It was on the tour of the “sick room” when we saw him. He was 2 years old and lying in a crib. He was clean, well wrapped and covered, with a blanket up to his neck. Maria, the director, explained that he was born with a section of his brain missing, that he was blind and deaf, had cerebral palsy, and that physical touch hurt him. He was motionless. He will not live long, she said, but he hadn’t been expected to live as long as he has.
When I’m with the children, I do not focus on the fact that they are orphans with huge needs, and I’d say that some others on the team may be like this, too. You just get going: playing, singing, “talking,” chasing, and running. You watch them and look at their faces and try to follow the interaction clues that they give you. You pick them up when they let you, for this is one reason we have come—to be the arms, hands, and faces of Jesus. And you can’t do this if you’re an emotional basket case, crying in the corner. So you just run with it, and with them, and PLAY!
And it is fun, well, unless you’re captured by Marina and forced to stay by a tree, like I was. She was the wolf, and she got me. And she wouldn’t let me go. She said, “Stay!” which I didn’t need to know the word for, and also a lot of other things which I didn’t have a clue about. When I said, in Ukrainian, that I didn’t understand, she just shouted it louder.
I did learn today from the others on the team that if you just talk to them in English, its fine, and they get it. So I tried it with a little boy who tried to reach into my bag when it wasn’t yet time and it worked like a charm.
You do not need to know Ukrainian in order to come here. It was fun for me to learn a little bit before coming, but if you’re wondering if the Lord has a spot for you on a future team, it’s not a prerequisite. You just go and the Lord fills in the gaps, and uses the other members on the team to teach you stuff. Like today with me.
But back to the little guy in the crib, who was seemingly all alone. Last night during our worship time, we sang the song with the line “Jesus, defender of the weak,” (which happened to be the line that did me in. But it was OK for me to be the basket case at that point so I just let the tears go—wasn’t much I could do about it anyway). So today, looking at the child in the crib, I thought, “This is why Jesus has come”—to be with this tiny, untouchable fella whose life looked so small and bleak. This child was not alone. It is a delight to watch each team member here with the children.
At Ladyzhyn, Melanie was not so successful at keeping her own tears in check—not when she was singing, “Jesus loves me,” with her arms wrapped around a boy in a wheelchair. I had to get going to another room.
The teens on the trip are wonderful. (Parents, you must each be as proud as a peacock.) They are never still, and their arms are almost never empty. And the guys have the ability to hold 2 little ones at once, which they normally do—while sliding down the slide, or lifting them over and over to the cries of “More!” (which is the same body language the world around). (Wives who let your guy come without you: thank you. No wonder it was hard to let them go.) We are a team.
We laughed till after midnight last night and right now, I hear Melanie laughing over on the outdoor swing with the same laugh that drove me into fits each time I heard her last night. (But a comment by one of the girls, or by one of the guys from the other room also had the same effect. Their silliness and their antics have been like medicine for me. I love watching the youth group people all together, and I love it that they let other people in.)
Amazingly, we’re all fresh and rested today, another God-thing.Our translators, Julia and Ella, are lovely and gentle, and they use the Ukrainian “diminutive” word forms (sort of a love-y noun form built into their language that denotes care and tenderness) naturally. Marina, (my wolf attacker) was called “Marine,” by Julia, and I smiled. It was just nice to hear.
We had the privilege of meeting the children in the cribs on the first floor the other day at Ladyzhyn, where I had a different crib experience. (Oh, and Beth, one of the first things I saw was one of your little taggie blankies being thrown up in the air by a little guy from his wheelchair.) My dream had been to be able to learn enough Ukrainian words to read the children ONE story. With the help of Kseniya, (and the Lord), I also have a few phrases, and more than I could’ve imagined. So there I was at Lydisian, in a room with several cribs. They were a captive audience, so I gave ‘em what I had. I went beside each one, and I sang them “Jesus loves me” in Ukrainian (my version) which ended with the words, “Jesus says, ‘Come into my arms.” I don’t remember their faces at all—(I knew Jesus knew them, and I was just concentrating on getting to as many different children as I could, one at a time)--except for one. He had black hair, a small frame, angular, bent tube arms, and dark eyes which never left me. I had bent down to where he was, and when I was finished singing, I felt like he was holding me with those eyes, so I lingered. I touched his face, and said, “It’s true”: “Tsay pravda.” Then I said, “Jesus is here,”: “Eesoos toot,” and I touched the mattress beside him to indicate where Jesus was. He was completely unable to move or to speak, but I felt like heard him, like what I had just told him was what he’d been waiting to hear his whole life. He looked …well, serene, like he was Ok with where and how he was—like one of the Hebrews 11 “aliens and strangers in this world who are longing and waiting for a country not their own.” I held out my arms and held him. I hope I never forget his face, but I hope he saw Jesus in mine. It’s what we have been praying.
I expected Ladyzhyn to smell really, really bad. I don’t do very well with some smells, so I’d wondered how I would be. I think I mentioned this to more than one person, including David, who had gently reminded me not to whine too much while I was on this trip. (And David, I have been sort of good about that. But Kristin did comment on my refined ability to work some things into the conversation.
Yesterday when the guys were playing soccer in Tulchyn, those of us who were sitting at the sidelines were more focused on the smell there than on the game. It stunk. And I mean, really bad, like a cesspool. We had been expecting it at Ladyzhyn, but not at the non-orphanage places. It sent us into fits of laughter though, more than once, as we thought of stuffing mint gum into each nostril to try to keep the grossness at bay.)
But back to Ladyzhyn, it really wasn’t that bad…well, not as bad as I’d imagined. It was OK. Oh, it stunk too, and but then so did we when we left, since we’d all been hugging the daylights out of all of those “kids,” but it was OK.
But back to the soccer. The “soccer people” had such a great time that they’d invited the fellas back to play in the evening. So they did, and they gave the rest of us the ‘report’ when they got back. Our team, including the young guys from the village who were on the team with our guys, got creamed. The men who had shown up to play, when they’d heard of the game with the Americans, showed up wearing their cleats and really nice soccer shirts. They had no interest in mixing the teams for a nice, friendly, pickup game. Their goal was obviously blood. So our team was able to be great sports! (I wasn’t there; one soccer game at the sidelines was enough for me for one day, but having seen these incredible guys in action, I have no doubt that this was what had happened.) I thought about how all of that had actually been a gift, that these had been the circumstances, since the young guys from the village had had a chance to see the way that Jesus-guys play soccer, and how they win and lose. Pretty cool, huh?
It’s now time to eat the “milk” candy that Julia just gave me, and Ella is waiting to read this before it’s posted at the internet cafй. The sun is shining (not too hot and no humidity—thank you, Lord, and thank you all for praying about our hotness) and it’s quiet while I’m typing. Most everyone else is gone—to the soccer field (probably to the stinky lot rather than to the turf field), but my time limit is about up. And by the way, the food is great, the toilet here at the house has a mind of its own, I have had one cold shower and have had another using a jug in order to dump water onto myself, since the unpredictable water temperature goes from wild hot to frigid cold in a heartbeat, which was OK—but I’m not going to lie and say that I love using a jug—and let’s see, what else might you be wondering? Oh, I have no idea….
Just please keep the prayers coming--that we would continue holding out our empty hands and letting Jesus fill them up, so that we can hold them out to the children, saying, “Eeday daw manehr naroocheh.” (Come into my arms).
Thanks!
Cheryl
When I’m with the children, I do not focus on the fact that they are orphans with huge needs, and I’d say that some others on the team may be like this, too. You just get going: playing, singing, “talking,” chasing, and running. You watch them and look at their faces and try to follow the interaction clues that they give you. You pick them up when they let you, for this is one reason we have come—to be the arms, hands, and faces of Jesus. And you can’t do this if you’re an emotional basket case, crying in the corner. So you just run with it, and with them, and PLAY!
And it is fun, well, unless you’re captured by Marina and forced to stay by a tree, like I was. She was the wolf, and she got me. And she wouldn’t let me go. She said, “Stay!” which I didn’t need to know the word for, and also a lot of other things which I didn’t have a clue about. When I said, in Ukrainian, that I didn’t understand, she just shouted it louder.
I did learn today from the others on the team that if you just talk to them in English, its fine, and they get it. So I tried it with a little boy who tried to reach into my bag when it wasn’t yet time and it worked like a charm.
You do not need to know Ukrainian in order to come here. It was fun for me to learn a little bit before coming, but if you’re wondering if the Lord has a spot for you on a future team, it’s not a prerequisite. You just go and the Lord fills in the gaps, and uses the other members on the team to teach you stuff. Like today with me.
But back to the little guy in the crib, who was seemingly all alone. Last night during our worship time, we sang the song with the line “Jesus, defender of the weak,” (which happened to be the line that did me in. But it was OK for me to be the basket case at that point so I just let the tears go—wasn’t much I could do about it anyway). So today, looking at the child in the crib, I thought, “This is why Jesus has come”—to be with this tiny, untouchable fella whose life looked so small and bleak. This child was not alone. It is a delight to watch each team member here with the children.
At Ladyzhyn, Melanie was not so successful at keeping her own tears in check—not when she was singing, “Jesus loves me,” with her arms wrapped around a boy in a wheelchair. I had to get going to another room.
The teens on the trip are wonderful. (Parents, you must each be as proud as a peacock.) They are never still, and their arms are almost never empty. And the guys have the ability to hold 2 little ones at once, which they normally do—while sliding down the slide, or lifting them over and over to the cries of “More!” (which is the same body language the world around). (Wives who let your guy come without you: thank you. No wonder it was hard to let them go.) We are a team.
We laughed till after midnight last night and right now, I hear Melanie laughing over on the outdoor swing with the same laugh that drove me into fits each time I heard her last night. (But a comment by one of the girls, or by one of the guys from the other room also had the same effect. Their silliness and their antics have been like medicine for me. I love watching the youth group people all together, and I love it that they let other people in.)
Amazingly, we’re all fresh and rested today, another God-thing.Our translators, Julia and Ella, are lovely and gentle, and they use the Ukrainian “diminutive” word forms (sort of a love-y noun form built into their language that denotes care and tenderness) naturally. Marina, (my wolf attacker) was called “Marine,” by Julia, and I smiled. It was just nice to hear.
We had the privilege of meeting the children in the cribs on the first floor the other day at Ladyzhyn, where I had a different crib experience. (Oh, and Beth, one of the first things I saw was one of your little taggie blankies being thrown up in the air by a little guy from his wheelchair.) My dream had been to be able to learn enough Ukrainian words to read the children ONE story. With the help of Kseniya, (and the Lord), I also have a few phrases, and more than I could’ve imagined. So there I was at Lydisian, in a room with several cribs. They were a captive audience, so I gave ‘em what I had. I went beside each one, and I sang them “Jesus loves me” in Ukrainian (my version) which ended with the words, “Jesus says, ‘Come into my arms.” I don’t remember their faces at all—(I knew Jesus knew them, and I was just concentrating on getting to as many different children as I could, one at a time)--except for one. He had black hair, a small frame, angular, bent tube arms, and dark eyes which never left me. I had bent down to where he was, and when I was finished singing, I felt like he was holding me with those eyes, so I lingered. I touched his face, and said, “It’s true”: “Tsay pravda.” Then I said, “Jesus is here,”: “Eesoos toot,” and I touched the mattress beside him to indicate where Jesus was. He was completely unable to move or to speak, but I felt like heard him, like what I had just told him was what he’d been waiting to hear his whole life. He looked …well, serene, like he was Ok with where and how he was—like one of the Hebrews 11 “aliens and strangers in this world who are longing and waiting for a country not their own.” I held out my arms and held him. I hope I never forget his face, but I hope he saw Jesus in mine. It’s what we have been praying.
I expected Ladyzhyn to smell really, really bad. I don’t do very well with some smells, so I’d wondered how I would be. I think I mentioned this to more than one person, including David, who had gently reminded me not to whine too much while I was on this trip. (And David, I have been sort of good about that. But Kristin did comment on my refined ability to work some things into the conversation.
Yesterday when the guys were playing soccer in Tulchyn, those of us who were sitting at the sidelines were more focused on the smell there than on the game. It stunk. And I mean, really bad, like a cesspool. We had been expecting it at Ladyzhyn, but not at the non-orphanage places. It sent us into fits of laughter though, more than once, as we thought of stuffing mint gum into each nostril to try to keep the grossness at bay.)
But back to Ladyzhyn, it really wasn’t that bad…well, not as bad as I’d imagined. It was OK. Oh, it stunk too, and but then so did we when we left, since we’d all been hugging the daylights out of all of those “kids,” but it was OK.
But back to the soccer. The “soccer people” had such a great time that they’d invited the fellas back to play in the evening. So they did, and they gave the rest of us the ‘report’ when they got back. Our team, including the young guys from the village who were on the team with our guys, got creamed. The men who had shown up to play, when they’d heard of the game with the Americans, showed up wearing their cleats and really nice soccer shirts. They had no interest in mixing the teams for a nice, friendly, pickup game. Their goal was obviously blood. So our team was able to be great sports! (I wasn’t there; one soccer game at the sidelines was enough for me for one day, but having seen these incredible guys in action, I have no doubt that this was what had happened.) I thought about how all of that had actually been a gift, that these had been the circumstances, since the young guys from the village had had a chance to see the way that Jesus-guys play soccer, and how they win and lose. Pretty cool, huh?
It’s now time to eat the “milk” candy that Julia just gave me, and Ella is waiting to read this before it’s posted at the internet cafй. The sun is shining (not too hot and no humidity—thank you, Lord, and thank you all for praying about our hotness) and it’s quiet while I’m typing. Most everyone else is gone—to the soccer field (probably to the stinky lot rather than to the turf field), but my time limit is about up. And by the way, the food is great, the toilet here at the house has a mind of its own, I have had one cold shower and have had another using a jug in order to dump water onto myself, since the unpredictable water temperature goes from wild hot to frigid cold in a heartbeat, which was OK—but I’m not going to lie and say that I love using a jug—and let’s see, what else might you be wondering? Oh, I have no idea….
Just please keep the prayers coming--that we would continue holding out our empty hands and letting Jesus fill them up, so that we can hold them out to the children, saying, “Eeday daw manehr naroocheh.” (Come into my arms).
Thanks!
Cheryl
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