The Globe that Made it Around the Globe

Best viewed from Scene I to Scene IV...sorry it's not in sequence.

Scene IV: So much for hoping she might not notice, eh Jen Hols?

Scene III: Briana gives the globe its first run.

Scene I: Here comes the final Santa.

Scene II: The end of a journey.

On December 7 a box boarded an airplane and embarked on its journey across the Atlantic, carrying in its cargo hold a box full of love for a little girl in Lupeni from aunties, unclies and grandparents in far-off America. But that wasn't the beginning of its journey, and it certainly wasn't its end. I feel like a small documentary could be done on the miles this box covered (actual distance, emotional energies, and latitudes of love) to get from point A to point B, and prizes should be given to all the Santas along the way who helped move it across the globe, starting with Santa Jen Holly in Iowa and ending with Santa Bart here in Lupeni. (With honorable mention to Santa Diana who had to involve Santa Bookeeper in Bucharest in the preperation of 5 official documents before she could retrieve the package and taxi it across town to meet Santa Bart at the bus station.) By the time this globe reached Lupeni, certainly its retail value had triple- quadrupled twice. But hopefully, as the one commercial goes, everyone would breathe in the end (and not least us, Briana's parents, who are so grateful for our family, and many others along the way, going the extra-extra mile to help Briana feel their love close at Christmas): "Priceless!" Thank you to everyone, and Merry Merry Christmas!

Lessons and Carols

Briana with her new friend, princess Adela

Briana's teacher, sweet Doamna Mariana, our answer to prayer

Princesses Alexandra and Gabriela

Caroling to Santa and a room full of camera-carrying parents (Adonis, our collegue Ilie's son, far right)

Today Briana experienced what most Romanians can still recall, even 20 and 30 years on - her kindergarten's Christmas program. My dearest Romanian friend, now 29, advised me over the phone - "provide a gift for Santa Claus to give Briana", "teach her a Christmas poem to recite to Santa", etc., etc.- as it's still being done today as it was a couple of decades ago. So for once we were mostly prepared except that I didn't realize that "dressing up" for the little ladies meant coming in full fairy wear. Briana cried briefly in the beginning that her wand and wings were laying idle at home while she was adorned in black and crimson velvet, but once the program got underway she seemed to forget about her listless duds. It was a sweet hour, meeting the parents of Briana's classmates and watching Briana enjoy herself, one among many excited, fidgety, singing, swaying kindergartners. And she recited the four lines of her Christmas poem (in Romanian) beautifully. We only felt culturally ill-at-ease twice. Once while waiting to take Briana's picture on Santa's lap, a couple of her classmates' mothers kept pushing the children aside to nuzzle on his lap and have their photo taken with him. (That was a little odd.) The other was when we first arrived and were accosted by a drunken-seeming man who demanded that I give him a cupcake. We ran into the school shouting, "They're for the children!" only to turn and find him enter the classroom: one of Briana's classmate's father. He was disruptive most of the program and had to be shushed by everyone including Santa Claus, but was allowed to stay (in many cultures, including our American, he would've been escorted out, at best) and in the end did receive a cupcake (actually two), handshakes and well wishes for the holidays from the other parents. "Peace on earth, goodwill to men, women, kindegartners and drunken parents of kindergartners of all shapes and sizes!" This was the lesson of today's carols.

Mary's Magnificat

Icon of the Annunciation

Most mornings this Advent season I have tried to rise early ahead of the family for some time alone. After pushing play on the coffee maker my next impulse is to light this candle that sits below a print of an icon of the Annunciation. Though the Orthodox honor the Annunication on March 25, precisely 9 months before a December 25th delivery (I can hear the age-old chuckle, as if anything about Christ's birth went like clockwork), I felt mysteriously led to ponder this event this Advent season, just 2 months following my second miscarriage. I don't know exactly what it's trying to tell me, but I know that it's a message of hope, of comfort, and of future promise. And I feel like I've relinquished my ultimatum with God, that I must bear our daughter a sibling. This poem has been a blessing to me and a summons to feel myself likewise weighted down and up by all this glory:

I thank thee, Lord, that if I die in this,

it will be too much, not too little living,

that I have sunk beneath too heavy fruit,

not withered in a desert far from thee.

Glory to thee, Lord, that thou dost give

harvest so lavish our arms cannot hold

nor heart contain the treasure of thy power.

And in the end forgive if I am proud

to go down blest by more than I can bear,

inadequate to carry out thy will,

inadequate and weak, but chosen still.

Magnificat by Jane Tyson Clement

A Carpenter's Christmas by Peter K. Rosegger

Before that sad day when suddenly the Bruderhof's "Daily Dig" was off the air, I had the good fortune of downloading several of their wonderful Advent readings, many of them reprinted from Home for Christmas: Stories for Young and Old. I relish in reading them year after year.

This morning I read this story on true prayer and was convicted as I was this time last year.

At last it was over, this vigorous sweeping and scrubbing and chasing of dirt, this week-long turmoil during which nothing, not a piece of furniture, not a single wall decoration, remained in place, until every piece of wood had been cleaned, every stone whitewashed, every bit of metal polished. Now the house shone in purest cleanliness.

I won't post the story in its entirety here, but if you'd like it, please e-mail me and I'll be happy to send it along: brandi.briana@gmail.com .

Winter Harvest

Briana helping harvest 26 pounds of trout

A stinky winter harvest gift

Watching our neighbor Tanti Dorina grind the corn she grew,

the kernels she dried, through the river-powered mill next to our home.

Today was a harvesting sort of day. This morning Briana and I braved the cold to harvest (or hunt as Briana put it, I guess it depends on how you look at it) incandescent berries from a lone tree in a meadow covered in crackling snow. On our way home we stopped by the tiny one room mill next to our home to watch our neighbor Tanti Dorina coaxing the river into grinding cornmeal from the corn she grew all summer. Then we turned our berries into a present for our good friends Janelle and Daniel and were sorry to discover that they smelled like dog crap, which Janelle & Daniel forgave. Our day ended with rinsing, bagging, and freezing 26 pounds of fresh river trout grown next door by our neighbors Claudiu and Mihaela. One doesn't typically think of harvesting on a chilly December day, but I guess that's one thing Advent is about. Working for what yet remains unseen.

Second First Day of School

Off to school, first day...again

I don't know what the phenomenon is called - the one where you search afar for something good only to find you're sitting on it - but I've had the experience. This morning. At 9:00 Briana and I turned up for her second first day of school at a kindergarten right here in Lupeni. When our collegue and good friend Ilie reported that his 4 year old son wrote love notes to his teacher during his off-school hours, I figured this was enough solid evidence to give another kindergarten a try. (I couldn't imagine any of Briana's previous classmates writing love notes to their teacher.) We spent 3 hours in Doamna Mariana G.'s classroom and both of us were in love too. The class is a bit cold and there isn't as much formal instructional time ("That's the kindergarten where they don't really learn much," commented a friend - no workbooks, no homework, no number or letter testing), but under Doamna Mariana's calm and humored care I can see these 25 little ones learning the things hardest to teach. She is comfortable not being in total control of each of her pupils every second (there is a healthy amount of running about and tunneling under desks), she reasons with them reasonably, asks them to speak to each other when there is a conflict, lights a candle when they pray before their snacktime :) , and can spin a yarn so fantastically that I was spellbound for 20 minutes and wasn't at all surprised when the children could answer every listening-comprehension question asked at the end. She doesn't make any child do anything - some choose to play with trucks rather than join the circle of crawling kittens and bouncing balls - but most of them choose to join in because she's so much fun and she's so non-threatening. I may recant after more experiences - cynic! - but it looks like we've found our place. I can already see Briana turning 13 and Doamna Mariana calling me aside, "Don't you think it's time she moved on?"

Awaiting Saint Nicholas

Tonight, all over Europe, children are allowed to leave their boots inside, neatly placed, awaiting the kindy arrival of sweet Saint Nicholas (known as Mos Nicolae here in Romania, Sinterklaas in the Dutch world, and eventually morphing into jolly ol' Santa Claus). Beside our advent candle we read the tender story of the 4th century bishop of Myra who, born to a wealthy family, spent his life quietly helping those in need. "His mother and father taught him to be generous to others, especially those in need. So Nicholas came to see that helping others makes one richer in life than anything else." (I had to substitute goats for girls in the story because Briana sobbed uncontrollably when I read that Nicholas threw gold into a family's window on the night before the father was forced to sell one of his daughters to save the family from poverty's ruin. Goats she could accept.)

Much of the time my mind is heavy with all the things Briana might be missing by not growing up in America, but on this occasion it is made light with the opportunities and blessings made hers by living in Romania. On Sundays when we go to church she sits beside and draws with a girl named Ana, who faithfully attends church each Sunday to worship and to beg for the family's livelihood. Desiring to help Briana to better know the joy of giving than that of receiving inspired this letter left her in the spirit of Saint Nicholas a couple of days ago. It has made my heart glad to watch her spend most of her play time these past two days inspecting, arranging and wrapping the gifts she picked out.

Dear Briana,
Friday, December 5, is the night that I visit all the children of the world to bring them joy, love and surprises, and especially the poor children. There are so many children in the world that I haven’t time to take care of everyone. Can you help me please? I need you to buy Ana and Rares (those beautiful children who visit with you at church) some school supplies and maybe some clothes. Can you do that for me? Leave your presents for Ana and Rares next to your boots on Friday night and I will add some things. Then maybe you can help me some more and take their gifts to church on Sunday. Thank you so much for your help!
See you Friday night,
Saint Nicholas

Some real gems have escaped her mouth lately including, "Mama, Saint Nicholas doesn't just love poor children" and "Mama, are you real or pretend?" Hmmmm.

St. Nicholas' story beautifully told here: http://www.cptryon.org/prayer/child/nick.html

Woodcut print by Mary Azarian

"All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten"

Last Monday I took Briana to kindergarten for the last time. At least this kindergarten. I know that it's so important for her to go. In addition to learning all she'll ever really need to know (argued successfully or unsucessfully by Robert Fulgham in his once trendy book), I take her so that in 2 years she'll speak far better Romanian than I've thus far grasped. But when we leave a morning session and I'm thanking God under my breath that she didn't understand half the Romanian that came out of her teacher's mouth, I'm thinking maybe this isn't the right place. Last Monday decided it. When a little trembling-like-a-leaf boy couldn't answer the question his brooding teacher posed to him and she yelled at him, "You gypsy, get out of here!*" and pointed to the door, I decided we were the ones that would be leaving. I've studied Mr. Fulgham's list of life lessons first learned in kindergarten and ethnic discrimination is not there. (Nor is arbitrary berating, favoritism, and other not-so-pleasant things, things I was not happy with but trying to weigh against the greater benefits of Briana being with other children her age.) So for now the question of Briana's schooling is still a question, but at least this trail of inquiry (this particular kindergarten with this particular teacher at this particular time) has gone cold and Briana is home again with me until we pick up our next scent and embark down a new trail, hopefully with a sweeter end.

*Consequently, this poor little boy isn't of Roma decent, but there are Roma children in the class and I'm sure it's not good for them to hear their teacher equate misbehaving or lack of cleverness with their ethnicity.

Welcome to the Season of Light

We played in the cold Friday night in Lupeni's park,

its newly lit Christmas tree blazing in the background.

"Light your candles quietly, such candles as you possess, wherever you are."

Alfred Delp

Last evening we lit the first of our Advent candles, welcoming the season of light with glad hearts and expectation. From an unlikely source (Uncle Rock?) we enjoyed this song's thoughtful lyrics for child and grownup alike:

The Season of Light is when we see the way...heyho look to the sky.

How we receive love when we give it away...heyho look to the sky.

Coming soon I hope: track to listen to.

(The Season of Light, Uncle Rock, Uncle Rock U.)