abbey abroad :)

One of my goals for the rest of my time here (less than five months--what?!) is to use my blog to introduce you to Roma individuals or families I interact with. At least once a month, I'm going to feature an individual or family, believing or non-believing, and give you specific ways to pray for him/her/them.

(Last month featured Ate and her family, and I'm still seeing ways your prayers were answered. Thank you for praying!)

Now, I'd like to introduce you to Brima.

Brima's the one on the right.

Brima is a believer and is 22 or 23 years old. She is the only believer in her family and faces much persecution because of it, mostly by being ridiculed. She attends the Tuesday night Bible study and the Saturday women's Bible study.

Getting her make-up done (by disembodied arms??) for a wedding.

Brima is slightly handicapped, both physically and mentally. I believe this is why her family never supported her in getting an education. For this reason, Brima can't really read. My teammate who just recently retired was helping her learn.

There is no one like our God!

The last post I wrote was about my Roma sister and friend Ate (Ah-tay). I asked you to pray for God to provide for their family right now, as they have no income and no food.

One thing I didn't mention is that the two older girls have no shoes. Because of this, they couldn't go to school. But if they miss too many days of school, the family is fined--a fine this family in particular has no hope of affording.

I wrote that blog last week. A few days later, I got a phone call from my teammate, Betty. An American family who lives here in Skopje had recently gone through their clothes and pulled out things that didn't fit them anymore. Betty combined these clothes with a few other donations she had received, and would you believe that she had three huge garbage bags full of clothes for both parents and the three younger children? Those are needs I didn't even mention specifically, but He provided them!

Going through the clothes, Amela trying on her new jacket.

That is the face of pure excitement right there.

Oh wait... or maybe that is. I think he likes his new shoes!

I wish you could have seen the joy in that house when we unloaded the bags. The dad, Nedzo, was just laughing. "Boots! I have winter boots!" And Marvin, the youngest, was shrieking with delight. Constantly.

Amela with two new toys, a new coat, and new sunglasses.

Nedzo and Ate are so very, very thankful for your prayers.

But what about the two older girls?

As we sat and drank coffee with the family, they shared their need for shoes with us. Betty had the idea to check with our Macedonian church's clothing pantry--and found shoes and clothes for both girls.

AND another American family in Skopje found out about all this and went through their belongings to find clothes, shoes, and toys for the family.

God is so good. He is the God who sees. He saw Ate and her family, and He provided.

Thank you for praying!

Their house. They all live in the tiny room behind that bush.

My Roma family

"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.