Dinner party with pastors and wives.
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Removing the protein from our mushroom soup
Rather than zipping around town to meet folks and see projects involved with IM work, we stayed home and prepared for a dinner to which the city’s three Protestant pastors and their wives were invited. Marti’s kitchen is about 4 feet wide with precious little counter space so we had to juggle tasks and washing dishes to accommodate all that needed to be done. In the midst of preparing dinner, we cooked homemade soup with the mushrooms we picked yesterday. That meant first examining every mushroom for worms before tossing them (the mushrooms, not the worms) into the pot with chicken broth. The finished product was gourmet fantastic. Move over, Campbell’s!
The dinner party was fun for all. Marti served cold salads, deli meats and cheeses, and roll – a typical Polish meal – and topped the menu with lemon meringue pie and apple crisp. I learned that, when you’re sitting at the table and you want a particular food but can’t reach it, it’s more acceptable to simply stand up and reach across everyone for it rather than interrupt others who are closer but engaged in conversation. Whatever works!
Conversation flowed freely during dinner. A translator had come along for our benefit, and we enjoyed being a part of what was happening. Before long, however, the guests entered a conversation about which everyone felt passionate, and they all spoke at once. The translator threw off his English and jumped back into Polish. Gene and I must have looked like deer staring into a car’s headlights as we tried to catch a familiar word now and then. Reminded me of the ol’ days in Nepal when we couldn’t understand a word at first, and we constantly walked around feeling brain-drained. Nevertheless, the evening ended with prayer for one another’s ministry (3 Protestant pastors in a city of about 120,000). I love praying with others when they speak in their native language – God understands those prayers no matter the language in which they’re spoken, and coming before Him knits our hearts to each other.
The dinner party was fun for all. Marti served cold salads, deli meats and cheeses, and roll – a typical Polish meal – and topped the menu with lemon meringue pie and apple crisp. I learned that, when you’re sitting at the table and you want a particular food but can’t reach it, it’s more acceptable to simply stand up and reach across everyone for it rather than interrupt others who are closer but engaged in conversation. Whatever works!
Conversation flowed freely during dinner. A translator had come along for our benefit, and we enjoyed being a part of what was happening. Before long, however, the guests entered a conversation about which everyone felt passionate, and they all spoke at once. The translator threw off his English and jumped back into Polish. Gene and I must have looked like deer staring into a car’s headlights as we tried to catch a familiar word now and then. Reminded me of the ol’ days in Nepal when we couldn’t understand a word at first, and we constantly walked around feeling brain-drained. Nevertheless, the evening ended with prayer for one another’s ministry (3 Protestant pastors in a city of about 120,000). I love praying with others when they speak in their native language – God understands those prayers no matter the language in which they’re spoken, and coming before Him knits our hearts to each other.
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