The Mistakes We Make

blouse: Vince Camuto
skirt watch: Target
purse: Kate Spade
shoes: Tahari
glasses: DKNY

I'm the type of person who has played it safe all my life. I haven't made any 'big', life-altering mistakes and stayed on the 'good girl'side. But there are plenty of times when I have made a mess.

The worst mistake that I made was in 10th grade. No really. I was taking my Russian language exam (should be easy right?) but was too distracted with church activities (ready: lazy) to write an essay on a topic of my choice. I went online and downloaded a good looking (too perfect) paper about the last Tsar in Russia and submitted it. So dumb! Did I really think I wouldn't get caught? 

The thing is that I could write a stellar paper in Russian language without any problems. 

But I was lazy and ignorant, thinking I was better then anyone else, that I wouldn't get caught.

Upon receiving the paper, the grading teacher, of course, knew I copied it off internet. She was really kind to give me another chance instead of reporting me for cheating. I was so embarrassed and felt HORRIBLE. Which I should.

I went home and wrote the paper (all by myself) without telling a soul about what happened and received 98% on the exam.

I told this story to only one person and kept this moment of shame to myself. 

What's the lesson(s)?

First no matter what, do what's right.  And not just because you will get caught but because it is the right thing to do. 

Second, learn from your mistakes. I learned that mercy trumps judgement; that giving people second ( and third) chances will humble them and teach them life's greatest lessons.

God gives us second (and third, fourth... and millionth) chance to change and we still mess up. Thank goodness for His mercy.

The mistakes we make help shape us into the people we are today. 

That One Time I Was REALLY Afraid

Blogtember Day 4: A story about a time you were very afraid.

While I was thinking about this topic, I could think of only one time in my life when I was scared. For real. 

When I was pregnant with Jonathan, I had all these different ideas in my head on how his birth is going to be. Every Braxton-Hicks contraction gave me butterflies and I thought that 'this is it'. But they never progressed and at my last check up I wasn't dilated at all.

Doctor told me I could wait another day or two which, given my current situation, probably wouldn't help. Or I could get induced. I really, really, really did NOT want to get induced. After careful discussion and consideration hubby and I decided to go for induction. You can read Jonathan's full birth story here. 

On the day we were scheduled to be at the hospital, I really didn't sleep much. We got up, had brunch and made sure that my hospital bag was packed to its maximum capacity. I had laptop and movies, snacks and magazines (oh how naive I was) and pretty much everything else did not need. After packing everything into the car, tiding up the house and doing my make up and hair (I had to take some last minute pictures ok?), we were ready to go. 

I still had doubts about our decision but tried to be optimistic and talk myself into it. In my mind I was listing every reason why this was a good idea and why we didn't want to wait any longer, but I was afraid.

I was scared to death of the pain that was coming. It's like seeing a train coming your way and knowing it's going to hit you but not being able to do anything about it. It's going to hurt. A lot. That's the way it is.

I was afraid of the unknown. I haven't been through this before and not knowing what's coming was the worst part of this whole ordeal (being the control freak that I am). 

I was nervous that I'm going to chicken out and get an epidural (which I did). I knew that my pain tolerance was very low and the side affects of epi are great. Nevertheless, the stories I've heard about the pain, made me consider it even more.

I was afraid of all the complications and every horror birth story kept coming to my mind (that's what you get for reading a million blogs). 

I was afraid of something happening to the baby and him having some kind of physical or mental defect. I was so scared that I will blame and will never forgive myself for the rest of my life. 

I was afraid that although my husband was there with me, he couldn't help me much. I felt so alone and scared, that all I kept doing the entire ride was holding on to his hand and praying.

That fifteen minute ride to the hospital felt like an eternity and my heart rate was going up with every mile passed by. I was nervous, anxious and jittery which probably wasn't helping the situation. 

The only thing that helped me get through was to get my mind off those things. Even praying wasn't helping because I kept listing and asking the Lord to make sure that none of those afro mentioned things happen, which send me into a mental freak out every time.

It was the scariest time of my life. 

But it was worth it.

I know we made the best decision we could make at the time and I had a perfectly healthy baby in my arm, which I thank God for everyday.

Advice

Thursday, September 5: Pass on some useful advice or information you learned and always remembered. 

I think the best lessons we learn are taught by life itself. No matter how much can someone explain or tell you something, unless you've gone through it yourself, it really doesn't stick. Ya know?

The best advice that I can ever give is the one I've learned myself, from personal experience. I've learned this the hard way - from hurt and tears.

Always remember to love others.

 "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself" Matthew 22:39

There is enough hurt, pain and evil in this world that we, Christians, don't need to add to it. God called us to peace, love and joy and that should be our main goal. 

Loving others isn't easy. It takes patience, character and caring attitude; it's something we learn over time. 

Love brings out best in people and helps them really shine through. Love softens our hearts and makes us stronger while showing others that we truly do care. And isn't that the best thing in the world, knowing that someone cares?

There were always enough judges, teachers and disciplinarians to keep everyone in check but there isn't enough people willing to love others. 

Just love them for who they are and really care for them. 

Love is the only thing that everyone is looking for but very few get to experience.

Love people, showing them love of God.

This Is Where I Come From

The Olympic City for Winter Games 2014

I come from a small family and have deep Russian roots. I was born and raised in Sochi, Russia. My parents decided to come look for a better life in the States, mainly because of my sister and I. You see, Sochi is a very tourist-oriented city, with hot summers and nasty rainy winters. The entire Slavic speaking population rushed for a chance to bask in the sun on the shores of black sea, there were no jobs, except to rent your two rooms to tourists and sleep on the 2x6 ft balcony. True story. My grandmother did it every year. 

My parents have totally different backgrounds - she, a third generation Christian and intelligent lady, and he, a divorcee with a kid and wild past. They tried to raise us the best they can - strict church attendance, close family relationships, cultural development with music lessons, art lessons, good grades and after school activities. Mom stayed home until I was in 5th grade and we were always learning, exploring and traveling.

As a family we traveled to Belarus every summer to see my grandparents and visit friends in Scandinavia (ironic because everyone else was rushing to Sochi not from it). Russian school ended on May 25th and started September 1st every year (still does), which gave us ample time to do whatever we wanted. 

My grandparents had a great influence on me and I still remember some of the greatest life lessons taught by my grandfather. Life was fun being a teenager on a farm. We didn't have TV, computers or even a phone so it was an unplugged summer every time. My grandpa read Bible every chance he had and listened to the news on an old soviet time radio, while commenting on how the Bolsheviks are taking over (although the Soviet Union was over by then). 

After we moved to the States, it was a long road to building a living from eight suitcases worth of stuff we came with to what we have now. Learning English on the spot and trying to fit in, discovering a totally new culture and trying to preserve our own. For me life was full of adventures: getting accepted by a few colleges and actually wining couple grants; getting jobs, dating and getting married to a fellow Russian.

A side note. I have nothing against American men but I would not be able to marry one. It's a cultural thing - you don't have to explain yourself every time you tell a joke or reference a Russian cartoon.

It  has been a tough road but it made me who I am today. 

Challenges bring out character and make us stronger. And I'm so thankful to my parents for uprooting their entire living at almost forty years old and bringing us here for a chance at better future.