letter12

Dear Family and Friends,

One of my favorite activities here in Bulgaria is hanging out on the balcony
that overlooks the street with my host sister (and sometimes my host mom)
watching the neighborhood pass me by. Often, we fill our mouths with fresh
sunflower seeds which literally come straight from the sunflower and spit
them onto the cobblestone street below with ferocity. As we chew and spit,
spit and chew, a goat herder usually walks by with a herd of goats, on their
evening walk, and we see who can spit a slimy shell onto a goat first. The
goats hobble along, oblivious, stopping regularly to do their business
(believe me, you should see what I have been walking on and through the last
5 weeks!) and they often stop to nibble at whatever looks tasty on the side
of the road, whether it be hay, grass, other goats, or small, defenseless
children. They nibble until a determined herder nudges them with a sharp
stick.

As we spit shells onto goats, we are distracted by the children who cluster
on the top of a large garage between two roads as they run and play, giving
no regard to the 50 foot drop, and a group of boys skid by on their bicycles
as an old Baba shakes her fist and rants at them in perturbed Bulgarian.
"No more Communism?! Let's let OUR kids run wild in the streets of
Bulgaria!" I listen carefully as laughter and gaiety erupts from next door
as the neighbors begin their nightly ritual, which usually involves plenty
of rakiya, gin, and anything else that has a HINT of alcohol in it. The
neighborhood is alive with activity as people cluster in the streets, hang
from open windows, and scope things out from balconies, greeting one another
and discussing anything under the Bulgarian sun. Many show off their babies
as they push rickety strollers through the streets, while teenagers rush to
be the first ones at the discoteque and old men and women hobble through the
streets, remembering oh to clearly the Bulgaria that they once knew, a
Bulgaria in which freedom didn't have any meaning.

I spit my final seed on a straggling goat and suddenly gaze into the
distance as the orange sun falls behind the glimmering mountain. It seems
as if the entire town of Panagyurishte is visible from my perch and I gaze
into the beauty of the old homes with clay tile roofs, tall church steeples
that reach towards heaven, and a strong stone monument that sets the tiny
town apart and makes it a distinct wonder. As the sun falls behind the
mountains, the town is aglow with swirling reds, oranges, and pinks and a
few scattered clouds come alive. As I marvel at God's beauty, I whisper to
Iva, "Az Obecham Bulgaria . . ." ("I love Bulgaria") and she merely nods
with a warm, coy smile which radiates the pride of any typical Bulgarian.
As we spit seeds on the balcony and as in most of the wonders and amazing
things I have already experienced, I am continually reminded of just how
AMAZING God is, how AMAZING his creation his, and how AMAZING the experience
he has blessed me with is as He fulfills his plans for my life. I am often
reminded that God is HERE WITH ME, even in a small town in the middle of a
tiny, lesser-known country called Bulgaria . . .

Love Always,
Chantel