Spring has pushed through the chills of winter and unfurled it's hand on the Serbian landscape. The trees hang heavy with the pale blossom buds and the brown earth is hidden by a blanket of green and wild flowers. The first daisies have opened wide and reminded me of friendships past and friendships to come. I sit on the bus to and from various encounters and can start to comprehend the mutterings around me. There is a recognition too in the things that I do, the friends who are starting to see beyond the novelty of the English girl and decipher the quirks of Kate, the doors I walk through and this cities life timetable. I grab God by both hands and laugh as my fingers slip, wonder at how he keeps coming back into the conversation, peppers my existence so I can't talk without knowing he's there listening to what I say. I lay at night and pray, sometimes in stone like dryness and other days with tears running silent as I hold those dear yet no longer near up to his mercy. I live a life of in-between, where I so want to emerge myself into this place yet don't want to lose the grip on the life I shall return to. However much I try I know I'm falling in love with Serbia, I wonder now where this relationship will lead?
If you wander through the centre of Novi Sad, you would come across the square known as 'newly wed's'. In it's centre stands an arch, a piece of artwork or historical monument, I know not which, but I do know that smiling brides and glowing grooms stand beneath it wishing on it's superstition for a long and happy union. Sitting there I though of how you would look on Saturday, as you floated up the isle draped in white and lace, how the people would watch you shedding your name and with it the ways of the child who clung to her mothers side. They would see a girl whose creativity and shyness led her through a world that would show her pain and separation, faulty relationships and distrust, broken promises and cocoons that had no butterfly to emerge. It taught her truth and how it is manipulated and how grace could wash all the twists away. She found beneath stones and in the cracks, pure love and the lightness of hope and willing surrender. She came to discover the God who would allow her to stand with her feet on the ground and arms out-flung in adoration and abandonment. Revealed on that dusty isle will be a girl who was now a woman, walking into the role of wife and eventually mother. A beautiful soul whose pathway crossed ours and by whose mere acquaintance we have all been blessed. I fear I will not be in that congregation, I will not be one able to cry in the first cheer at such a union of souls, or marvel as you twist in the dress you dreamt of as a child. My thoughts and prayers will be with you, my tears as real even if unseen, and my pride of being even the smallest part of such a journey, my pride in who you are, will be unfaltering. Which eyes do you look at the world in. which eyes glitter and sparkle, their tears dancing upon the joy they convey. i saw the laughter of the child, every sentence was brought about by running across the room and begging for translation, and then the words poured out, faulty and stumbling, unsure yet proud to be able to communicate with this new stranger. sometimes i even caught the pronunciation that was so desperately displayed. young people come into the room and kiss you on the cheek, leaving sticky prints of rose gloss and an unarming feeling of being loved. there is a girl in the photo project that sends text messages just to convey her excitement of being part of such a group. there i fumble to find the words, to simplify the questions and pick up the Serbian criptic codes, all the while they open wide themselves and rush to welcome me in. Serbia may have a somewhat dubious reputation with some parts of the world but these are peaceful people. People of the flatlands, whose territory is invaded and sold, traded like a monopoly property, emigrated and immigrated till it's a kaleidoscope of history and heritage. it's a country of the left behind, those who could left them to survive and grow and dance without the music. So they created their own tune, a melody that conveys it's simplicity and dances in their eyes, pushing back the tears and bringing forth their laughter. This week is beautiful. The sun has come out and my homesickness has abated for the time. I spent the weekend with the group from MNRO leaving the city behind to discover ground that sloped and open fires where stew is brewed from a pot like a cauldron. I took lots of video and yet the days that followed became a blur of activity and contacts, leaving the video sitting on the card and new adventures unfurling their banners about me. Sunday saw me discovering the world of the volunteer, passing myself from one individual to a group and then another and my two hour session from home lasted a more than eight as food and drink and conversation flowed. Monday’s lessons, from me and for me, where Serbian and English intertwined and danced in a way that started to make sense, left me exhausted but full of purpose and drive. Yesterday I started to explore possibilities of accommodation, I met a couple with a three month old babe and in my arms the simplicity and universalism of life came back to eradicate the barriers of language and culture. Later that evening as I sat once again in a new establishment and found the great bargain of a three course meal for about £4, and walked the streets continuing to realise how small the city is, as we met person after person. Today the unstoppablity continues, a meeting with an organisation that works with Roma children, another with them tomorrow, a group this evening and a full timetable for the rest of the week. We have a new plan to work with children teaching English on Thursdays, and another children activity in the un-cryptically named ‘American corner’ on Fridays. It’s the madness of busy but in a good way. In a way I can bow out of if needed and I feel that in doing I am learning, I am not sitting at home and watching BBC! Last night i sat in a friends room and helped make a leaflet for MNOR. MNRO, whose acronim name i can't recall, but i know as teh center for the disabled. it is a wonderful place, full of laughter and the beauty of the individual. i pinched this photo, which may be replaced as i'm not sure about the legality of me using it. I'm finding that this city is a place where any skills i have, be them creative or computer based i can offer for use. but my passions, my love of the young and my joy to tell stories and hear them told is something i'm missing sorely. there are plans afoot to find some children for me to work with, but i am having to reconcile myslef to the idea that there will be some passions that i will have to let go of, to surrender to the bigger picture and bow to the restraints of language and curcumstance. It started badly. Sunday was terrible. I spent the day just wanting to cry. However spiritual the service was i simply longed to say the liturgy together, to sing to Bex on the drums, Heidi's lead and Giles messing about on-top! the sun beat down on the city, the streets saw families wandering through the mild weather, eating popcorn from street sellers and ice-cream cones. the bridge heaved with people making their way to and from Petrovoradin, and on the fortress itself you could see the crowds enjoying the view even from quite a distance. I wandered into this world hoping the community feel bight break my sadness, and while it did not go it was subdued for the time. so the working week dawned afresh and i saw my sadness lift more as i was infected with the glee of a party with the disabled, the challenge of covering teaching a photo-shop lesson with a translator and more than half the computers not responding, and the tongue-twisting Serbian pronunciation. Yesterday afternoon i went for an early meal with a friend, as we ate and talked and talked more i started to realise that the fire of adventure that has pushed me through the first two weeks was not fully quenched, that a spark still burned beneath the ash. The enormity of the task i had set myself suddenly became clear, the reason for my parentals constantly saying they were proud and the blinkers i had placed out of ignorance and nessesity. Suddenly the blinkers fell off, revealing they were not the card or plastic things i had imagined but a pair of hands, and as if the enormity of the landscape was too much to take it, they came back, revealing less but more than i had seen before. it left me wondering if adventure was really spirit, how the hands belonged to one that saw the whole picture, how much i had been cradled and how many hallelujahs i had neglected to sing. I've just finished my second Serbian lesson. The lovely teacher came to me and I pay her. Money has been so strange. I've tried to picture it. Today, one dinar is worth 0.943 pence. So basically i'm working that one dinar is one penny, that way I have a rough idea and know I don't go above budget. It's so strange though. I pay my teacher less than minimum wage for a sixteen year old in the uk, but it is the same price of official lessons. I talked to someone who's Saturday job was less than a pound an hour, not that she seemed upset with it. Money is a big issue in Serbia. The bus costs a fixed price of 40 dinar. A meal out is about a (uk) fiver! Beer is about a pound a glass. Yet the brand name shops here just translate the ticket price from the pound and euro into dinar, it seems so unfair. The money itself is also very confusing. Sometimes you get a note, sometimes a coin. There is no 50p equivalent, and the largest note seems to be a tenner, which you have to be careful when you use as it's a big note people don't like it all that much. And when you think you have it you realise that the coin doesn't have to always be the same colour as some of the tender is old! My mind has to work in three curacies; pound, euro and dinar as my bills come in in all of them. If I was being very tight with my budget then it would give annual tax forms a run for it's complexity! Anyway enjoy the pictures, I shouldn't remove money from the country so this is the best you'll see! This morning for the first time I heard a birds song, I felt the sun warm through my layers of clothing and walked the streets with no need for gloves or scarf. My flat is boiling, the heat hitting you as you return from your venturing out, and so it's not always easy to gauge the temperature outside these old thick walls. Like every morning I wrapped myself in layers, hat and scarf, gloves to be put on once I stepped into the wind or snow. But alas the snow has departed, the breeze was pleasant and the sun warm on my back as I made my way to church, it was so lovely I completely forgot the time and ended up quite rushed as the bells of the city rang out ten 0'clock. Church has always been a refuge for me, and yet this morning I recognised the frustration of the first reformers, the isolation from the service, which is mostly spoken, and all spoken in Serbian. The small Methodist congregation gathered in their winter building, around 15 of us, and sang Serbian words to tunes I couldn't quite make out, with no instrumental lead. A few notices, a bible reading, some prayers, three or four songs and a long sermon in which I found myself wandering. I tried so hard to follow using the words I knew, Jesus is still Jesu and Peter still Peter. But sitting for an hour long service when is mostly sermon it beyond my level of concentration on a Sunday morning. How spoilt we are to have the video and music, the freedom and creativity that is so often expressed in our acts of worship. The congregation are lovely, they welcomed me with open arms and such grace. Walking back out onto the street to return home by bus the tune of one of the songs hit me, 'as the deer pants for the water', the song danced it's way through my head, leaving me with images of Ashridge in the spring. Suddenly the bird song became more than just pleasant noise, the sun's warmth causing more than a pleasant morning. As the words flowed into memory I realised afresh that we are the church, united not by colour or language but by creed, by belief. By that belief that the body is many parts, that if the foot talked to the hand then they may not even use the same language. That there is power in standing together strong even when we fail to understand each other. We are one body, one church, united by one faith, one Lord, one redeemer, and he stands beyond and above any divides the word places upon us. So what if I say the lords prayer in a different language, the point is that we are all expressing together the words we have had passed down from the lips of God. |
The other siteWho is GfeefGfeef is the name that my writings have been under for some years. As far as I know it's unique to me. Originally from the UK, I now live in Serbia but continue to have a passion for childrens and youth ministry. Archives
October 2014
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