Sweeping Up Rocks

As we got off the bus on our 5^th day, our last day, I watched a woman sweeping the dirt road. She had a broom that had the bottom few inches of it worn away, and was sweeping into little piles, anything that might trip or cause pain. With sincere motions, but a delicate touch she swept and swept and swept.

Today was a hard day. No question about that. We said goodbye to children, little parts of our soul and significant portions of our hearts. The last day at the camps is something we talk about in training. It’s painful, it’s tearful, it’s uncomfortable, but you can’t have a beginning without an ending. S it logical that we long to make the trip to Russia, dread leaving, and then can’t wait to get home. All of us, last night, commented on wanting to board the airplane immediately. It ‘s like we are carrying some precious cargo, some invaluable commodity, some irreplaceable information that we must immediately begin caring for, nurturing and the returning to our homes to share. What an odd sensation as this.

The day has gone beautifully. Tears, laughter, games, the Gospel. One of the most difficult aspects of this trip is that we rarely see an fruit. Many kids listen intently and they ask great questions and at least let us believe that they are listening to what we are saying. But, we don’t know what is in their hearts. I do know what I experienced, however.

From one vantage point I saw Brad, sitting at a table with 5 older Russian boys, being their friend; a mentor, talking, sharing. I heard Tad, beautifully and gracefully driving home the Gospel message with great patience as the children acted their age. Listening while contorting into various positions of barely bridled boredom. I could see the shadows of the older girls in a building while having their Bible study and “slumber party.” I could hear Brandon’s voice (he apparently left his inside voice in Texas along with mine and Elaine’s!) talking to the older boys with his bandanna and sunglasses. A mystique he created by being himself with them. I could see Byron, a father of fathers to these children, one arm on a child, one on the table, teaching, showing, guiding, loving. I could see Hannah, being led around and used as a playmate with a small, beautiful, but reserved little girl. They would laugh, Hannah would look at me, and her smile somehow brightened the day.

But there was something else there. Something that caused our words to being to slur towards the end. Something hard, and painful, and heavy. It was those little rocks that loving caretaker had been sweeping. They were there. There were 19 piles of them, one for each team member. They were in neat little balls and they were heavy, and they were dirty, and they choked us with their dust. We tripped upon them and had I been Melville, then my chest would have been a cannon and I would have shot my heart upon them. Only, those rocks, those stony reminders of a glorious week and a difficult day seemed to gather upon our exit. Like the children, they followed us to the bus, they slowly dragged themselves into the road and there they discarded themselves into our hearts.

Our hearts are heavy now. With rocks that are pieces of love and memory that are difficult to capture and too elusive to explain completely. They form the most precious souvenir that we will bring back. Memories of a day, bathed in glory, formed before time, and beautifully difficult.

I'll See You On The Beach

Today is the last day and I want to share today with you once it is done. It's the last day at the camps, and we are all expecting the predictable difficulties that will come with it. It's not an easy day, and it's not one that we would avoid either. 

For our team meeting, we met on the beach last night. The Gulf of Finland. Had a great time sharing and praying and looking to see what God was going to accomplish today. We also jumped in! COLD water! Very, very cold water. Some of the guys went swimming and I made it in up to my waist before the feelings in my feet left. Did I say that it was cold? But we watched the sunset and talked and then walked for an ice cream.

Please pray for us today. It's a busy day today and we wont head back to the city until 9am tomorrow. Then a long day of sightseeing, a farewell dinner with our translators and then a 3am wake-up to head to the airport. Know that you are all loved, that we are all well, and that we covet your prayers. We're heading off in an hour or so to experience a day that will mark this trip. It'll be a day that changes us at a spiritually genetic level and one that leaves us with memories that we'll carry forever. As we walk out the hotel doors with the last bags and the last supplies and for the older kids, the last goodbyes I remember a line from a movie I love.

I'll see you on the beach.

One More Time

We are all so blessed to be here! There is no easy way to describe what we feel when the day is over. Exhaustion is part of it, so is a sense of accomplishment and an event greater sense of having achieved the unachievable. You walk into these camps with an emotion that can span from shear, unbridled joy and hope while the person next to you is bearing trepidation, and dread. It’s a peculiar sight. When is truly remarkable is that on the next day, those emotions can switch places.

Yesterday morning, we started the day off at camp #40 – the younger kids camp. It’s hard to describe. A dozen or so non-descript buildings nestled into a forest b the edge of the sea. The building themselves resemble something out of a fairy tale. Not quaint, like Alice In Wonderland and night quite The Brothers Grim, but perhaps something in between. Maybe Little Red Riding Hood. A sweet faced girl with some unspoken … discomfort lurking about. There is a large grassy area in the center that is unleveled, full of holes from removed trees and absolutely infested in mosquitoes. Did I mention those? They come at you in squadrons here. They attack and suck the life right out of your heart. “Bzzzz. Fat target – red shirt – 3 o’clock!” The first thing we do upon exiting the bus, and it’s only a 10-minute ride from the hotel to the camps, is to apply copious amounts of bug spray.

The kids at camp #40 were really sweet. We start the day off with a puppet show and music. The translators know some children’s songs and the kids love the puppets. Honestly, they could just raise their puppets above the curtains and then fall asleep and the kids would love it anyway. They smile and giggle and rock back and forth and you chuckle and take their hands into yours, and they feel the love and recognize that they are unique and special in God’s kingdom and you laugh at their joy and they laugh at yours and suddenly all is right in the world.

After puppets, we go off into our individual areas – 4 of them – and do crafts, Bible stories, more crafts and generally allow ourselves to be inundated with spit and love – both of which are rather sticky, thank you. I have been taking pictures and helping out with logistics, but I have also spent some time with the more “active” kids. This is a nice way of saying that they are typically insane with energy. But, yesterday was different. When I walked around to “my kids” and we all refer to our children with similar possessive feelings, I saw a very unusual sight. They were sitting down, in a circle, doing a craft! Stickers on a door hanger! “What miracle is this?” I asked myself. Usually, they would have eaten the door hangers and stuffed the stickers in your nose – this is amazing!

All the kids were sitting at a little table with mismatched chairs and with the team members wedged in. As I further rounded the corner, I saw one of the kids that I truly adore. He has cerebral palsy and is quite a little sweetheart. I approached him and sat down after getting some stickers and a door hanger from the supplies. I reached around with my right arm and snuggled him in close, so that he could lean against me. No, really, he needed to lean into me, not me into him. Really, I didn’t need that all.

Well, maybe just a little. After the stickers exercise, which he used to teach me the Russian words for what each sticker represented, we started playing with what I am convinced is a hat, shaped like a mouse. He thinks it’s a dog, but it sure looks like a mouse to me. Anyway, as we’re playing with this, he is pressing the nose and it sings a little song. So, I stick my hand inside the mouse (dog!) and start making movements in time with the music. In between each line in the song, I touch the snout of the … whatever it is to his nose and he begins to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Leaning over, not quite falling off the bench, laughter. Then he starts pressing the button like he’s the character John in LOST. Over and over and over he is doing this.

But, I also realize he is saying something in between the laughter. I listen in, and he is repeating a phrase that I only partially understand. Yan, our interpreter, walks over and listens in. The little boy tells Yan what he is saying. Yan laughs, looks at me, and says something that takes the breath way.

My heart stops. Whatever words I had turned to a lump and my chest closes, and suddenly I feel the warmth of this small child pressing against me. The day turns to colors that are resplendent in a glory that can only come from above. I am stunned and I am at home and I am overwhelmed.

This child, whom I loved last year, in these few words, has yet again been a silent thief to my heart as he says in Russian; "One more time."

The Price Is Right

What would be your terms if I were to ask to buy your car? What about your time? What would you ask if I wanted to buy your heart? You discover lots of things when you participate in these kinds of intense, ministry/mission events. Actually, that’s not true. You discover lots of things about your kind and gracious God when you let Him show work and when you pay attention.

Day two, Tuesday was a good day, but in a different way. In some ways the kids took it easy on us on Monday. Smiles and good times Monday was, but Tuesday was a bit more challenging.

There is no question they remember us. The recognition of tradition was strong yesterday as Gennady (the director at camp #14 – the older kids) spoke during the opening moments. He has the kids line up in lines, almost like patrols in boy scouts, and then the kids announce their names and whether they are all present and accounted for and then they recite their “poem” or motto, really. Gennady then took a good ten minutes to talk about the camp and to talk about our commitment to them. It’s like we earned a new level, a new rank, amongst them.

The price of this new level of recognition is … whatever price we are willing to pay. You see, Tuesday had more frustration than Monday. At #14, the older kids camp, they were a little more aggressive. Not necessarily mean spirited, but they began to treat us like they treat one another. This would be great if they were gentle kids, but the camp environment is far more Darwinian than Utopian. The strongest and largest and meanest often gets the respect. The week, the disabled, the small, the meek get most of the abuse. Some of the abuse is … typical of kids. Some, however, is not.

Instead of developing a special handshake, a kind nickname, a particular motion or action, we were given a glimpse of their frustration I believe.

I was speaking with one of the translators and with one of the camp leaders and was hearing a story that truly broke my heart. The older camp is now experiencing “second generation” kids. These are kids that have come to the camps, gotten pregnant (sometimes by choice, sometime by force) and now the children are sending their children to the camps. It is a story that often becomes more sad and lonely as it is told.

But, in spite of all this and in many ways, in light of all this comes the following realization. Their treatment of us indicates, in my opinion, a sign of expected acceptance. It speaks of us becoming one of then. The window to their world has grown from a peephole to a full size window.

The price of this acceptance is that we are absolutely willing to take and see the worst in the kids because we want to give and show the absolute best. The love we have for these kids shrinks away like dried fruit in light of the love God has for them.

Please know that we covet your prayers. Yesterday was a little frustrating for some, but not for all. We had some challenging kids in both camps. We’re not getting all the time with the kids we had hoped for, it’s chaotic at times, and we’re still trying to sleep in an environment of “White Nights”. But we are absolutely looking toward the day when one, some, or many of these kids will confess with their mouths and believe in their hearts that Jesus Christ is Lord.

The Power of Touch

First day. It was a great day yesterday. The camps had not changed much – the kids a year taller, but altogether the same kids and same camps as last year. At #14, the older kids camps, we were able to quickly get into the groove and get the day done. We have to consciously remember that it’s not about completing the schedule or punching a clock, it’s about presenting ourselves to the kids. Day 1 is always about camaraderie more than anything else. And it’s about seeing what worked in our planning times back in Amarillo and what will work in the reality that is the camps.

#40, the younger kids came towards the end of the day. We arrived on time, but there was a man who worked with dogs that was there entertaining the kids. We didn’t get our full allotment of time with them, less than an hour and a half, but we got lots of smiles. The younger kids are more about the touch and smile than the talk and sports. They are busy, they are loud, they are crazy at times and you cant help but chuckle when they react to you. You sit down, look at them, your reaction mirrors God’s in that you laugh at their energy and tenderness and you realize they know. They know a fundamental truth about themselves even tough their mental and, often physical, capacity is limited.

That truth is this: that they are loved. That they are loved, they are desired, and that they are made in the image of a gracious God. This is not an enormous revelation mind you, but it is profound. There is a degree of sadness when one comes here. The conditions are not typical of Western standards. This is not a vacation camp. You don’t send your kids here so they can play with their friends and so you can have some peace. This is their life.

So we returned to the hotel, had dinner (kind of) and had our team meeting. We washed off the bug spray, ink, and drool. We took showers and reset everything for today. But more than anything else, we witnessed something. We witnessed that God is alive and well. That He loves children. We witnessed that He still heals through the power of touch. 

Only The Dirty Can Get Cleaned

Where to begin? Today is the break-in day. You have one day to get in groove with where you are. Now, if you have never traveled overseas, then this may not seem to be all that difficult, but after having been removed and moved over 9 time zones, you feel a little … out of sorts. Languages, food, atmosphere, customs, sites, smells, paperwork, norms, expectations, etc, etc, etc - this all seems to conspire to kill you. Elaine keeps asking, “What time is it in Texas?” and usually someone retorts with “Don’t you mean what day is it?” You spend so much time, energy, and money preparing for a trip like this and then when it gets here, you feel like you volunteered to see what being washed in a washing machine feels like only to be followed by really desiring to see how that “Gentle Cycle” on the dryer works out.

“Bang … bang… bang …”

“What is that, your shoes in the washing machine?”

“No, that’s my head – I’m in the washing machine.”

Then the hotel appears, you get attacked by a strange bed after having found the slot you put the key in to get the electricity to your room turned on only after having discovered that the AC control was installed by the same people who put them in Glorieta - you can set it on “Cool” all you want, but it’s just a fan, kind sir! Then you wake up wondering the same things all over again and further wondering whose idea it was to place the pickled herring and meatballs at breakfast in such close proximity with the boiled eggs. “There’s no bathroom on the bus, you know!” Meanwhile, Tad, Bandon and I are finishing off our fourth cups of coffee (they were small cups, honey) and laughing at the irony of coming this far just around the world just to discover another group of Americans (from Brigham Young University) that are studying Russian, one of which, having just graduated from my former high school in Marietta, Georgia. “POW!” World’s collide.

“Thud … thud … thud …”

“What’s that thumping sound?”

“It’s me. In the dryer.”

World’s collide and the energy dispelled, propels. Feel free to put that on a bumper sticker.

After a day of tourism and a two-hour team meeting where we watched Joella’s head spin around (she could organize the rocks on the moon, and still have time left over for a mission trip!) while giving us our marching orders for tomorrow. And march we shall. We’ll be downstairs with luggage (we head to our next hotel) at 7:30, eat breakfast, and load up by 830am. Then a two hour ride where we’ll disgorge into our new home for the next five nights and then immediately run off to the two camps. Return to our unseen rooms, another meeting, another opportunity to watch Joella, and then rinse and repeat … I mean, get up and do it all over again.

But amidst all of this, something happens when God is at work and you’re staying out of His way. You know how all the clothes sometimes turn into a rope while they are in the washing machine or dryer? No? Okay, well it happens to me more often that I have told Anne. You pull out the one pair of jeans you want and everything else is all wound up and just comes right out as well. Looks like Man vs. Wild used them to climb out of a window. Well, when God is involved, and He would not do this to your laundry without good reason, you go through this process with a group of people and a similar effect happens. Where one goes, the others go. What one feels, the other feels. It’s called being a family. It’s called serving the unserved, loving the unloved and giving from our lack instead of our excess. It’s depending on God and his adopted children for … everything. It’s saying, “Take my life Lord. No, seriously Lord, take it. Not just lyrics, take it. If my life will save one other life, you can have it!”

Tomorrow is the first day of five. We begin an adoption process tomorrow. The kids will adopt us and we’ll adopt them and prayerfully, somewhere in that process, somewhere over the next five days, if the ground is good, if the seed is well cast, and God desires it – maybe, just maybe we’ll get to see the sprouts of what will be a future brother or sister in Christ. Another adopted son or daughter of the kingdom.

“BuZZZZZZZZ!”

“What’s that buzzing sound?”

“It’s me getting out of the dryer. I’m done.”

“How was it?”

 

“Cleansing.”

All Accounted For

We're here! Everyone made it safe and sound. Al the luggage made it, everyone has a little sanity left, and although our bodies are exhausted, our hearts are just fine. I will post some more tomorrow night, but know that your prayers were felt and answered! Someone please call Anne, our home computer is down, and let her know we're doing well!

More tomorrow, it's late ...

David

Day of Days

Yes, I know I am borrowing from Band Of Brothers, but the title still fits, as does the mood of adventure, service, and love. Tomorrow, 18 of us leave for St. Petersburg, Russia. One of our team members left early in order to visit a friend, but the rest of us begin our adventure tomorrow. Or did we begin it back when we first confessed Jesus as Christ? Either way, tomorrow is a big day. 14 hours of flying time, 24 hours of travel time. 3 different planes, lots of bags and lots of supplies. We'll stay in three different hotels while we are there and we'll work with over 100 orphans from 3 years old to 19 years old. We'll color, we'll play, we'll laugh, we'll cry, and we'll be blessed for it.

Please keep us in your prayers and check this blog daily for updates! God is good!

Here we go!

David

A New Year

Raise your hand if you love spring? I can't believe it, some of you actually allow your runny noses and watery eyes to dictate your dislike of spring. Shame! I love spring. Taxes are filed (and money is owed!), my birthday (May 1st), my dad's & brothers' birthdays (April 28 & May 13 respectively), flowers, allergies, sunny evenings, seeing Zachary in short sleeves (I get to gnaw on his bear arms), and all things new. Spring rocks. And Easter. The reason for it all. No Easter, no Christmas (it would have been just another kid born in a barn). Know Easter, know Christmas! Did I say I loved spring?

Another reason is because it is time to return to doing what I truly love - being overseas. Not overseas, but being on the pointy end of ministry. There are many pointy ends in Amarillo, but there is something about being away from everything that we depend on, everything that we know and trust, and love and allowing ourselves to find a deeper dependence on God. All the things we do here are more difficult there, so it follows that as we practice faith here, we survive by faith there.

A new year. A new Russia trip. Some new folks, some old-timers. What I see in this team is what I saw last year -a unique group of people that God has great plans for. I have seen the list of kids at the orphanages and there are some names missing, which means there are still parts of my heart that I will never see again. But there are many names I know, and many new names as well. What is truly Godly is that God knows all these names. He knows their struggles & successes. He knows the hair on their heads, their personalities, their dreams and their fears ... and He knows us.

Luke 12:35 tells us to "Be ready and keep your lamps burning." Okay God, make us ready. Light our lamps. Give us the fuel we need, the direction, the leadership, the challenges and the grace and heart to see the orphans as you do. It's a new year in Russia, but thankfully, it's still the same God.