Marching On

Questions about which kids found families are hallmarks of the end of a Lighthouse Project trip. While patience is a virtue I still need to cultivate, I’ve found trips like these might take a few months to completely sort themselves out. That said, some families were definitive enough that I am quite confident these children have found their forever families in Tulsa: Alexei, Denis, Ekaterina, Vladislav, Larisa, Eduard, and Sergei. Anton M. and Ivan have families seriously considering them, fomenting realistic hope within that I might move their names one sentence forward, soon. Three other children have families giving them some level of consideration, and two returned to Russia without any prospects of a family.

The January kids were still en route to Russia when I began anticipating my next trip, yet I confess more shock than elation at being asked last week to do a March program in Grand Rapids so close on the heels of Tulsa. Since I live there I could not argue that Grand Rapids was inconvenient, but the drain of my incessant efforts to stoke interest in January kids who might die if I failed has not, even now, subsided. Leaving on a Lighthouse sabbatical tempted, a larger tease than I would have expected. It would not have been for long; even in my three short visits to Russian orphanages I sensed an emotional permafrost that mocks the Siberian tundra. Nonetheless, it took a final appeal to the immediacy of that need by my friend Hope, the Lighthouse Project director, to extract a yes to coordinating a trip sooner than I would have chosen.

My favorite child from Tulsa was a freckled, blonde-haired nine-year-old who enchanted me, proclaiming his love of homework and English classes, and topping it off with a Russian-accented English rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” While I work until the wee hours of the morning on behalf of every child entrusted to me, I especially liked Vladimir. Occasionally there are kids so winning I cannot understand why no one picks them; I have settled on the explanation that it is God’s will and timing, and that their family must either be somewhere else or they don’t yet know there is a Russian child searching for them. For one of these reasons, Vladimir did not meet his family in Tulsa. A few years ago, the Russian government started compensating families for providing foster care to orphans. Foster care has become more popular in poorer regions than the rest of Russia as government payouts for care have increased. While I would not paint all Russian foster families with a broad brush, does it take a cynic to wonder if there’s a connection, and why only families in poor regions want to foster? And is it a coincidence that once kids reach the age of sixteen, when government payouts cease, many foster families suddenly lose interest in the kids and turn them out to the streets? The Lighthouse kids’ region is quite impoverished and Vladimir’s orphanage, my own kids’ orphanage “alma mater,” is a hotbed for foster care. A child of his age would most certainly be picked by a foster family before I could do the next available trip in June. By consenting to do a March trip, perhaps I can save the boy who stole my heart with his song from a lifetime without a family who loves him.

Also scheduled to travel is fifteen-year-old Katya. Only nine months from her sixteenth birthday, Katya will be unable to enter the United States on an orphan’s immigrant visa once she reaches that milestone. At the stroke of sixteen, hope of adoption is fruitless, leaving little to anticipate beyond an unspeakable future of degradation and a brutishly shortened life expectancy. A trip delayed until June would be three months closer to a sixteenth birthday promising to be anything but sweet. Maybe by taking action just a few months earlier we can rob the Russian streets of a charming girl who still has the audacity to dream of life as a chef rather than life as a prostitute.

The clock doesn’t stop for Vladimir or Katya. I must be as relentless.

Saturday Bits and Pieces

Bit observations, Day One:

Saturday found most of the Lighthouse Project kids at Oral Roberts University’s Mabee Center to cheer on the women’s basketball team, coached by birthday boy Vladimir’s host dad. The ORU Golden Eagles rolled out the red carpet for us, gifting us fifty-five comp tickets, welcoming the kids to center court during halftime for introductions, and inviting Vladimir and Eduard to the floor to participate in a time-out game of catching thrown rubber chickens in a bucket. While a victory would have been icing on the cake, we enjoyed the spectacle nonetheless. The game whetted the kids’ appetites for shooting hoops, which we sated in the practice gym while awaiting the arrival of the Tulsa World reporter covering our story. After interviews and a brief photo shoot the group dispersed and Vladimir was off to likely his first birthday party, thrown in honor of his ninth. Parties and chickens, both thrown for Vladimir in a single day…

I tried some Russian on Eduard at the game, but his English answers were proficient enough that I fought an urge to hide that my knowledge of his mother tongue was not. When volunteers were sought for the chicken game, he leaped from his seat with a gusto that ensured he’d be picked. Eduard caught eleven chickens in thirty seconds.

On the way to an outing Saturday happy Alexei of red helium balloon fame burst into tears. His host family, who’d endured two extra months of waiting to host him when his orphanage was stricken with the dysentery quarantine before the November trip, tried to console him but couldn’t understand the mercurial change. During their translator home visit, they found out the poor boy’s distress stemmed from his fear that he was being returned to the airport for not being good enough. His hosts’ “babushka” jumped to her feet and embraced him, and the family reassured him how they loved having him in their home. I wondered if it would comfort him to know how distraught they were when I had to tell them the day before the November trip departure he was unable to travel, and they’d have to wait until January.

When I called Ekaterina’s host mom in the morning for an update, she enthused, “She’s precious!” Ekaterina noticed carrots being peeled in the kitchen, reached for the knife, and polished off the job herself. After the game the translator and chaperone visited her hosts’ home; I went along as a hanger-on. Ekaterina told us her best friend at the orphanage is a “home girl”, so-called because her biological mother visits her occasionally. Ekaterina exuded a reflected glory in being in good with a home girl, as those with even minimal parental involvement are classified in the higher echelons of orphanage social strata. I found this revelation especially sobering, that a child could ache for a family so sorely that mere association with another child whose own mother visits a few times yearly would offer solace.

So ends Day One lacking enough fodder for a cohesive blog entry, but providing sufficient material to give incentive for one thousand more Lighthouse Project trips.

Tulsa at Last!

If waiting for a delayed flight at the airport can be enjoyable, it happened last night in Tulsa. The kids’ flight from Moscow went through Chicago; their legendary winter weather had threatened early in the day to cancel the connecting flight. With many people praying, by mid-afternoon the weather had cleared sufficiently for us gather at Tulsa International Friday night. Weather delayed the flight enough, though, that we waited an additional hour for the group. The patience and flexibility shown by the throng of 90 or so blessed this harried coordinator, and demonstrated requisite traits for any family planning an international adoption. While host families usually make airport welcome signs, it’s a treat to see the creative messages (not that I can read them) and the different takes on what a Russian welcome sign should look like. One young family with infant twins, present just to support the kids and the project, braved the wait with goodie bags for each young traveler, and another distributed Tulsa t-shirts. With the large crowd, balloons, flags, foreign-language signs, and excited din, our festive gathering drew curious questions from passersby and a coveted opportunity to tell more people about the kids, their visit, and the mission Lighthouse families share this week.

The Lighthouse kids are usually the last off the plane, but not this time. A security guard tells our oversized group to make a path for other passengers to get through, creating a gauntlet of signs and hosts straining to catch a first glimpse of their child for the week. We clap when our faith turns to sight, and kids and families are efficiently matched by names on signs. After the lengthy anticipation, the poignant awkwardness of the meeting surprises anew. It’s understandable: two days of travel by plane, train, and automobile; a nine-hour time zone change; the late hour; an alien language; the hoopla our friendly welcome has fostered; all combine to overwhelm these parentless children who must travel around the world to change that reality. I hardly worry, knowing the difference a day will make.

After two months of studying kids’ photos, it amazes me how difficult some are to recognize. Their slouching hats, misfitted clothes, and typically downcast eyes provide an identification challenge the first night, even when I feel I have known them for months already. The hosts practice the Russian they know, realize they’ve forgotten a lot of it, give a reassuring squeeze to their child, and ask the translator to give an explanation of this or that plan. Alexei, one of the children who seems not to be shy, is intrigued by the three red helium balloons his host has brought him. He pulls them down repeatedly and seems delighted each time they rise again. He doesn’t stop smiling once he sees how predictable it is. Next to him Ekaterina, the girl with cerebral palsy, has red eyes. Though she’s been to the United States before, the late-night meeting has overwhelmed her in her tiredness. I was drawn to her on my July 2008 trip, so I move toward her; answering questions as I go slows me down, but she sees me, recognizes me, and beams. I use my paltry Russian to greet her and find out how she’s been. I give her a hug and she hugs back. It’s clear we both think it’s nice to be remembered. After the translator’s individual introductions, families with Russians in tow trickle out of the airport. I’ll see most of them again Saturday at a basketball game we’re attending. Scared faces will be replaced by the smiles I know I’ll see tomorrow as the kids and families warm up to each other. It always works that way.

It’s as sure as Alexei’s balloons rising.

Remembering the Kids Who Wait

This is a difficult entry to write, as the end of our Tulsa November Lighthouse Project has come sooner for seven of the children scheduled to arrive this evening. One orphanage on the trip, represented by seven children, is under a medical quarantine due to an outbreak of dysentery. The head of the Ministry of Health of the specific region of Russia is not allowing any of the children from that orphanage scheduled to travel to come; thus, there will be only six children on the trip. The children affected are Anton, Alexei P., Lima, Denis, Ekaterina, Nikolai, and Dima P. It would be hard to overstate how sad this makes me, as the children are terribly disappointed. Additionally, the families have thrown themselves into preparing for this trip so enthusiastically that it was devastating to have to deliver this news to them. These families are still true host families, as they’ve been hosting these children in their hearts. Please keep these disappointed and sick children, as well as their Tulsa families, in your prayers.

As these children have passports, plane tickets, and visas good for six months, my plan is to return to Tulsa in January for another trip, hopefully with additional children. These seven should be able to visit Tulsa at that time. Each host family who planned to host one of these kids will, of course, have first priority to host the same child in January, assuming the child is in condition to make the trip. Exact dates will be announced, though it appears the trip will be the early part of the month.

I am experiencing much emotional dissonance: on the one hand, great sadness for the children and families who will not meet each other in November, and hope for the children God has allowed to actually come. I am cognizant that the six remaining children deserve to have a wonderful trip where they find their families, but behind my necessary enthusiasm for the trip as it now is, I remember with great emptiness and sorrow the seven children I thought would be here. I will smile and work vigorously for the trip, but please know I have not forgotten the kids who wait. That said, I am obligated to switch gears and work toward finding families for the kids we’ll meet tonight.

But I have not forgotten…