our kingdom is not our culture

Yesterday was tough.  Like any other move, there are hiccups.  And, we had a few. 

It began the night before.  Upon returning from our first triumphant trip to the local market with the whole fam, the door to our apartment would not close.  No matter what Michael tried, the bolts from our lock jutted out.  So, we called our intermediary/translator/911 - a lovely Russian girl named, Yana.  She notified our landlord (who I really like, by the way) of the problem.  He said he would be by later that evening.  And, he was.  About 10:30 p.m.  This was my first experience with “Russian time”.  It was not (and will not be) my last.  (And, that’s okay.)  Our landlord, though, could not fix the door.  He said, in Russian and with hand motions, that a locksmith would come the following day.  So, the girls and I stayed put that morning, while Michael went to the Russian Migration Office.      

Suddenly, I felt it: alone in a foreign city.  My husband is away.  I cannot close my front door.  I do not speak Russian.  I do not have friends to call.  Actually, I don’t even know how to use my own home phone.  I cannot leave my apartment.  I haven’t slept for an entire night in almost a week.  Our “stuff” – clothes, kid’s toys, books, pictures, things from ‘home’ – still isn’t here.  And, it’s really, really cold.  I want to cry.  But, I don’t. 

This phrase, from a John Piper sermon, runs across my mind, “Our kingdom is not our culture.” 

So, I figure out how to use my washing machine.  I sit down with my computer and Google translate; I figure out every single word.  Forty-five minutes later, I start a load of laundry.  I feel, somehow, successful.  I can do laundry.  I can run my dishwasher.  I can cook a meal.  Even if I intended to make spaghetti with meat sauce – noodles and meat with salsa still pass for an edible dinner.  Michael tells the girls it’s a Russian dish; he was the guy who got the salsa, after all.  And, they eat it.  We all do – gladly.

So many daily tasks I never thought twice about now take me days to figure out.  Like grocery shopping.  There is no cross-cultural Costco.  (And, I love Costco.)  Going to the market can be a daily habit.  What is the best route?  What will take me the least amount of time?  How long can the girls take walking outside? When I get to the store, what if I need help?  How do I ask someone a question?    

Again, “our kingdom is not our culture.”  Apples are apples.  Food packages often come with pictures.  Stuff comes in similar containers (i.e, the salsa).  Then, I simply think, “I am so grateful I can get food for our family.” 

We still do not know when our “stuff” will get here.  It’s the red tape.  So, we live out of our suitcases.  Sometimes, Jane asks if this is really our new home… And, we say, “Yes, it is.”  In our new home, life is different, and in some ways difficult.  There are language barriers, cultural differences and geographical/weather challenges.  But, there is a sense of joy that seems to come underneath every hardship. 

We have HIM.  We have each other.  So, while playing a card game, Rory says, “Let’s practice what Russian we know so we can get better at it.”  After a trek through the snow to the Metro, our family climbs aboard and immediately, a gentleman gives his seat to my children.  Women squish together so they can rest.  We make it to a mall.  We buy pillows and peanut butter.  Michael and I beam; what accomplishments!  The security guard smiled at me (maybe miraculous); it could be because he saw me land an awesome snowball on my oldest daughter... or whatever.  Our landlord and the locksmith stay for six hours on Saturday to replace the locks on our door – having to take the entire door apart even.   And, something completely spectacular (and comforting) -- I get messages and prayers from people halfway across the world: you.  Now, what I feel most is – thankful.  

Our kingdom is not our culture. 

Our kingdom is Christ. 

Our kingdom is not what we do or don’t do.  It is not what norms or rules we adhere to or break.  It is not what formalities we follow or what culture we are a part of.  Our kingdom is not Russian.  Our kingdom is not American.  In fact, our kingdom really isn’t about us at all.  It’s about HIM.  He transcends EVERY language, culture, and man.  My kingdom is CHRIST.  My culture is where He puts me.    

In late November of this past year, I wrote this, “my life, my family, my everything is in the Hands of an Almighty God; He cares for me in ways that I cannot understand and in ways that bring Him glory.  I trust Him – not me.  I trust Him – not my circumstances.  I trust Him – and nothing else.  And, because of that, I will go wherever He leads, no matter “the cost” – be it inconvenience, loneliness, isolation, hardship, loss, fill in the blank.  There is nothing I would not give up to follow my Lord, my Savior and my God.  In that moment, in that place, there is only gain.”

Today, I feel the same way.
And, tomorrow, I get to go to church on the top floor of a hotel in Moscow, Russia.  I may not understand many words, but my kingdom is not my culture.

P.S.  The new blog background was chosen for it's resemblence to the "walls" in my living room.  I'll be posting pictures soon.  :)