience that is.

During my few days in the village of Banya, I was blessed to be able to attend two church services in different villages and a small home group at one of the little homes in Banya. The people welcomed me, they prayed over me, they invited me into their lives in just a few short days. People who have so little, yet are willing and eager to give so much . . . So often, my heart broke for these people as I witnessed their poverty and as I listened to their cries about the lack of jobs, opportunities, and money in Bulgaria . . . especially if you are a gypsy. I watched as one lady went into one of the shops and had to make use of every last cent she had and figure out how best to spend her leva, just to purchase a few tomatoes, a loaf of bread, and some sausages for her family. I watched as groups of women washed loads of laundry by hand in the town’s hot springs, children played a midst trash and debris in the dirty, littered streets and canals, mangy stray dogs and babas (grandmothers) wandered the roads endlessly with blank stares, groups of neighbors congregated in the middle of town to discuss the events of a day that was pretty much like the one before. Yet, these people are still able to sing such beautiful songs to God, they are able to trust wholeheartedly in a gracious Heavenly Father, they are able to lift up prayers to a God who loves them and knows all of their hurts, trials, and needs. I stand amazed.

I am reminded that, even on my worst days, I have no reason to complain. Bulgaria is a beautiful country filled with beautiful people, but life is hard for so many . . . especially if you are a gypsy. There are so many blessings in my life that I could never cease to be thankful for and, by a stroke of luck, I was born where I was into the situation that I was born into. We don’t have a choice regarding where we were born and what family we are born into . . . these people had no choice in that, but they can still firmly say that God is in control and that there is a better life just beyond the horizon. “Bog Znaiya,” they would whisper with a gentle smile . . . “God Knows.”

My last chilly night in the village of Banya, as I sat nestled in a little home for a small “home group”, I closed my eyes (salty tears tickling my eyelids) and just listened as a roomful of beautiful voices ascended to Heaven in praise, worship, and beautiful (sincere) prayers. A smiled played upon my lips, amazed at a God who has led me to so many places to worship Him in different tongues and in different ways. I feel blessed to have worshiped and prayed with beautiful Africans in vibrant and energetic town and village churches all over Africa, gangsters and people who have so little in the ghettos of Guatemala, struggling Bulgarians and gypsies in small village and gypsy churches in Bulgaria, and so much more. And, despite the languages and cultural differences and the amount (or lack) of possessions, God is always there and He hears and delights in it all. Bog Znaiya . . . God Knows. The road less traveled has led me to many a destination . . . picking up so many memories, adventures, and experiences along the way. And I know that God is always there with me as He encourages me, teaches me, and opens my wondering eyes . . . one little footstep at a time.

Onward Ho!

Chantel

CHANecdote #6: Teaching, Toes, and Dirty Clothes

Dear Friends and Family,

My second week in Bulgaria was definitely a busy one, hence the reason my blog has been silent for the last week. And so now this weary traveler sits curled up in the warm serenity of a feather bed in a Sofia hotel for a couple of days . . . resting, rejuvenating, and considering the next phase of this grand adventure. However, before I move on to whatever comes next on this journey, I wanted to make a few comments about some of the experiences last week brought for me.

Montessori Children’s House–Sofia, Bulgaria:

Yesterday and today were quite literally “days of rest” after a busy week helping my friend Diana at her wonderful little Montessori preschool. Diana is a hard worker and a great teacher and she started this little school . . . I was thrilled to get to experience it, give them a hand, and learn about new methods of education all the while. The children at the school were smart and adorable and I was amazed at their capacity to speak and understand English (the school is an English-speaking school, even though most of the children are Bulgarian) and some of them were a little wary of this new, strange American entering their little school. I knew I was in for it when, on my first day there, one little girl kindly informed me in English, “I don’t like you.” I spent the week pushing swings, engaging the children in great conversations, observing little minds at work as the children explored their learning environment, teaching the children new songs and stories, chasing after little ones until my head spun, making some of the youngest toddlers burst into terrified tears every time I so much as looked at them, and then crashing out dead to the world every night after very busy days. The children loved some of the new songs I taught them and they especially loved this “magical paper story” I am fond of telling in which I fold a piece of paper into many different objects as I tell the story . . . they begged for that story, many times in a row, all week and I think I must have told it at least 100 times! It was fun, although now the quiet seems strange . . .

 

PEDICURES–Bulgarian Style!!!

And then, after a busy week at the Montessori school, Diana treated me to my first Bulgarian pedicure. I sunk my feet into that foot bath like a pig ready to gorge on a trough full of fresh slop. Water sloshing, feet quivering with unadulterated excitement, toes doing a “happy dance” the moment they sunk to the bottom of the scintillating water. The vibrations from the foot bath coursed through my entire body and I knew I was in trouble when the latex gloves were strapped on and the heavy artillery came out to smooth and scrub my poor, mangled feet. My throbbing heals shouted with joy as the little twirly thing danced across them . . . you see, my heals have NOT been the same since March, when my dear friend Sarah “made me” walk up one side of Disneyland and down the other for 15 hours straight. As my feet danced for joy, the pedicure girl was bent in deep concentration over the altar that was my foot bath. It took years for her to pry the old polish off of my toe nails, which was apparently super glued on them. And, as the old polish finally eased its way off and my toe nails finally made an appearance, I was pleased to discover . . . . a fresh layer of good old Bulgarian Dirt embedded within the filthy nails. What can I say?! Many a cobblestone street have I tread! So, the pedicure girl dug in, her head still bent in deep concentration (focused on my glorious feet), scraping out and scraping off two weeks worth of Bulgarian dirt and callouses. I was shocked, horrified, and dismayed when she began cutting the toe nails (with a chain saw) and nails were flying everywhere . . . some even making a nice little home on the pedicure girl’s gray sweat pants. What can I say? I forgot to bring my toenail clippers to Bulgaria! However, my feet certainly left the Pedicure Place feeling fresh, happy, clean, and as smooth as a baby’s bottom!!!

 

Washing Off the Glorious GRIME!!!

So, the last couple of days have entailed resting, rejuvenating, and trying to figure out the next phase of this adventure. But, in the meantime, all of my clothes STUNK to high heaven . . . literally. So, I decided to spend a couple of days at a hotel that has a laundry service, only to discover that said “laundry service” is outrageously expensive! So, I decided to resort to “the good old days” and just wash everything by hand. It brought back memories of my days in the Peace Corps when I would wear clothes until they were basically brown and black shreds of limp fabric, the perfume that I wore was that ripe scent of a Peace Corps Volunteer (“Eau de Peace Corps”), and I would then spend an entire day washing, rinsing, wringing, and hanging piles of laundry. In the winter, my clothes would freeze on the clothes line (so frozen they would stand up straight on their own!) and come in stinking like a Bulgarian dumpster because Bulgarians would often throw hot coals from their fires into the dumpsters, setting everything inside ablaze and creating a lovely “Dumpster Smoke”. The hot water was also always very limited, so, when my parents came to visit me and decided to help out by doing my laundry, the three of us all managed to bathe and wash loads of laundry in the same tub of water. So, as I piled my stinking clothes into my hotel tub the other night and filled the sinks with my underwear, my mother kindly reminded me via “Chat” that I am not in the Peace Corps anymore and that I didn’t have to bathe in my laundry water . . . thanks for the reminder, Mom! I got on my hands and knees like “the good old days” scrubbing and pulling and twisting and wringing. The water instantly turned a nice shade of brownish-black and my fingers shriveled into little prunes. I decorated my nice hotel room with dripping shirts, pants, socks, and underwear . . . for a moment, I thought it was raining inside the room as I surrounded myself in drips and drops. I washed every shred of clothing that I brought to Bulgaria with me, so you can imagine (or try NOT to imagine!) what I’ve had to “wear” the last couple of days! My hotel room looks like it was either invaded by a nudist colony or a rock band . . .but, “Mission Accomplished” is all I can say. At least my clothes (and my underwear) smell a little bit better. And so the journey continues . . . . .

Footloose and Fancy Free,

Chantel

CHANecdote #5: Step by Step My Masterpiece Awaits!

Dear Friends and Family,

My week in Panagyurishte is coming to an end and I have just five weeks left in Bulgaria. Next week, I am going to visit my friend Diana in Sofia and become a Montessori Preschool Teacher for a week and I’m still praying about exactly what is going to happen in the weeks following that, until my orphanage relief team arrives on July 10th. So, this evening I decided to battle an endless amount of steps to reach this monument that stands in the center of town and overlooks the town of Panagyurishte like a beacon.

As I trudged up to the monument step by endless step, the warm Bulgarian sun enveloping every essence of my being as I suddenly wished I had my “sea bands” handy, I recalled the last time I had reached the top of that hill. It was the evening before I was to finish my Peace Corps Service and say goodbye to Bulgaria . . . I sat at the top of all of those steps, out of breath and introspective. I was ready to return to my comfort zone . . . ready to once again fall headfirst into the familiarity of shopping malls, department stores, English speakers, reality T.V., and hamburgers. Yet, as I looked out at the town I had grown to love displayed before me, I felt the sadness of leaving “home” all at the same time . . . leaving the memories, the adventures, the relationships I had built, and this “new familiar” that I had embraced for two years–not sure when, if ever, I would return. Yet, at that moment, I could not see the bigger picture that God had already painted for me, one little brush stroke at a time.

 

Today, I heaved and hoed to the top of those steps once again, reaching the monument and collapsing into a puddle of salty sweat, unadulterated heat, and wiggly limbs. I gazed once again at the little town of Panagyurishte nestled into the green valley before me, and I thanked God for leading me back here for the fourth time now to walk in the plans He has for me in Bulgaria. From this perch, I could see every clay roof, every rolling green hill, every sun-soaked avenue and magical crevice. I remember when I first arrived in Bulgaria (“my new home”) in 2001 and I knew without doubt that God was with me . . . even in Bulgaria. This week has been a week of reacquainting with the culture, refreshing the language, and pondering the greatness of God in everything that surrounds me. I have seen God in the colorful display of flowers and ripened fruits and vegetables, the rolling green hills and trees and the soft purple wild flowers as far as the eye can see, the comforting pounding of a refreshing Bulgarian rain, the sounding of the church bells resounding throughout the center, the clip-clop of a horses hooves racing along the cobblestone streets, sweet red cherry juice dribbling down my chin, the smiles on the faces of a beautiful nation. I thank God for that picture that He is continuing to paint, brush stroke by glorious brush stroke, as I remember that He comes before me, He walks with me, He guides each and every step. Step by endless step He’s with me . . . even in Bulgaria; Step by endless step He leads us, no matter where we go. Isn’t He amazing, this God who is painting our Masterpiece?!!?

Love,

Chantel