Moscow, silent and dark, awaits another gray November day. In a 10th-floor apartment near the Konkova Metro stop, Tim Patterson puts on his slippers and stumbles into a tiny kitchen. He brews some coffee, pours a cup for Dawn, his wife of 11 years, and brings it to her in bed. Then he reads, prays and prepares for a Bible study.

While it's still dark, the Hoosier laces up his running shoes and takes a two-mile jaunt around lanky buildings that crowd thousands of Muscovites into hundreds of apartments.

"Before God called us to Moscow," says Tim, "I never had a desire to go to Moscow, even to visit. But I really wanted our kids to see that we've made decisions not based upon what was the most comfortable or desirable place to live, but because of the ministry."

7 a.m.

It's still dark and Tim, now showered and dressed for the office, stirs the kids from their sleep: Holly, 10, Laura, 8, David, 7, Katherine, 5. The four towheads split two bunk beds in a single room. After breakfast (it's French toast on Wednesdays) and the flurry of backpacks, lunches and snow boots, the three eldest ride the clunky elevator down to meet their driver, who whisks them off to Hinkson Christian Academy, about 30 minutes away.

Some children at Hinkson take the Metro to school, but the Patterson parents doubt that Holly is ready to escort the younger ones alone. So they hire Anatoly, a grandfatherly Russian, to bring them safely to and from school.

Since it's Wednesday, Dawn walks Katherine three blocks to the Russian kindergarten or detsky sad--literally, a children's garden.

When the Pattersons moved to Moscow in 1992, they chose schooling based on each child's personality. Unlike missionary families in some regions, the Pattersons have the opportunity to send their children to an American school. Hinkson, a K-12 school founded by Campus Crusade families in 1991, seemed the best choice for their three oldest.

However, Katherine, playful and precocious, likes her all-Russian kindergarten. When the 5-year-old counted to 10 in Russian, her classmates cheered and beckoned their teacher to flaunt the young American's feat. "Katherine will probably be the best in Russian," Dawn explains, "because she has been immersed in the language at an early age."

Russian (and before that, German) hasn't been as easy for Dawn, a native Minnesotan. "I thought that when I got overseas," she recalls, "I would quickly absorb the language, learn to survive and go on with ministry." The Pattersons' training for international service repeatedly emphasized how to survive and make a spiritual impact in another culture. Dawn brushed off the part about surviving. All right, all right, she thought impatiently of the "basic" stuff, just get on with how we're going to do the spiritual impact.

In 1988, when they first went overseas, dreams of Bible studies with German neighbors filled Dawn's head. "By the time we moved to Russia in 1992," she admits, "I knew it was unrealistic [to master the language immediately]." Instead, she frantically tried to recall just what she'd learned about survival five years and three children earlier.

"When we first came here," Holly, then 5, remembers, "there was hardly anything. My mom would go shopping for hours and come back with almost nothing." Now survival is easier--meats, fruits and vegetables are more plentiful, although some prices have doubled and even tripled. Just three years ago, impromptu phone chains began when missionary moms discovered eggs or potatoes at a certain market: The women dropped everything and scurried off to that vender. "In some ways it was so hard," Dawn says, "but in other ways, it was really thrilling."

9:30 a.m.

After leaving Katherine, Dawn hurries home to Irena, her language tutor, and they plod through more verbs, more vocabulary, more syntax.

NOON

Dawn picks up Katherine and stops by the outdoor market. Thanks to Irena, Dawn's Russian has improved to where she can comfortably converse with the wrinkled babushkas who withstand the cold and wind to peddle their wares. She drops tangerines, bread and cheese in her cream-colored, canvas bag--which has proven more durable than its Land's End makers could ever imagine--and wheels the bag of goods on a small cart back to their apartment.

Afterward, Dawn joins another missionary mom for prayer and aerobics.

Meanwhile, at Hinkson Academy, Holly, Laura and David study and play in a building formerly used to educate children of Communist weapon makers. Within its brick walls missionary and other expatriate children are taught Russian, Bible and other courses. The building itself is an answer to the families' prayers. Two weeks before the first day of school, the government ousted Hinkson from a facility they had worked all summer renovating. For no clear reason, the government revoked their permit. ("Never ask why," Tim says about living in Russia. "There's no answer to some of the ways things are done over here. You last a lot longer if you stop asking why.")

Hinkson and similar schools worldwide play an indispensable role in helping fulfill the Great Commission by keeping families at their calling and helping prepare the next generation of believers.

The Patterson kids' classmates are mostly American missionary children, but one of David's friends is a Korean 7-year-old, son of Korean missionaries, who speaks Korean, English and Russian. Living abroad affords schooling in more than ABCs and 123s. Since their friends and teachers have lived all over the planet, missionary children learn world history, geography and culture as a way of life. For example, after a Madagascan friend visited the Pattersons, Tim asked 5-year-old Katherine if she could locate Madagascar on the globe. Katherine immediately (and correctly) pointed to the large island in the Indian Ocean.

Every once in awhile, Dawn worries that the children will feel ungrounded, even unsure of their identity. "David and Katherine were born in Germany and now we all live in Russia. The children see themselves as Americans, but I know it will be different when they grow up. What will they consider their home?

"When I struggle with that, or they do, I try to remember that our home is in heaven. That way, we can see ourselves as Americans but be willing to go anywhere for the sake of the kingdom of God."

4 p.m.

Anatoly the driver drops off David and Laura at their apartment, while a friend's mom drives Holly to ice-skating lessons. Since the November sky is already darkening, the children play board games, watch videos or do homework inside. It's unusual for them to venture outside in the cold, mud and dusk on their own.

In the summer, however, life is different. The Pattersons leave their two-bedroom apartment for a dacha, or country house. There the children can ride their bikes, swim in a nearby pond and run in the yard, and "you don't have to ride an elevator to get there," says 8-year-old Laura with a smile.

"It's very typically Russian," Dawn explains, "to escape the city life for the dacha, but not all missionary families do it." And since the cottage has no running water or inside toilet, the Pattersons' stay helped their neighbors see that these Americans want to be a part of their culture. Last summer, some of the Russian women watchfully instructed Dawn in canning black currants, and the children easily befriended Russian playmates. At the end of the summer, Holly even suggested offering their new friends cookies, a child's evangelistic booklet or Christian cassette. "It gave them an environment to share Christ in their own little way," Dawn says.

Back at the apartment, Dawn begins dinner and the children help. The calendar tells who sets the table, cleans up and does the dishes.

6 p.m.

Tim returns home from the office and Holly from her lessons. She wants to be an elite ice skater when she grows up. Her future husband, Holly says, will tend to their horse farm when she competes at the Olympics, representing Russia, "since they have better skaters."

During dinner the Pattersons talk about their day: Holly recites Philippians 1:1-16 (their class is memorizing the whole book); David determines which donut he'll order when they journey by Metro to Dunkin' Donuts; Dawn buzzes about Irena, her language tutor, who fears her daughter doesn't believe in God. Dawn finally has the spiritual vocabulary to explain the gospel message. All in all, a good day.

On not-so-good days--when they can't find boots for the children, and there's no hot water, and their apartment feels claustrophobic--Tim wonders what job he could do back in the States.

On really bad days--like when Russian legislation threatens to endanger the lives of missionaries--Tim and Dawn lay in their bed and read Dave Barry aloud until their laughter melts the stress into the mattress.

"A sense of humor and flexibility are critical," says Dawn, who laughs as much as she talks (and she can talk). "Things don't operate the best here, and I can become very negative and critical. Then the Lord speaks to me: Is this the way you want your children to think?"

After supper, clean-up and homework, the kids change into their pajamas. They feed Peter and Samson (their pet turtles), Sasha (their adopted cat) and climb into bed for a story. "There aren't many distractions here," says Tim. "There's not much to watch on TV and no new books or magazines to read, so our family time is very significant."

Tim sits on the floor between the bunk beds, with Katherine in his lap, and begins Chapter 2 of Old Yeller. Dawn rubs Laura's back while Holly pulls her blanket up to her neck. As Tim reads, Katherine's eyes fall heavy and the child surrenders to sleep.