Grandpa's Village

One of the things I had been keenly looking forward to on our trip was the possibility of finding and visiting the village my Grandfather grew up in. I knew it was on Chios but didn't remember the name of the village. Our thought was to go to Chios before visiting Ephesus in Turkey, and see what we could find out. At first, it was a curiosity. My Grandpa had spoken frequently of "The Old Country". I never really tired of hearing about it. 

I think a lot of the family did. Many of them, not all, were trying very hard to be "American" and cast off the stigma that surrounded immigrants. This was fully understandable. It was the USA in the mid-twentieth century! We were struggling, as a nation, to define ourselves and develop a unique identity far removed from our mostly European roots. I always envied him for his trips back home and the beautiful pictures and souvenirs he would bring back. Even with all that, I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, the thought lingered, "I'm not really Greek. I was adopted." 

Yet, the closer we came to taking the overnight ferry ride to Chios, the more anxious I became. Could we really find it? As we approached from the Northern end, Chios seemed like a barren and very large Island. Still, my heart began to stir in a way that surprised me. I let my thoughts wander back to the times Grandpa must have approached his island from this very same direction and the anticipation he must have felt in seeing his home and his family. As we moved toward the Southern end of the Island we began to see how beautiful and inviting it was and I could see clearly why he loved it so much. 

We pulled into Chios Town, our picturesque port. These days, it is a major vacation destination. We gathered our things and set out to find our hotel. We stayed at the Hotel Chandris ("NOT 'Shan-dris' but 'Hcccan-dris'", we were told), a nice Holiday Inn level hotel right on the waterfront. As it turned out, we were lucky to have a room at all. Seems we chose the busiest time of the season to visit. God is good! As we explored around the town and had dinner that evening, we began to ask about finding Grandpa's village.

The Night Manager at the Chandris said he knew of a village very nearby that had a number of "Koubakis" families in it and explained that the English spelling of the name would differ from the Greek spelling. 

We took our rental car up there, and I mean "up" there! It was a very steep mountain road leading into a small, quaint but fairly modern village, maybe a hundred years old. Grandpa was fond of telling me his village was ancient. Eating at a small tavern in the village (we've had some of our best times at these little out-of-the-way taverns every village seems to have), we asked some of the locals about the Kuvakas family. No recognition of the name at all. We came, very carefully, back down the mountain. 

 Back at the Hotel, I decided to take a look at the map of Chios to see if anything would jog my memory. As I studied the map, I saw the small mountain village of Olimpi on the Southern end of the Island. I immediately flashed back (in a good way) to a talk I had with Grandpa, "So, you're from Olympus, like the Greek gods, Grandpa?" "No, Olimpi, a small village on Chios." That was it! 

The next morning, we got back in our rental car and headed South. The roads were extremely winding but very scenic as we would cruise along the coastline for miles then move inland towards the mountains for a bit. We traveled through a number of seaside villages, all with the ubiquitous taverns on the waterfront and long sandy beaches. We cruised through a number of inland villages as well. All of the inland villages were quaint but they all seemed relatively modern in the same way the small town the night before was. Then we saw the road sign for our destination. 

As the village came into view, I knew right away we were in the right place. It wasn't just old...it was ancient. The buildings, even from a distance were quite old but looked fairly well kept and presented the same odd dichotomy we've seen in the truly old locations of buildings that may be hundreds, if not thousands of years old marked with satellite dishes, antennas and the evidences of 21st century life. To us, we see incredibly rich history. To these folks, they see their homes and neighborhoods, old as they may be, but live-able and functional in a modern age.

We drove into town on some incredibly narrow streets. Streets that were never intended to accommodate anything like a modern vehicle but better suited for donkey carts and shepherds with their flocks. We went as far into the village as we could go and finally parked the car and got out to walk. As we strolled down the streets and alleys of the village, its stunningly old age became apparent. This place was truly unique among all the places we had visited so far! 

I began to remember things Grandpa told me: "I went to an old church on a hill in the middle of the village." "The center of town was where the stores and shops were." "I never learned to drive because where I came from, cars would never fit very well." We saw all these things! 

 And as we sat in the Kentro (Town Center), at a little cafe, trying, with limited success, to communicate with the folks there; I could just see him running up and down the streets, eating fruits and vegetables from the fields outside the town, enjoying cheese and meat from the herds of sheep wandering up and down the streets and dreaming of coming to America one day....and starting a family...a family that I would be, literally, chosen to be a part of. I was adopted into his family when I was 6 months old. This weighed heavily upon me as we toured that little village. 

I've had an unexpectedly hard time dealing with all this over the last few days. I haven't been sure why but I think I now know. 

I loved my Grandpa and there was never any doubt he loved me. But when he died, I was young, cocky and too self-absorbed to realize what a loss his passing was. He was the most kind and gentle man I ever knew. And he loved his family desperately. I've never missed him as much as I do now and these last few days, after 40 years, have been my grieving process. 

 But there's so much more here. I believe this is one of the things God wants to show me on this trip. You see? I was grafted in to the Kuvakas family. I never did anything to deserve it. I was helpless to influence it but I was the benefactor of unconditional love and acceptance by my Mother and Father. What a picture of grace! I don't think I ever realized it before, but my Grandpa's love was a further demonstration of that grace. Instead of treating me like an interloper or an outsider, he took me as one of his own, cared for me, nurtured me and loved me, certainly not because of who I was...but because of who he was. Grandpa was far from perfect, as we all are. But he exhibited more Christ-like behavior and heart attitude than anyone I know. 

Trough these memories of him, I have come to see my adoption in a whole new light. I was truly grafted in to the Kuvakas family and, as such, share their heritage, their inheritance and the family name. I am a Greek! I don't think I've ever felt that I've really had roots before. But that's exactly what Grandpa kept trying to tell me, I have people. I'm part of a family! Even more than that, for each one of us who believes that Jesus Christ was God's only Son who died for our sins and was resurrected (Rom 10:9-10), we have the same blessing. We share a common heritage, inheritance and family name. We are grafted in to the body of Christ (Rom 11:17). We have roots. We have a foundation. The greater blessing here is that we receive all the benefits of being part of the family of God. 

Our foundation is not of this world and unlike even this beautiful village, it will not, one day, crumble regardless of how well we try to preserve it because it is He, the One who spoke the universe into existence, who builds and maintains the foundation. What a security! What an assurance! What great God we have! 

Thanks for the lesson in being a godly man, Grandpa. Thanks for telling me about your village. Thanks for taking me in to your family. Thanks for being a reflection of Jesus Christ to a young boy who didn't hear until long after you were gone. I miss you! But I know I will see you again. We will stand side by side and praise our great God together! For now, I've been to your village. I've seen your earthly home. It's beautiful! I can hardly wait to see your heavenly home!