The Story Behind the Story... Get Cozy, Josey with Susan May Warren

So, people often ask me where I get my story ideas. I mean, some of the stuff in my stories seems so crazy – like learning to “surf” the Moscow subway, or being pregnant in Russia and everything that entails, or teaching Russians to make peanut butter, or even, in my newest book (Get Cozy, Josey!) – living without plumbing!

I don’t make it up. It’s gathered from LOTS of personal experience from what I call The Siberia Years (when we lived in Far East Russia). And I LOVE being able to take those crazy lessons I learned and put them in a book.

But – the thing is, well, perhaps you’d like a glimpse into the REAL life of a Russian, and how she inspired the crazy and beautiful lessons Josey learns in my newest book, Get Cozy, Josey!  (about the hilarious adventures of Josey Berglund, wannabe missionary, when she moves with her husband and two toddler to the dark side of the world!)

This story comes from an actual newsletter article I wrote back in the days…

Thanks for reading!

Warmly ~  
JoseyGirl (aka, Susan May Warren)

Lessons from Sveta’s Kitchen

It was all my husband Andrew’s idea. We’d had a long January and February home schooling the children against a pane of gray and cheerless Siberian skies.  We were all feeling the restlessness that creeps under the skin after a monotonous and tireless schedule and needed a change of scenery: something to brighten our landscape as we plodded into March.  Andrew sensed our need, (something about the way the children cried into their corn kasha each morning alerted him) and suggested we accompany him on his trip to Belogorsk, a city about twelve hours west by train. He had to pull together details for a summer construction project and our good friends lived there.  
    “You can stay with Sveta while Vadeem and I work!”  He was smiling; my grin was quivering:  Sveta had three little children and they lived in an 8ft by 12ft single story house.  No running water. That means outhouse, folks.
    But I used to be a hardy camper and I donned my adventurer’s cap.  Two nights on the train and one night on their sofa…it could be fun.  
The travel brochure didn’t, however, mention the attitude adjustment God had planned for me - that was a surprise souvenir.
The train ride was fun: we brought a picnic, the kids bounced from bunk to bunk, we watched the sun set over the snowy horizon, and we enjoyed a change of pace.
At seven the next morning, a scruffy Vadeem picked us up and raced us along rutted alleys and flimsy green fences until we pulled into his yard.  His house was lit up and a friendly spiral of black smoke curled from the chimney.  Sveta was already boiling fresh palmeni (a Russian dumpling), and she greeted us like long lost relatives.  So far so good.
Then Andrew left and I wondered what Sveta and I could talk about: she was so quiet, I so ..well, not quiet…but a bit undone by that language barrier thing. There was no where else to sit in the house; the seven children (her three, my four) owned the sofa, watching Simba’s Pride (in Russian). So I pulled out some sewing and gave it a go….I started to chat.

For eight hours I sat there, (well, in between running the kids to the outhouse and dressing them for outside twice) fumbling with my Russian and watching my friend.  (okay, I chopped some vegetables also).  
Sveta never sat.
She pumped water into a big barrel, her delicate arms bulging with muscles (okay, I pumped some water too….especially after, when I offered, she laughed at me! (but my arms hurt afterward)).  She peeled about 300 potatoes. She swept her entire house, three times. She made a cake. She went out to the coal pile and hauled in a big bucket and then started her enormous coal stove (which heated the house), twice.  She fitted a neighbor in a housedress she was making for her and sewed up the hem. She cleaned fish.  She wore a skirt and looked comfortable in it...and then that night, as she sat by her husband, she rubbed his shoulders and let him poke fun at her.  And she smiled the entire time.  Not once did I hear her complain, raise her voice to her children or collapse at the table, drop her head into her hands and sigh, “I just can’t go on.”  No, she seemed happy, despite the challenges of her living conditions.
We were there for three days. (That is another story….).  I can imagine that Sveta dissolved into a puddle of exhaustion, cried and served her kids ramen noodles every meal for a week after we left….but I doubt it.  Sveta, at twenty-seven, had something that most women (or men for that matter) spend a lifetime trying to find:  Contentment.  Peace with her lot.  Perhaps even fulfillment as she tended the field the Lord had given her.  
    We returned home on the train. It was hot – sauna hot, and downright miserable. I tossed and turned all night.  But it was my conscience that kept me awake. How many times did I wish for cold water, or even a backyard for the children to play in? How many times have I melted into gloominess when our schedule overwhelms us?  How many times have I surrendered to crabbiness and complaining when I should be smiling?  I think the difference between Sveta’s smile and my frown is attitude and vision. Longing for things I don’t have - a lighter schedule, running cold water, a backyard or boxed convenience food - is a bit like acid, corroding my thankfulness.  “But giving thanks is a sacrifice that truly honors me.  If you keep to my path, I will reveal to you the salvation of God.” (NLT Ps 50:23) Could a part of that salvation be contentedness?
    I went to Sveta’s to brighten the colorless landscape of my tedious daily schedule.  I returned to the same palate…but with the hue of thanksgiving and a vivid determination to never let complaints paint my world gray.  Each day is mine to shade how I want…and I am going to start with contentment.

Save the Date! You won't want to miss our annual open house event on December 11th!