abbey abroad :)

"Abbey, please pray for us. We have enough food left for one more day, and after that, I don't know what we'll do."

My stomach growls as if on cue, a painful reminder of the vast difference in our circumstances--as I'm ending a voluntary fast, she's afraid her family won't have food to eat.

I'm on the phone with my dear friend Ate (Ah-tay) as I wait for my taxi. As I end the conversation and get in the car, I can't help but calculate how much food they could buy with my cab fare.

Ate turns 32 today. She and her family are one of very few believing Roma families.

Ate making cookies for a community outreach

Ate is my Roma sister... although it's probably more appropriate to call her my Roma mother. She's always telling me I need to dress more warmly and eat more. During the holidays, she made sure I came to her house for each one (Macedonian and American) because she was afraid I'd be lonely.

Ate, Nedzo, Denis, and Marvin

Ate is a character. She is always honest, and she expects everyone around her to be honest, too. She's smart. She reads well and understands quit a lot of English. She is the wife of Nedzo (Nay-joe) and mother of five kids--Melek, Monika, Denis, Amela, and Marvin. Her oldest is 13.

Precious Melek and Monika

Ate has had a rough few years. Within the past two years, her infant son died, her house burned down, and she had breast cancer (which she was miraculously healed from, praise Him). Through all this, she has clung to the Lord. She is passionate about learning more about Him. Two weekly Bible studies are held at her house.

Bible study. That's Amela in the middle.

Ate needs prayer. She is having several serious health issues right now. On top of that, her husband, Nedzo, is unable to find work. He works in construction, and construction jobs are extremely difficult to find in the winter.

Brothers--Denis and Marvin

Since that phone call, the Father has graciously provided for them day by day. As He taught the Israelites while they were wandering in the wilderness, He is teaching them to trust in Him daily for provision.

And I'm humbled by their faith.

"God will provide," they say. Every time I talk to them.

Ate and her family are so precious to me. They are my Roma family. No one here has made me feel as loved as they have. Please, please pray.

Pray:

• for daily food for the entire seven-member family.
• for work for Nedzo.
• for healing for Ate.
• for increased faith for all of them--and for me.
• that I will know how to minister to them.

You know how sometimes, you get so behind on something that you just keep not doing it? And you think that maybe, just maybe, it will just... go away? Or someone else will take care of it for you?

No? Just me?

Oh.

Well, I do that.  And I'm afraid I did that with this blog. But I promise to do better! Because, really, I enjoy sharing my life here with you. The blog just gets sort of pushed aside because... this is my life now. I don't feel like there are as many interesting cultural things or funny language stories to share. (Although there was that one time last week when I called that man "Snowman" by mistake, but that's a story for another day.) But if you're kind enough to still read my blog :) then the least I can do is update it! So... thanks for reading. Weeks-long hiatus now over.

I lost my camera. That has also contributed to the lack of sufficient blogging.

So... since my last blog... Hmm, lots has happened. Christmas, second Christmas, New Year's, second New Year's, the day where they jump in a freezing river after a cross... Oh! I went skiing. For the first time. And that is what I will dedicate this blog to. I like to start in the middle of the story, then go back and fill in the blanks. And the middle of this story goes something like...

--------------------------------

"Jesus help me, Jesus help me, Jesus help me..... I'M GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!!!"

I'm pretty sure that's the most terrified I've ever been in my whole life.

Calm down, Abbey, I attempt to rationalize with myself. The slope can't go on forever. 


And then I take my eyes off my perfectly parallel skis and look up.

It goes on FOREVER. I AM GOING TO DIE.




So how do I find myself in this predicament? I really have myself to blame. I've always wanted to ski, and I figured there wasn't a better time to try than now, when I live in a beautiful, mountainous winter wonderland that also happens to be very inexpensive. So the other four Macedonian jgirls and I went to Mavrovo to try. Brian, who is basically a professional snowboarder, helped us get our equipment and go up the lift. "Okay. This is how you snowplow. Do that, and you won't die. Have fun!"

We blink twice, and Brian is already at the top of the slope and snowboarding past us in a blur as we stand there, trying to keep from sliding slowly down the uneven ground. In skis, even standing still is hard.

We watch everyone else on skis. They're all waiting in line to put some black thing behind their legs that pulls them to the top of the slope, like water-skiing but in the snow. (That's hard to explain. Here's the best picture I could find.) We follow suit. Carissa and I decide to get on one together, but the man in charge of the water/snow-skiing machine separates us. I ride up with a stranger. I'm blissfully unaware of the terror awaiting me, distracted by the ski-masked man next to me. I can't decide if it's appropriate to talk as we ride up, but I go ahead.

"So... where ya from?" I ask the ski-masked stranger. And we have a pleasant little conversation as we slowly ascend the slope to my impending demise.

We pass Celeste and Ginna in a heap. I interrupt my ski-masked friend to frantically yell at them, "Are we supposed to get off here??"

"We fell off!" They yell back.

I turn around. Carissa isn't right behind me, as I thought. Amy is nowhere to be seen.

I'm alone.

"Where am I supposed to get off?" I ask my ski-masked friend.

"Wherever you want. Doesn't matter."

Oh.

You mean I didn't have to come up to the top of this really steep so-called bunny slope?

I know I need to get off as soon as possible. So I go for it.

And promptly fall.

"Help... help." I mostly laugh as I pathetically look to my ski-masked friend. He kindly helps me up, then skis away.

I'm standing at the top of a really steep slope with two long, narrow sticks for feet. How do I get myself in these situations?

I grab onto a giant foam post and ponder this predicament. There's only one way down, and it's on these skis. It's now or never.

So... I go for it.

Can I just say that skiing is much harder than it looks? I had no idea I'd go that fast. And that snow-plow thing? It takes practice.

My skis are perfectly parallel, and I can't get them to turn in. My legs are stick-straight. That's probably bad form, I think, and then I remember that I have more important things to worry about. Like my quickly-approaching death.

So then I yell. I whiz past the pink and white heap that I'm pretty sure is Ginna and Celeste. I envy them. Why, oh why, didn't I fall off sooner?

I pick up more and more speed.


"Jesus help me, Jesus help me, Jesus help me..... I'M GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!!!"

Calm down, Abbey, I attempt to rationalize with myself. The slope can't go on forever. I know that, eventually, I'll hit flat land and slow down so much that I'll come to a stop. And then I take my eyes off my perfectly parallel skis and look up. I see that what I thought was the bottom of the slope is really just a short level area that then turns into another, steeper slope.

It goes on FOREVER. I AM GOING TO DIE.


I look at my skis, still refusing to snowplow, then back to the slope. And I know there's only one option.

Crash landing.

Before I can talk myself out of it (and, more importantly, before I hit the second slope), I flip back as hard as I can and land in a heap at the bottom of the slope.

"Are you okay?" my friends yell after me. I do a quick assessment. One elbow hurts a little, but other than that, I'm fine. It could have been much worse, I decide.

"I'm fine." No one seems to believe me when I say the crash landing was intentional.

A man skis toward me and gracefully comes to a stop. "Would you like an instructor?" Now how could he have known that I didn't know how to ski? :)

So that's the story of how I almost died participating in a popular recreational activity (and one that I want to try again, I might add). And it also explains why, the next time I go skiing and the instructor asks me if I've ever had lessons, I'll have to say, "Yes, but they were in Macedonian..."

Next exciting new activity to do before leaving Macedonia: Paragliding. Let's hope it goes better than skiing. :)

One year. It's been a whole year.

One year since Dad, Mom, Ashley, and Alex drove me to the airport at 4 AM. 

One year since my dad hugged me for the last time. I remember thinking that hug was too short.

One year since I crammed all I could into two suitcases and a backpack and left America for the first time.

One year since I moved to Macedonia.

When I think back over the past year, I wonder how a person can change so much in such a short period of time. I feel like a completely different person than the girl that got on the plane December 14, 2010.

I've learned that I can live on my own--and in a different country, at that. I've learned another language. I've discovered that I still want my mommy when I'm sick. I've realized that, if I can eat lamb's head soup, I can eat anything. I've cooked from scratch (gasp) and learned that, living alone, I really shouldn't bake things in large quantities.

I've become a lot more independent. I've... grown up.

I've experienced loneliness, and I've experienced incredible fellowship. I've seen Him give, and I've seen Him take away. I've felt the deepest sorrow, and I've felt the greatest joy. 

I'm quite sure that I've cried more this past year than I ever have in my life. Some happy tears, mostly sad. But more than anything, I've learned the truth of the Word of God. I've clung to these verses:

"For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though He cause grief, He will have compassion according to the abundance of His steadfast love; for He does not willingly afflict or grieve the children of men."

"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

"I will never leave you nor forsake you."

"And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose."

I remember praying several times over the past few years that God would do whatever it takes to make me like Him. And I remember being reminded of that prayer when Dad was sick. I was scared of what that might mean. But again, He would remind me--all things work together for my good. And my good is to love Him and to be like Him.

I can honestly say that I love God more now than I did a year ago, and it's not because my life has been perfect. It's because, even in the most horrible times, He was there, quietly reminding me of His strong presence. Reminding me of my life's purpose: to know Him, to love Him, and to show Him to the world.

"In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith--more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire--may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ."

It's been a painful, stretching year. But I told Him long ago that He was worth it--and He's proven, over and over and over again, that He is.

Confession time.

I, Abbey Hammond, am an obsessive list-maker.

I love lists. They make me feel so organized. I have so many thoughts bouncing around in the different compartments in my brain--the "to-do" compartment, the "already thinking about packing for my next trip" compartment, the ever-present "CHRISTMAS!" compartment--but when I get them on paper, all lined up with the left margin, I feel... organized. Like I won't forget anything. I can look at the things on my list and isolate one to make sure I get it done. Not to mention the happy feeling I get when I cross something off the list. (It doesn't always get that far.)

And I don't just make normal lists, mind you. Grocery lists, to-do lists, those are just the beginning. I have a to-read list, a to-watch list, a to-buy-for-Christmas list, a to-ask-for-for-Christmas list (When did natural peanut butter and muffin cups become so important to me?), a to-do-immediately list, a to-do-sometime-in-the-near-future list, a people-to-visit list, even a packing list for my mom and sister when they come visit me... in seven months. You might say I'm out of control. I say I'm happy that way. :)

Living in this context overseas, I've met a lot of women who have years of overseas living experience, and I've learned a lot from them--from some, how I want to be one day; from others, characteristics that life here has developed in them that I'd like to avoid. So I made--you guessed it--a list. A list of traits I'd like to develop. A list of ways I want to be less like me and more like Him. Spirit-filled. Patient. Gracious. Humble. Forgiving. Warm. Hard-working. Prayerful (Is that a word?). Honest. Gentle. Kind. Loving. Hospitable. Joyful. Filled with His Word. That's just the beginning.

As I was walking the other day, my list came to mind. I thought about how far I have to go. I wasn't necessarily beating myself up, just... thinking. About how much work I needed to do to be able to cross even one thing off the list.

And then something else came to mind. Precious words from The Word.

"And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ*." Phil. 1:6

He began this work in me years ago. And He has continued the work. I'm a completely different person than I was even just a year ago. He started the work, and He will finish it--I've already seen evidence of that. List or no list. :)

"His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who called us to His own glory and excellence..." 2 Peter 1:3



* On an unrelated note, every time I write "Christ", I accidentally write "Christmas." Both are pretty great.

Today is my dad's birthday. Today is bittersweet.

Bitter because he's gone.
Sweet because I get to celebrate his life.

Bitter because I can't be with my family.
Sweet because He gave me precious friends here to make this day special.


Bitter because I miss him.
Sweet because I remember him.


Bitter because he was one of my best friends.
Sweet because... he was one of my best friends.

Bitter because I can't make memories with him anymore.
Sweet because I have so many dear memories of him.

Bitter because my heart hurts.
Sweet because this pain is a temporary one.

Bitter because I'll be apart from him for the rest of my life.
Sweet because I'll be with him for eternity.

Bitter because he's not with me.
Sweet because I know he's with Him.

"For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens... So we are always confident, knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord. For we walk by faith, not by sight. We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord." --2 Cor. 5:1, 6-8

"Julieta?" I call. I knock again. "Julieta? Doma si?" Are you home?

It's not the first time I've waited on the front porch of my friend's home, standing amidst a pile of discarded shoes that seems way too big for the two people that live in the house. Due to medical problems that have prevented her from having children, Julieta doesn't stay at home like the other Roma women. With no children to look after, she spends her days visiting friends and having guests. After a few more knocks, I assume this is the case today. As I turn to leave, I hear movement in the house, a key turning, a door opening, a woman greeting me.

"Abbey!" But it's not Julieta.

"Hajrie! What are you doing here?" I greet my friend, surprised to see her here and glad that I visited her the day before so she doesn't have a reason to scold me. She tells me Julieta went out of town with her husband, so she is staying at their house. Hajrie (High-ree-ay) is going to be away from home for a few days--she and her husband have been fighting again.

We move into the living room, where Hajrie's one-year-old son is taking a nap. I turn down Hajrie's offer of bread. And then Hajrie asks The Question.

"Abbey... Does your organization give out money for food and clothes?"

Outwardly, I sympathetically tell her no. Inwardly, I sigh. It's a question I've come to expect from each of my Roma friends at some point,  and it's a question I dread. I try to look at it from her perspective. If I were in her position and I met an American, wouldn't I ask the same question?

But her question reminds me that I didn't even plan to see her today. I wanted to see Julieta. Why did Hajrie have to answer the door? After all, I see her more than most of my other contacts. She never listens to me when I try to talk about spiritual things. She doesn't want to hear.  And usually, her three older kids are trying to play with me, leaving little opportunity to talk to her at all...

And then I hear the Voice. Like a whisper. Reminding me of my own prayers. Prayers that I would see opportunities to turn conversations to talk about spiritual things, and that I would take those opportunities. Prayers that He would let my Roma friends hear and respond to the Truth. And, even more specifically, that He would give me time with Hajrie alone, without the distraction of her adorable but rowdy children.

I look again at the baby asleep on the couch.

And I know He's given me this opportunity.

"Have I ever told you about when I was little, Hajrie?" I ask her. She shakes her head no. So I tell her my story, about how we didn't have a lot of money when I was young, but God always provided what we needed. "And He still gives me what I need, every day. When I was young, it was daily food. When I moved here all alone, He provided me with friends like you. When my dad died, He gave me peace and faith to know that he's in heaven because of his faith in Jesus." And we proceed to talk about what we both believe will happen when we die. And she really listens.

"So I know I'll see my dad again, but it's not because he was a good person. It's because he had faith in Jesus. He's in heaven now."

"You're sure?" A simple question, and I silently thank God that I have a simple answer.

"Yes. I'm sure."



Pray that I would see more of these opportunities and that I would be bold enough to take them. Pray that I would "make the best use of the time" (Col. 4:5-6). And pray that He would open Hajrie's eyes to see Him.

My Roma sister, Hajrie