Called to Jonquoy

Now I know what the title suggests. Hold on a minute!… I am not called to Jonquoy, these are merely my thoughts on those people Christian, humanitarian, Peace Corp or otherwise would be ‘called’ to Jonquoy (and if anyone is with my Mother right now can you make sure she’s still breathing)? Have cleared that up… Jonquoy is where we have been journeying to and from every morning and every night for 7 days. To see Yuri we were taking a bus daily from Simferopal to Jonquoy, a miserably hot and stuffy 2hr commute each way—unless the driver feels like stopping for peaches on the side of the road while we sit in the 250 degree bus (and that’s in Celius) which is all too common.
I must be honest if God called me to Jonquoy I would have to say “Niet!” (That’s ‘no’ in Russian). Hey, you can judge but I didn’t see you there for the past 7 days. To be candid. I am Jonah or maybe even a tougher version of Jonah because it would take more than three days in a fish to break me and I hate the smell of fish. What a wimp!
No that I’m an expert on Ninevah but I’m sure it was a pretty foul place for Jonah to despise it the way he did. Like Ninevah, Jonquoy is considered to be the pitts and not only by me. No one in Simferopel has anything nice to say about Jonquoy, nor do the fine people of Jonquoy. One day we were in line at the bus station waiting to buy tickets and a taxi driver was walking around trying to talk us into a ride that was four times the price. Niet, homeboy. (Taxi drivers in the Ukraine are there own breed. They are funny. Think, Italian Yankees. Seriously, gold chains, loud, obnoxious, everything. They are always goofing on each other. Somehow they make us feel at home.) One day a driver asked Oksana where we were going and she smiled and said sarcastically “the most popular place in Ukraine” to which he immediately nodded replying “Ah, Jonquoy.” Smiles all around, man even the taxis don’t want to go there.
If you ask a local where to eat in Jonquoy they just look at you with a blank stare and shake their heads. Is it really that bad? No suggestions? I think they all brown bag it. We learned this after we’d already eaten at the same café 2 days in a row. The only one we could find mind you. The director at the orphanage looked completely disgusted when we told her we’d been eating there. To which I replied “Oh well when in Jonquoy…” It was at that moment we taught Oksana the idiom ‘When in Rome…” You know the rest.
Jonquoy is dead; really, the streets would be empty were it not for the all too familiar drunks roaming around, beer in hand, before noon. The market ends at 1pm sharp if they feel like working late. The sidewalks are in dire need of repair, houses are sad and the park is even more depressing. We went there our first day in hopes of finding a good place to take Yuri during our visits, only to find even little Yuri knew the park was “terrible” (his words). The swing sets have been reduced to nothing but chains hanging on a rusted out pole. The benches are all missing the actual ‘bench’ and are nothing more than the broken remnants of a benchs that were at one time undoubtedly painted Ukrainian blue (they love that color). There was a huge metal cage that was boarded up. We recognized it as a run down bumper car arena once bustling during the Soviet era.
As I looked around I saw something that was once a beautiful park now only beautiful in my imagination. When seen with a little love it takes on a whole new look… I can see where the castle style slide used to have bricks painted on the siding and how the grass which now lay uncut like hay was most likely a neatly manicured bright shade of green. I imagine the folks of Jonquoy used to enjoy this place. I can see them strolling the sidewalks (before they were a hazard) children in tow and laughing carrying sodas instead of the new beverages of choice-- vodka and beer. From the looks of it this park it was at one time well- kept and well-enjoyed. And I also imagine that Jonquoy was at one time more than just a desolate town that started up at 9am and closed up at 1pm. More than just a string of half empty buildings and drunken patrons. At one time Jonquoy attracted citizens with jobs at the cement factory. Judging from the sidewalks in the Ukraine the demand for cement diminished with the decrescendo of the soviet empire. I have no clue when the factory closed down, but apparently when it did those who could shaped up and shipped out leaving a tidy train station. And like all Ukrainian bus and train stations Jonquoy’s stop serves as a sort of bait and switch to would be tourist.
In reality, deep down I am saddened by Jonquoy far more than I am afraid of living in it. Like all things we take the time to loath I care for it more than those one hundred thousand towns I take no time to think about at all. Although I still claim the ‘Jonas’ attitude (I know, I know, I’m an awful person…blah). It’s just sad. I noticed everyday on our way from the orphanage back to the train station there is one tidy building. Its finished with a cocoa colored stucco. It is 2 stories, well kept, with gleaming white trim. There is a poster, no a banner, on the front with men in uniforms and little children all smiling (they must have taken that picture in Simferopal, because I’ve yet to see a local smile). Each day I wonder what the building is and make a mental note to ask Oksana, and virtually each day I forget. It is by far the nicest building in all of Jonquoy, in fact it is so nice and out of place that if the right people were around it could server as a start—a start to nicer buildings, not nicer in the sense of more expensive or flashy—just cared for. Could it just take one or two people to inspire the rest? I wonder if like the dilapidated buildings the spirit of Jonquoy is crumbling. I later found out my favorite building was the police headquarters. Too bad that even in the midst of this ragged, tired town, there isn’t a church with a beautiful steeple-one that seems to reach to the sky. Or people who seemed to do the same would it change things? I don’t know, I would say yes. I guess that’s why in the end ‘ol Jonah gave up and went to Ninevah (way to go Jonah). I guess God got through to him and really softened his heart because just like Ninevah needs hope, so does Jonquoy.
I am shocked at the soft spot God’s formed in my heart for Jonquoy…really, I am. That being said, I still don’t want to go live there and even as I write this I’m silently praying God doesn’t play a little joke and test me—surely I was there long enough…. (Can someone call my Memaw and ask her to pray, I want to stay in America, I don’t know that I want to ever leave Donelson after this trip!)
I will say this—the director and the social workers, the judge and all those working with Oksana on our adoption in Jonquoy were amazing. The orphanage there needs work, but the workers couldn’t have been better to our son. It is clear they care for those kids. I could tell by the big lipstick kisses left on Yuri’s cheeks when we left Jonquoy that he was loved there and I love them for that. It’s amazing how selfless people can be without even realizing it isn’t it? Pray for Jonquoy and pray for whomever God is calling… and, back to my weaker side…pray it’s not me.
With love, from…Jonquoy.
[PS: A few days later I saw this sticker on a bus stop that said something in Russian with smiling faces at each corner. It was a promotion for a local church and the words were testimonies from each person. Each one was different but the gist was this… Though this church people who were in the middle of a divorce where finding reconciliation, alcoholics were finding sobriety, and those who nearly left their children parentless found family. We later saw the church members at the bus station and after having been nearly robbed by gypsies we saw two church folks respectfully and kindly smiling and handing out the same flyer. Thanks for your prayer Meemaw I knew you and God were tight.