What happens when you take a girl obsessed with all things international (that’s me!), a boss (ahem, Alan) with a talent of shipping people off to all corners of the globe, and a co-worker (ahem Valerie) who previously worked in Hungary and was a proponent of its allure?

That would equal, a year in Hungary with a non-definable title. With this equation, I shouldn’t have been caught unawares.

But I was.

Hungary? But that would disrupt my plan to conquer the world and earn a six figure salary and solve hunger in Africa. Ok, so maybe that’s a little skewed, but going to Africa was in my future plan and Hungary seemed like a strange trip to the wayside. I mean, I love ghoulash (gulyasleves) as much as the next person, but, A YEAR?!

I entered Hungary with eagerness, tempered with a good bit of resignation, and the Lord caught me unaware again: for the enormous journey lessons and transformation of the heart He had planned for me. Besides the usual awkward moments making life into an unintentional comedy (cross-cultural declarations of love, getting kicked off a train because of a lost ticket, security room interviews, and language mistakes (Notice: Food goes on a PLATE  not a PLANT) I was astounded when my time FLEW by, marked by intense spiritual growth (watered by lengthy solitude), emotional healing, insane community hospitality, and a quiet relinquishment of selfish ideas. By the end of the year, I was dismayed that it was time to leave, and even more astonished by how deep relationships, the Hungarian language and people, and city life had rooted in my heart. So much so that returning wasn’t entirely out of the question …….

Sometimes the most beautiful things in life, the most Spirit designed and implemented, the most surprising and out of the blue, come from events that are unforeseen. And in our culture, we FIGHT against being caught unaware. We try so hard to build our lives around secure, fear-shattering infrastructures (fences. timed coffeemakers. Bank accounts. Insurance. Job security) that when that unexpected moment comes, we are so comfortable and/or timid we can’t take advantage of it. Surprises (even from God) are only welcome if they appear within our safe boundaries.

So are you ready? Are you ready for the opportunity that catches you by surprise? Are you ready for the small action that causes you to step off of the edge of the ‘comfort cliff,’ fully trusting that God will give you wings? Are you praying to be cloaked in the armor of God, muttering “Feel the fear . . . and go for it?”

Relish . . being caught unawares.

*Fairfax Community Church Newsletter

Goodbye Hungary…… I’ll see you soon:)

 

The Sheriff Nori taking in rowdy convict 24601

Szalagavato Bal….for beautiful Dori!:)

with Zsofi in the the best city in the world!!!

Eating and Drinking Cements Familial ties!!!! <3

Sisters!

Paripa Csarda: The beginning and Ending YUM

Lovely generous Sema

goofy guitar teacher

Gotta love the Socialist/Mexican Theme Parties

Friends that have my heart

The worship team on my birthday!!!

Viki

Jano and Tundi, my Hungarian 'teachers' and recipe book makers!!!

Simon Tunde

My Hungarian Family (Minus Attila!:)

Dear girl. I bet she is leaving some of the relationships dearest to her heart and is weeping, weeping for time.

Sitting in a dimly lit room, mugs of tea clutched in hand, I chatted with the President of the American Corner and a Czech woman living in Debrecen. The President I knew well, as I visited the American Corner Library weekly for new books and we shared a love of wine. The Czech woman was new, so as we chatted, the fact came out that both of us wrote poetry as a hobby. The wheels in Ms. President’s head started turning, as she was always looking for new workshops and lectures at the American Corner. “Hey girls,” she said with a sly look in her eye. “What about doing a poetry evening at the AC? I know a Hungarian write, you’re Czech, and you’re American, so we can have poetry represented from different countries! It’s also womens month, and you’re all women, so it’s perfect!”

“Sure,” we agreed with a smile, chattering a bit, but not taking her seriously. It wasn’t until she emailed both of us wanting to have a planning meeting that we both stalled, shocked that anyone would want to hear our poetry! Ms. President pressed us, and it morphed into an international women’s poetry event.

Before I went to Hungary I made a list of 5 things that I wanted to accomplish, and writing a poem a week was one of them. Therefore, I had a huge selection to draw from!

The format comprised of sharing a personal poem, along with a poem written by an established woman poet, and then it was opened up for discussion. A wall was hung with our names and poetry, with comment cards available for critique. The evening was well attended by about 20 people, who all participated and were very charming. The styles represented were phenomenal: The Hungarian girl was very spontaneous, quirky, and had accompanying art with her poems, the Czech girl rode the waves of her emotions (mainly love) with composed music accompanying her reading, while my style is slightly lyrical, narrative, with an emotional tinge. It was a liberating event to read poetry to a live crowd!!!!!

Flora, Veronika, and I in front of our poetry panels!

Here are some examples of the best poems of this year: (and I DO appreciate constructive feedback)

“Mosaic”

Do you see in an array

Plaids and mosaics

In concrete and wire?

Rose tinted lenses smother

Or set fire

The mind

Give me colored collages

In the ordinary.

Through the Seasons

Winter’s icy glare melts into spring’s shy embrace

Summer’s playful gaiety soon into autumn fades

Colors transform and alter as minutes pass away

Paths diverge and collide in messy disarray

Yet through the never-ending seasons of change and time

In my poem of life, you are the perpetual rhyme

The expanse of distance is unable to confine

Spirit-filled Love that we share, sealed in prayer, love that binds

Family, neighbor, or penpal, locations are inane

During drought, harvest, thunderclouds, flowers and rain

The world revolves around the fact that will never change

Tied to my heart you will explicably remain

Through the Seasons

“Borders”

A historical moment illuminated

Gestures

Darkening the face as to only see the

Hands and

Triumphant voice

Exhailarating

            He said

Exhilarating

Standing among thousands

Celebrating as One

The freedom of borders

(the freedom I take for granted)

E crossed simply to cross

Waving

At a new world.

Exhilarating

            He said

As the bus chugged across the border

Unnamed Rambling/NightWalk

The new day approached by minutes

Shrouded by a haze of darkness and alcohol

My Footsteps, silent on the sidewalks

The clack of heels from a clubber behind me

            Faceless, but cookie-cutter

The buzz of a bicycle

Train whistle

Intoxicating smell lingers, longing to meld with my taste

Of blackberries. Black curls.

Darkness enlivens the urge to shun morals

Boxes and traps of safety and caution

Embrace literally and figuratively my carnal nature

Soft touch and words

Then nothing—no strings—forget

But the rabbit hop thought following

Amber shadows

Illuminate the face of the One

Yours truly, that I try to forget

Every day

Brushing aside thoughts like flies

Tiresome

Yet still they flutter

What’s worse: relief without love or love without relief?

I walk on. The street tilts wildly,

Esteem pendulum is frozen

Miklos Utca

Miklos Utca I walk:

            In soul numbing fear

                        Of my inadequacy and drunkards

            With silent tears

                        Flaming rivulets of pain and joy

            Whistles, catcalls, and jeers

                        Arrogant Hungarian men

            Dreaming careers

                        In a fuzzy future

            Down my block long mirror

                        The only full-length image

            A listening ear

                        To cars, bells, murmurings

            The healing year

Miklos Utca

Pour me Another Glass

Pour me another glass

Add a wink

I’m drinking your gaze like a parched desert wanderer

Your voice my anchor I cling

Against the torrent of uncertainty

Another Day

Took a stroll in the dusk

Searching for your face

Between flowers and cigarettes

Down alleyways

Yellow light blinked caution

Thunder bikes raced

Fountains gurgled summer

Your piercing gaze . . . .

            Slowly erased

            Maybe another day.

“The Snore”

In the bright yellow room

With chocolate candles burning

My reverie is cracked

By horrifying snoring

Man or woman who can tell

A freight train has no gender

Where’s a crimson sticker

That says “Return to Sender?”

Team Hungary!

Sounion, Temple to Poseidon

Frozen Memory

My dream came true: Vienna, home of Mozart and the Lippizanner Stallions. That was enough of a reason to visit! A dear girl I met at the summer university invited me to stay at her flat in Vienna, promising to take me around to the hidden gems after her work schedule. During the day, I meandered solo about the city on foot and Metro, while in the evening encountered the ‘real’ Vienna. Besides playing on the grand pianos at the Steinway store, touring Mozart’s flat (where he wrote the Marriage of Figaro), shopping on the walking streets, beautiful parks, and eating schnitzel, Fani took me to wine tastings and restaurants and we attempted to get into the opera. In the evenings we rode the tram back to her flat, which was my dream flat come to life: slanted ceilings in an attic sort of way, art hanging on the walls, a bright kitchen with writing on the table, and skylights. The location just made me want to be a poor writer!!!!!

I had a life moment in Vienna: I got discounted tickets to see the morning exercises of the world famous Lippizaner stallions, the most elegant of horses. While sitting in the huge arena, watching the elegant horses ‘dance,’ beautiful architecture stroking my senses, classical music playing over the loudspeakers, and surrounding French art students making beautiful sketches, I became overwhelmed with the sheer beauty of it………and it became imprinted on my memory of forever. Etched in the folds of my brain.

This young woman’s clearly defined opinions opened great discussion. She concluded that, generally speaking, many people liked Americans because of their open, friendly, positive nature. As far as Hungarians, they were guarded, stubborn, and closed. She continued, with belief and clarity, that although Hungarians were harder to get to know, once you got past the icy exterior and showed you genuinely wanted to get to know them, they opened up in a true way. This opened the door for extraordinary friendship. Conversely, even though Americans are friendly and open (externally), they are perceived as fake and their intentions and motives unclear. Are you being ‘fake nice’ because you’re an American or because you genuinely want to get to know me? How can a friendship be open when you are never being fully transparent, though you have the façade of being transparent? She claimed that initial guardedness, melted by time, opened the door for true friendship, while Americans always fluttered around true, real topics, never REALLy opening up. She finished her grand speech by saying that Americans were actually the MORE guarded of the nationalities.

Wow! I was floored by this insight, meanwhile being thrilled that I had a new angle to analyze. Being back in the US I can verify the truth of the statement—the relationships in Hungary that were initially hard to develop and nurture have bloomed into beautiful friendships that are defined by transparency. Transparency, with no façade.

Last Staff Meeting: Lainey walks in room. Steiner Jozsi says mischievously in Hungarian, You speak Hungarian, right? The meeting proceeds. I get the big picture and listen contentedly to what’s around me. The end? Jubilation that I learned SOMETHING this year!!!!!!

I first hit up all of the formal dress shops in Debrecen, little shops or ‘bolts’ tucked away on the square, full of old ladies that need no translation. I would go into a shop, recite my memorized bit about finding a ‘szep ruhat’ or ‘beautiful dress’ for a wedding, and let the ladies do their work. Funny enough, most of the shops had a lovely selection of dresses, but none in the color brown. Time and time again the ladies asked disgustedly, “What kind of wedding color is brown?!” They draped me in countless types and colors of cloth, each more horrifying than the last. The final straw was in a dark store down an alley of Budapest as the very forceful woman tried to zip me up into a SKIN TIGHT red cocktail dress. As I stood there half naked and she proclaimed me a god, I decided to investigate stores of a less obtrusive nature.

In Debrecen I found a very fancy dress of dark brown material and for a great price of $50. I bought it, even though it would require alterations. As time passed and I gazed at the dress in my closet, all the while hearing more wedding plans and getting the ‘vibe’ of the ceremony, my love decreased to like, and then to outright disenchantment. Add to the fact that I found a simple, casual burlap-colored dress at the local TESCO, I decided to return it. At this point, several of the bolt owners recognized me on the street and were forever promising me great deals at random times while I walked.

The dress hunt needed to be finished.

With two days left in the country, armed with my super friend and translator Viki, we headed into the small store manned by the lady with red hair. Of course, nearly half the women in Hungary possess heads of hair that could be used as SOS beacons, yet this one was an even more interesting burnt red. Viki explained that I wanted to return the dress as I murmured the appropriate “Igen’ and “sajnos” (Yes, unfortunately). The woman, face of stone, shook her head and said she wouldn’t give me the money back, I could simply choose another dress. We explained that I already had a dress, but she insisted. I dishearteningly pawed through the selections on the rack, with none in the color brown, and really nothing attractive at all. As I tried on one possibility, the shopkeeper woman of red and Viki had a conversation, but I didn’t listen. In the end, frustrated, I through up my hands and said I’d just keep the dress I had.

As we exited, Viki muttered, “Did you hear what she said to me? She asked why I dared to bring a drink into her shop, hurry up and drink it, and why did I have such dirty hands? How dare I come into HER shop with dirty hands?”

I looked at her in astonishment. Viki, impeccably dressed, being called dirty?

This was the end of the Debrecen dress hunt for me.

Where is said dress now? Sold, in a consignment shop in central Illinois. I wonder who the lucky buyer is, and if they wonder of their ‘szep ruha’s’ journey to Sherman, IL!!!!!

One of my dearest friends in Hungary was a high school girl by the name of Kitti. Besides her edgy nature and guitar-talent, she was (and is) phenomenally witty and sarcastic (a dangerous combination, in the fact that it was another language AND she spoke with no accent).

This, then, is the beginning of two encounters (that represent many) of her impersonating American and/or English youth in numerous settings.

The first encounter was in “Fejeshangszer,”a well known music shop owned by the drummer of the most famous Hungarian band, Tankcsapda. She pretended to be an American youth looking for some picks. Not only did they believe her, but they gave her a HUGE discount on her picks.

The flip side? Although I practiced for an hour beforehand in Hungarian, how to say “Could I please have a ____ MM pick,” and had a smooth interaction w/o any trouble….. I paid full price!

Round II. Kitti went into a tobacco shop for cigarettes, and decided on a whim to impersonate an English Youth. She told them in fragmented Hungarian she didn’t speak Hungarian, to which the owner promptly said he would escort her to the nearest tobacco shop for a good deal. The man was quite friendly and inquisitive, asking her questions in broken English to which she responded to improvisationally. As they walked, he asked, “So, are you a student?”

“Yeah, I’m a student at the university,” she replied. “Oh, so is my daughter!” he replied enthusiastically. “What are you studying?” She paused a moment, thinking of an obscure subject. “Anthropology.” “ANTHROPOLOGY!” he exclaimed. “That’s what my daughter is studying, do you know her?” Kitti paused in consternation. “Well, I am new here, so probably not.” She made up town names and child history on the spot, taken aback but pleased by his interest and help for a foreigner.

As she related the story to me, grinning, I had moments and flashes of my own experience. Yes, foreigners can be the subject of taunts and jokes, but also at the mercy of an almost obsessive hospitality. Hungarians are a proud nationality (whether they admit it or not) and will pass any and all knowledge on, if you are open to receiving it.

Sema, myself, (Gerda), Attila, (Rita), and pat of Jozsi on my birthday!

Upon my arrival, Gal Jozsi and his girlfriend Mariann, affectionately known as Sema, took me to a ‘csarda,’ or kind of Hungarian artist-folk restaurant. Of course, besides how overwhelmed I was with the menu, speaking, and general structure (Do I ask the Hungarian waiter in English, or let someone else order, or just stare blankly ahead, etc.) I remember not quite knowing what to think of Sema. Besides asking her if her drink was ‘traditional Hungarian beer,” (to which she responded, “No, this is traditional American Coke!”) I wasn’t sure if our personalities would mesh. Similarly, the two guys who live at Bridge with me, Gal Jozsi and Attila (brothers), took a long time to ‘figure’ out. While Gal Jozsi is a prominent leader in the church, office administrator and technological guy with a goofy sense of humor and limited English ability, Attila is a swarthy, athletic, sarcastic sort of fellow who doesn’t speak any English.

Yet as the months passed and these three people are really, the people I see the most, a kind of familial love is grown. Though Attila and I don’t have spiritual and psychologically in depth conversations, preparing food together and sharing the washing machine promotes daily familiarity. Gal Jozsi and I have tendencies to break out into song (both in the office and out) and giggle (yes giggle) insanely at our Hunglish. Both of the boys have a habit of ‘swiping’ my bread (but always replacing it the next day), while I tend to leave my dishes out in the coffeeshop. Sema, being a female, is more prone to detail and small gifts. Even when I was still uncertain of our friendship, we ate a meal of this pickled kind of fish one evening. I remarked how much I liked it, and walla, 2 days later there was a jar with a kind note in the refrigerator.  Slowly, through time spent in a numerous activities, personality details have been revealed and jokes shared. 

Just a bit ago, Gal Jozsi and Sema returned from a trip taken over this last holiday weekend. The four of us accumulated in the coffeeshop, talking of the weekend, falling upon stories like sustenance, and made coffee. Attila raided his brothers bag for fresh home goodies, Sema and I shared funny stories while I washed the dishes in my work out clothes, and Gal Jozsi started loading pictures on his computer. As I washed the dishes, it hit me: they have become family. No lingering feelings of uncertainty and whatnot: time have shown that NO MATTER WHAT, strangers bud into family.