The last words of the day drift through time and space, the lights flicker off and silence fades into slumber. Another day’s door has come to a close and I struggle to believe it has only been a month since I returned.
Wandering the streets of L’viv this week, Julie and I stumbled across a quaint little cafe. It was decorated by doors randomly placed among the courtyard tables, dotting the walls and even the menu was a door to be opened. In the background Frank Sinatra’s melodic and smooth voice invited you to sit, relax and enjoy the afternoon despite the sweltering heat.
Doors. 
Some stand out, accented against dull exteriors
Some are wooden, weathered, but still standing with marvelous stories to share
Some are large, metallic and uninviting
Some seem to say, “You are always welcome here”
Some doors are misleading
Some open into a grand adventure
Doors. Perspectives. Choices.
I’ve considered a lot of “doors” over the past several weeks. For example, I loathe Metro doors and marshrutka doors as they push you along into the midst of the stifling, human ooze of the city. The block, Soviet style doors seem uninviting (and the elevator doors even more so) but then you push through into a family flat with the sounds of laughter and the smells of homemade varenyky and know it is an honor to be invited into this space.
I still don’t understand Ukrainian Uno. The Russian language terrifies me. The thought of a girl from the southern part of America helping with English almost sounds ridiculous (really… we are far from linguists in the south and you know it!).
Living life alongside university students in Ukraine is a door I’m walking through anyway with God’s help.
What does that mean?
It means I am hoping to return to the States in the next few weeks to find a short-term job and raise support to move to Kiev in January to work with CCX next year.
I am still price searching but a round trip ticket home and back is around $1200… yeah I don’t think I want to purchase a one way this time around.
