The snow, the coat, and Red Square

Well, it’s been quite a week. As we wrap up week two of our Russian adventure, I am struck by the fact that it seems like we’ve been here much longer than two weeks. And then on some days, it seems like we just got here.

First, the snow. It snowed on Sunday and Monday, and probably accumulated four inches or so. Not a big snow by Russian standards, but a blizzard by Hooks family standards. Literally, John-John and Hannah would just stand on chairs at the kitchen window, staring at it coming down. The first snow brought a couple of things to light: first, Marc is a huge kid. He was almost as excited about the snow as the two little kids. Second, there is a whole list of things we must buy before the next snow that we didn’t even have a clue we would have to buy. For instance, the children need snow clothes. Who knew? Not us. Luckily, my friend Karla drove me to Ashan, the Russian version of Walmart, and I was able to find some for John for around thirty dollars. He looks adorable. I also have to get water-proof gloves for each person. We have the cloth kind, and they just don’t hold up to the snow. Lots of stuff to learn for this transplanted Floridian.

Next, the coat. I bought a coat the Sunday before we left for Russia on Wednesday. It’s a really warm coat, and I really like it, so you can imagine my disappointment when I moved here and found that it set off the alarms at every single store I entered. I imagined it was the metal buttons and that I would have to buy a new coat. After all, I didn’t imagine myself making my first contacts with Russians as they frisked me to figure out what I was stealing. So on Wednesday, my coat and I (and the rest of the family) traipsed to Red Square to see what we could see. It was warm, but warm here is maybe 40 degrees, so you still need a coat. Sure enough, as we walked into a very fancy department store right off Red Square, the alarms started to sound, and the guards started to file toward me. In my broken Russian, I told them it was my coat. In their perfect Russian, they told me not to move. Hence, I did not move. They brought the wand, they waived it over me, and to my surprise, it was not my buttons that set off the alarm, but my pocked. As I reached for my pocket (a bad move, by the way, as one is being detained by people with guns), they said “Nyet!” very loudly. Then the guard in charge began to laugh. More of a chuckle, really, but still a sound of merriment—not something one associates with the Russian population as a whole. He points inside my coat—to the security tag, which I should have cut off immediately when I got the coat home from the store. No kidding…he went and got a pair of scissors and cut it off for me. I turned red, thanked him profusely (spaceba bolshoi), and left pretty soon afterward. I’m pretty sure I could hear “silly American” ringing in my ears as I left. No one said I was going to do this with my dignity in tact.

Finally, Red Square. Oh, my goodness! It’s absolutely, profoundly beautiful. Honestly, I was a little taken aback by it. The Kremlin is, well, the Kremlin. And St. Basil’s is so Russian and beautiful, and the whole place just resonates with history. It was the perfect thing for us to do—a little reminder of why we love this place and these people God has called us to love. It is a place of great dichotomy—people begging in front of the most beautiful churches I’ve ever seen. Massive churches that are museums but not places of worship. People who’ve placed their hope in an economic system, when the real Hope of the World is here, just waiting for them to accept Him. Pray for this place. Whatever you have thought of Russia all your life, pray for it now. And think of this—I am a girl from a small town who spent Wednesday standing in Red Square. Who would have thought that even possible in our lifetime? Our God is so big! Who knows what He’s up to here? I’m going to be honest—I don’t know what He’s up to here, but I’m glad to be a part of it, no matter how small. Blessings to you and yours!
His,
Kellye