Хочу поделиться моими сочинениями с инглиша. Пока их два. То что в классе мы пишем не считается (там куча всего...), хотя думаю, что надо напечатать некоторые писанины и сюда поместить. Я думаю, что вам будет интересно. Так? Ну, да, чтобы вы знали, о чём я веду речь вообще, то я помещу "пробную" писанину (как ещё это по русски назвать? - In class writings. They are responds to questions that Gail, our teacher, asks or she gives us a starting, like "I remember..." and we have to write what comes to mind. She sets specific time frames for the in-class writings, each about 10 minutes, so not that long.)
The Magic of SimplicityThe Magic of Simplicity
I remember the small city where I grew up. I remember with aching fondness the Black Sea shores I used to walk upon. I remember my childhood years…and I smile despite the pain of losing it. I loved my childhood. It was perfect for me. I was free. Free to roam around, to play, and to learn. I learned to love reading. Then reading taught me to love writing. Nature fed my imagination, my eternal soul. I did not have many friends but the ones that I did have, I remember never to forget.
I want to make a collection of my fondest memories, to record that magical time. That magic, that seems to be slipping away from me now. I want to share the magic, the magic of simplicity. I long to put my feelings and memories on paper to let others see and feel what I had, how I saw, how I now cherish my past. I am not living in my past, just trying to let itself reflect upon the future. So that my past experiences, my childhood blessings could bring something rich and beautiful to my children, to my friends; so that I could touch the lives of others by sharing the magic of my years in the mountains beside a sea. My home city in itself looks like a place out of a fairy tale.
The magic begins with its name, foreign even in my native Russia – Gelendzhik. It originated from some form of Arabic, the language of 1001 Nights, where magic is the reality. As a child I could have seen the numerous fire flies, which during the summer inhabited my roaming space, as fairies twinkling in the late hours of twilight. It only starts here; the next thing bringing on the magic to the place is the setting.
Jammed in between the Caucasian mountain range and the Black Sea, Gelendzhik is a small stretch of beautiful land. There are fields to freely run in, forests to explore, mountains and hills to climb, and brooks to find. Endless possibilities… The setting is taken right out of a Russian fairy tale that Pushkin had penned. In fact, there is a legend connected to our city that in one of the most famous poetic fairy tales Pushkin did write about Gelendzhik… Legends never die in a child’s memory, and in my heart I will always be a child exploring the nature around me.
And if the reader thinks that magic exhausts here, I could to prove them wrong by simply painting a touch of a detail with the brush of my wording. The little city hugs the sea, I would say literally, with a horseshoe shaped bay. Looking from the mountain ridge I could see the city swallowing a gulp of the enormous water space of the Black Sea. It is a magnificent sight that opens up once one climbs to the top of the mountains. Our family accomplished this annually. My wish was that is would be more often, so I could enjoy the exhilarating hike and then the awesome glory of the mountains stretching to one side of the ridge and the sea to the other.
A fairy tale is as simple as being swallowed by tall mountain grasses, smelling the wild strawberries growing in the rich black soil on the top of the world, as it seems to a child. When nature surrounds you, fairytales are the simple reality of being there, of being a part of the magical world of nature. It is always new with a hint of old and utterly familiar… I could always find beauty in the mundane, magic in simplicity.
Looking back, I realize how small my city really is, and the area where I grew up is just a tiny dot on the world map. Yet I could find beauty even in such a small place, I thought the world of it. Everything seemed perfectly right in my child’s mind. I was content. If only people could take their childhood attitudes with them along into adulthood, bring their friends – memories - with them. I need them so much. These beautiful realizations of simple joys have power to affect me, to calm me and to bring out the real meaning of life – enjoying the simple blessings of this complex world, enjoy the nature, let go of the tensions and give glory to the Creator of it all.
As I continue to expand on my childhood memories I want to bring out that theme, the theme of nature and of the beauty of simplicity. Simplicity is all around us, we just need to open our eyes and appreciate the beauty of it. We are blessed beyond what we could ever fathom.
(Excercise #19)________________________
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She has never been an open person, never asked questions or talked about her life. That little girl on the screen of my memory was living with her mother, content to be left alone with nature. She felt free only in her beloved mountain home where she grew up with her mommy. The girl was attached to the woman because she spent all her childhood around that woman. Being the youngest of eight children she was the only one in the family to grow up as a complete loner. The child was secluded in the little mountain farmland home, where her parents lived. The older kids lived on the other side of the little city, in an apartment. Their mother despised life in a “stone building with four walls surrounding” her. She grew up in the village, and now her house was to be an apartment in a nine-story concrete building. That was not pleasing to this mother of eight. So, she went and bought herself a piece of land with a house on it and settled there with her husband and their baby girl. And they lived there for about 10 years. The baby grew up with animals around her, not children. The person that she had been with more often was her mother. The girl didn’t know it then, but she was loved by her mom. She just didn’t know what love was. She hasn’t figured out much of life’s probing questions yet. She had gone to school, moved away from the childhood home; still her mom was around for weekends. That was yet. Where in her life was that yet? It was at the tender and innocent age of 11. It was summer and her 10th year was coming to an end. She had absolutely no idea what else was coming to an abrupt and unchangeable end.
I can see right now, with the help of my much-used memory tape, that little carefree girl running around on that particular late August night. She is saying a hurried “good-bye” to her mother. There is no audio on this part of the film, but I could understand what is happening. The girl is leaving somewhere. I know where she is going. I know what is going to happen. She doesn’t; she has no clue. This was a usual thing for her to do. The only thing she knows is that her sister and she are going to spend the night at the apartment. They left. Their dad, a city bus driver, picked them up at the bus stop. The girls arrived home safely and went to sleep. The early morning hours would bring the reality that I already know to their sleepy heads. It would take time for the youngest to understand what is really going on.
August 14, 1997. It’s about 7 or 8 in the morning. The little girl is woken up by the hushed up talking of her dad and the quiet sobbing of her sister. Her sleepy mind is unable to make sense of what her ears hear.
“Anya, mama has died this morning,” a quiet, shaky voice tells her. She realizes that it belongs to her father. But what is he saying? Why is Katya crying? Something unusual is happening. And the girl doesn’t know how to take it in. After a while the devastating words start to settle in, the mind clearing from sleep, the shock of the unknown whirling through the child’s understanding.
“It must be just a dream. This doesn’t happen in reality. Why would mama die? This is wrong. I cannot take it in. Is it true? Then how should I feel? Should I cry? Katya is crying. Am I supposed to be sad? What is happening here? Dad is crying too. Why am I not crying? Is this some sort of a game or what? I don’t understand it at all.” Questions invaded the girl’s mind. She didn’t know the rules of this “game”. And she came to the field unprepared. She had never read the sсriрt of this play that she was put into. What was her role?
I see the company now depart for the city hospital to find out what really happened to the girl’s mom. On the way to the bus stop their dad tries to fill them in on the details known to him about what had happened.
“…Sasha found her lying near the bench with a trail of blood by her head. He ran to the phone to call “Skoraya” (Ambulance). It took about an hour for them to get to her…” her dad’s talking was fading from her mind. When he finished his narration, the girl was thinking. Her thoughts raced through her head violently until she finally came to a realization.
“Oh, no,” the girl was telling herself, “She is not dead. She is not. She couldn’t be! God wouldn’t let her die! He loves me and wouldn’t let me loose my mother! What would I do without her? I know that she is not dead. She is simply in the hospital, sick with something. I believe that God had spared her life!”
That was the first time that she had said, even in her thoughts, that word “believe”. And she did believe it. This gave her relief and comfort. Only that was a lie. Lies are not true. Lies don’t bring joy. Acceptance does bring joy. I know it and can testify to that because that little girl was me. She was me. I am not her. I am another. August 14, 1997 made that little girl change. That child was never fully a child again. Death forced her to grow up. She didn’t know it then but now I know. I know that acceptance of death leads to healing. Healing, in turn, brings joy. Nine long years separate me from that little girl who lost her mother to a sudden stroke. I can see clearly now. I know that that was the right time for her to go. Why? I don’t know exactly but God knows for sure. He is Sovereign. I trust Him.
Now I am thinking over my mother’s death – my loss – and realize that if I haven’t experienced this, I wouldn’t have learned to trust God, to accept death, to not fear death, to help others. And there are many more hidden lessons in my loss. Death could crush you but only if you let it. I know that death was crushed by my and my mom’s Savior’s resurrection. I don’t have to fear death. In fact I can grow from it. People left behind on earth must accept and learn from death or be crushed by it. There is no middle ground: if you ignore death – then you are afraid to face it that means that it has victory over you.
I learned my lesson. My mother’s death shaped me in a way I never expected. Without her being there for me in my teenage years to guide me through, without her there for me to talk to, without her shoulder for me to cry on, I turned to God. He was my only refuge. Being a secluded person I was unwilling to talk to anyone about my problems. The only one besides my mom, who could help me, was God. In fact, He can help much more efficiently than any mom could, for He knows everything. He is my Heavenly Father and He cares for me. Even the loss of my mother was a touch of His love and care. I have learned that true joy is to be found only in God, in my precious Savior. And now, with all my heart and mind I give glory to the One who taught me this!
Exercise 19 with corrections (as of 10/10/06)_____________________
Exercise on my "death experience" (revised)
She has never been an open person, never asked questions or talked about her life. That little girl on the screen of my memory was living with her mother, content to be left alone with nature. She felt free only in her beloved mountain home where she grew up with her mommy. The girl was attached to the woman because she spent all her childhood around her. Being the youngest of eight children, she was the only one in the family to grow up as a complete loner. The child was secluded in the little mountain farmland home, where her parents lived. The older kids lived on the other side of the little city, in an apartment. Their mother despised life in a “stone building with four walls surrounding” her. She grew up in the village, and now her house was to be an apartment in a nine-story concrete building. That was not pleasing to this mother of eight. So, she went and bought herself a piece of land with a house on it and settled there with her husband and their baby girl, leaving the other kids in the apartment to live in the city. Life this way continued for about 10 years. The baby grew up with animals around her, not children. The person that she had been with more often was her mother. The girl didn’t know it then, but she was loved by her mom. She just didn’t know what love was. She hasn’t figured out much of life’s probing questions yet. She had gone to school, moved away from the childhood home; still her mom was around for weekends. It was at the tender and innocent age of 11. It was summer and her 10th year was coming to an end. She had absolutely no idea what else was coming to an abrupt and unchangeable end.
I can see right now, with the help of my much-used memory tape, that little carefree girl running around on that particular late August night. She is saying a hurried “good-bye” to her mother. There is no audio on this part of the film, but I could understand what is happening. The girl is leaving somewhere. I know where she is going. I know what is going to happen. She doesn’t; she has no clue. This was a usual thing for her to do. The only thing she knows is that her sister and she are going to spend the night at the apartment. They left. Their dad, a city bus driver, picked them up at the bus stop. The girls arrived home safely and went to sleep. The early morning hours would bring the reality that I already know to their sleepy heads. It would take time for the youngest to understand what is really going on.
August 14, 1997. It’s about 7 or 8 in the morning. The little girl is woken up by the hushed up talking of her dad and the quiet sobbing of her sister. Her sleepy mind is unable to make sense of what her ears hear.
“Anya, mama has died this morning,” a quiet, shaky voice tells her. She realizes that it belongs to her father. But what is he saying? Why is Katia crying? Something unusual is happening. And the girl doesn’t know how to take it in. After a while the devastating words start to settle in, the mind clearing from sleep, the shock of the unknown whirling through the child’s understanding.
“It must be just a dream. This doesn’t happen in reality. Why would mama die? This is wrong. I cannot take it in. Is it true? Then how should I feel? Should I cry? Katia is crying. Am I supposed to be sad? What is happening here? Dad is crying too. Why am I not crying? Is this some sort of a game or what? I don’t understand it at all.” Questions invaded the girl’s mind. She didn’t know the rules of this “game”. And she came to the field unprepared. She had never read the sсriрt of this play that she was put into. What was her role?
I see the company now depart for the city hospital to find out what really happened to the girl’s mom. On the way to the bus stop their dad tries to fill them in on the details known to him about what had happened.
“…Sasha found her lying near the bench, she was probably trying to sit on it and never reached it hitting her head on the concrete walk way. He ran to the phone to call “Skoraya” (Ambulance). It took about an hour for them to get to her…” her dad’s talking was fading from her mind. The girl was thinking even while her father was finishing his narration. Her thoughts raced through her head violently until she finally came to a realization.
“Oh, no,” the girl was telling herself, “She is not dead. She is not. She couldn’t be! God wouldn’t let her die! He loves me and wouldn’t let me lose my mother! What would I do without her? I know that she is not dead. She is simply in the hospital, sick with something. I believe that God had spared her life!”
That was the first time that she had said, even in her thoughts, that word “believe”. And she did believe it. This gave her relief and comfort. Only that was a lie. Lies are not true. Lies don’t bring joy. Acceptance brings joy. I know it and can testify to that because that little girl was me. She was me. I am not her. I am another. August 14, 1997 made that little girl change. That child was never fully a child again. Death forced her to grow up. She didn’t know it then but now I know. I know that acceptance of death leads to healing. Healing, in turn, brings joy.
Nine long years separate me from that little girl who lost her mother to a sudden stroke. It was so unexpected that it took us off guard. No one was prepared. I don’t think that any of us, her children, thought that she would die even soon. This was unimaginable. Mama was only reaching her 55th birthday. Her death was hard on all of the family. My full realization of loss came later. I was really missing my mommy, crying for her after about a year of her death. I was used to accept things as they happened in my life, so at first I just took it as what is supposed to be. I did cry at the funeral. Just because I’m naturally very emotional like my dad; he was crying. Looking at her still body, just laying there, people gathered around. I couldn’t help but cry. I didn’t care anymore that people saw it. I never liked others to see my tears, but that time, only that time I paid no attention to relatives, to strangers. I didn’t know how to grieve yet. I would have to learn later. There was plenty of time for me to learn. Later I realized that she was not there with me, that she was not on this earth anywhere. She was always somewhere, if not with me, but this time mom was nowhere to be found. That was new, that was scary. Her lifeless body in the coffin wasn’t scary her absence in my life was.
About 3 years after those hot August days I was coming to a realization, to full acceptance, that it was the right time for my mother to go. Why? My guess is that she was tired of this life. Mommy had a lot of burdens weighing of her fragile shoulders. As a child I didn’t understand how hard she worked on our little farm with those animals and the gardens. Every day she had to get up early and go to rest late at night. Whenever I wanted to wait for her, I would be overcome by sleep by the time she came to the bedroom. It’s a miracle where she found all the strength. And the physical work was not the only burden for mama to carry. Her eight children were growing fast, with the oldest being 35 years old. Her two boys especially gave her trouble, her headaches and emotional draining. She had so much pushing on her; she cared so much; she was so tired; she needed rest. Well, she got it. After nine years I fully accept my mother’s death. I don’t know exactly why she had to go at that time but God knows for sure. He is Sovereign. I trust Him.
Now I am thinking over my mother’s death – my loss – and realize that if I haven’t experienced this, I wouldn’t have learned to trust God, to accept death, to not fear death, to help others. And there are many more hidden lessons in my loss. Death could crush you but only if you let it. I know that victory over death was accomplished through my and my mom’s Savior’s resurrection. I don’t have to fear death. In fact I can grow from it. People left behind on earth must accept and learn from death or be overpowered by it. There is no middle ground: if you ignore death – then you are afraid to face it that means that it has victory over you.
I learned my lesson. My mother’s death shaped me in a way I never expected. Without her being there for me in my teenage years to guide me through, without her there for me to talk to, without her shoulder for me to cry on, I turned to God. He was my only refuge. Being a secluded person I was unwilling to talk to anyone about my problems. The only one besides my mom, who could help me, was God. In fact, He can help much more efficiently than any mom could, for He knows everything. He is my Heavenly Father and He cares for me. Even the loss of my mother was a touch of His love and care. I have learned that true joy is to be found only in God, in my precious Savior. And now, with all my heart and mind I give glory to the One who taught me this!
Questions for this piece:
Do I need more details/desсriрtion anywhere?
Do I need more dialogue?
Are there any cloudy parts? Where? How could I clarify them?
whoever reads this, please, of you have time, do answer these questions. I need feedback from different people for my revisions.
P.S. This piece, the revised, is for the whloe class workshop. I will get responses on Thursday on this.
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05.10.2006 в 00:35As for your writings, they touched me to the bottom of my heart. I find your way of understanding God, and living with Him so uncommon and so profound. Despite you’re so young, you seem to be a person of rare spiritual strength and awareness!
That’s what I myself am very afraid of – losing someone of my family, especially my mom. And I often think about how it feels like, or what shall I do when it comes to me… Submitting to the holy will of God is, no doubt, the best we can do, but how to fight this overwhelming feeling of being so unprepared to and so frightened by His will?
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05.10.2006 в 21:48I have not read any of C.S. Lewis' books yet. Started reading one in a Russian translation but thought it kind of confusing and stopped. The book is called "Mere Christianity". Have you read it?
All the strength that I do have is from God alone. He is so merciful to me despite my rebellion against Him. He feeds me with such a feast at our church that I am overwhelmed but then, when I get "in the valley", the place where I should live, and practice the truths that I have learned...I am so weak. I find that I know so little. And then I try to hide my face in the mundane, hide from God, from His truths. How disgusting is that? Especially after such revelations of God's glory. Only God sustains me. The way I go is away from Truth. God, his wonderful mercy pulls me close to Him, holds me from running away. I find that fascinating. Such a holy God, such a miserable sinner, such a holy wrath, such an awazing mercy. The only place where a person is undable to sin, to feel proud is at the cross. It is the place where we need all to be to start our understanding of God, our discovery of His greatness and our nothingness. I just find it so amazing that God puts up with us sinners for so long.
He doesn't owe us anything. He is Sovereign, doing whatever He pleases, for His purpose, which eventually is always His glory. If God will be glorified through my loss...I accept it. It's my heart that matters to God. And then, there is one more thing, that everything is for the good of those who love Him. Everything means just that - EVERYTHING. Believe it. Start with small things and then work to the bigger ones. Learn from His faithfullness in small things, to be strong in the midst of sorrow in life. Another thing is to live for Heaven. Realize what our goal is. It's not this earth, not our relationships here, it will all end. Only heavenly goals will stay...forever. The only eternal thing on earth is the SOUL. That's what we're here for. God is sanctifying us, so through our obideience to Him other souls might give glory to God, get saved. And remember, it's not us that do the saving. We simply live, pour out our lives as sacrifices. God does the rest. He does what pleases Him. He has the right to it. It's all His. His creation, His plans, His glory. It's not about us at all. Ultimately it's all about God's glory. Oh, and He is so full of it. He didn't need us to be more glorious, He is perfect, perfectly holy and glorious. God created people so there could be another mind that could share the understanding of His wonderful glory. But that creation failed it's purpose, wanting to be independent. Yet, God didn't destroy it right away as His righteous wrath was going to do. His mercy and grace spilled over the corrupted creation. Now, that's a WOW!
(I could go on and on, but it's already too long. I'm just spilling out my thoughts my understandings, I need to share what I learn. This summer had been a time of a lot of realizations for me.)
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06.10.2006 в 21:45I've got some references to the Russian translations of some of his works but, as for myself, I like reading him in original being charmed by his special language.
That is my favourite one (The Great Divorce):
http://www.pravbeseda.ru/library/in...book&id=241
http://roza--mira.narod.ru/Bibliote...ma_Balamuta.htm
http://roza--mira.narod.ru/Vestniki...niki_Narnii.htm
http://roza--mira.narod.ru/Bibliote...ablyudeniya.htm
And here is his tremendous cosmic trilogy:
http://roza--mira.narod.ru/Vestniki..._Perelandra.htm
http://roza--mira.narod.ru/Vestniki...noi_planety.htm
http://roza--mira.narod.ru/Vestniki...ishaya_mosh.htm
So, read and enjoy!
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06.10.2006 в 23:21Wow! Thanks a lot.
I was actually at a bookstore last night and I saw Lewis' books there. They had 3 books in one and it was around $15, so that's cheap. And there were 2 such combined books. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to buy them before I read the author (I like to buy books that I know are good). So, I'll read what you have provided to me and then see if I want to go get those.
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07.10.2006 в 00:37And, nuriya, I want to thank you so much for sharing with me those precious thoughts of yours. I see it all clearly myself, and wholly agree with you. For me it's just a question of making this theory into practice.
If God will be glorified through my loss...
No, thank God, He won’t.
Remember, what He told us in Ezekiel 33:11? “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live”. Well, most likely it is said about the spiritual death, and we’re all wicked before the Lord’s face, but He still loves us and doesn’t wish to lose anyone of us.
Another thing is to live for Heaven.
I know this very well, but alas! I seem to be living just for myself, although I wholeheartedly wish and try to reject my attachment to the worldly matters.
God created people so there could be another mind that could share the understanding of His wonderful glory.
Yes. And, you know what? There is a deeper thought: God created us out of Love, because His sacrificial Love required the one to manifest itself to, to sacrifice itself to. In other words, “God as the Loving One needs the one to be His beloved” – and that one is man. That is a very daring idea of a Russian religious philosopher S.Berdyaev whom I respect much.
I know there is another view telling us that God doesn’t need anyone, being All in all. And, of course, it’s true if we consider it in the sense of “necessity”. But if we regard Love as being an immanent quality of God, as being God Himself, then the action of Divine Love appears a continuous Sacrifice, which seeks an object for itself. And the object for that Sacrifice is God's creation. God needs us just as much as we need Him, as much as a father from a well-known parable longs to meet his prodigal son.
And how can we ever hope to thank Him for that enormous blessing?..