Dr. Adoption

Growing up in the late seventies and early eighties, I spent Monday nights of my formative years with TV’s Little House on the Prairie. As I stared in traumatized disbelief, Caroline Ingalls labored to give birth, birthing my desire to adopt in the process. Dreaming in my youth of becoming the next James Herriot, I attended veterinary school, graduating with a DVM degree. Imagine my dismay to realize, months before commencement, that I’d missed my calling. Regardless, I practiced veterinary medicine seven years, enjoying most of them. Eventually I left the profession to raise our daughter, a curly-haired, extroverted tike adopted from Guatemala; four years later our Chinese daughter arrived. We had no business being at an adoption fair only six weeks after returning from China, but it didn’t stop us. Browsing booths in the exhibit hall, my encounter with Valerie of the Russian Orphan Lighthouse Project was as inadvertent as it was fortuitous. There, at that inauspicious table, I stumbled across both my life’s mission and the circuitous path leading our family to a new son and daughter.

In the six years since that November meeting, we’ve added the two older Russian kids to our family. What I saw in Russia and learned in the process was Exhibit A of the gravity of the orphan’s plight. Armed with a righteous sense of urgency, I’ve coordinated nine Lighthouse Project trips to Michigan and Oklahoma, bringing seventy-three different Russian orphans aged 5-15, some of them more than once. As coordinator, I seek families willing to host an orphan for ten days, run a Russian-language Vacation Bible School, and give the bushes a thorough, thorough beating in search of forever families. Such a succinct description of my duties belies the thousands of hours I’ve invested in them, and the phones I’ve worn out in the process. The task is formidable, since most potential adoptive families desire babies. When I succeed, the fulfillment is more than adequate to the effort, since finding families for kids literally saves their lives. Motivating my Russian work is knowledge that no safety net surrounds the kids who age out; in America, orphans without families have opportunities available to them Russian orphans could only dream of.

On the coattails of the Lighthouse Project I’ve met people whose beings brim with the same compassion for orphans; some of these kindred spirits are as dear as sisters to me. Fifty-nine children, including sibling groups as large as three, kids as young as six and as old as seventeen, and children with sundry special needs have forever families. Current events in Russia notwithstanding, I hardly feel finished. God willing, there are many more children, and a few dear friends, to come.

My training for this quasi-volunteer position has been as rigorous, expensive, and all-consuming as veterinary school, provided by three girls and a boy who work to keep Mom on her toes and seventy-three kids whose would-be futures have provoked me to repeated and frenetic action. A full-time position as a veterinarian would be less time-consuming and more prestigious, but since finding my calling I’ve never looked back.

Blessed, Part One

I took a road trip with my better half Thursday. Randy doesn’t just tolerate my Lighthouse Project activities, he embraces them. He never says no when saying yes will benefit the program in some way. Randy has cared for our four kids himself for stretches while I was out of town coordinating trips, spent his inopportunely-timed birthday at Chuck E. Cheese because the Lighthouse kids were having a get-together there, told me one hundred times to go ahead and pick up the phone for Lighthouse calls arriving at dinnertime, helped prepare mailings at all hours of the night, and gone on thankless paper chases for every trip I’ve done in the past two years. We left Michigan on Thursday, drove 870 miles to Tulsa, arrived at 5 p.m., and headed back Friday morning to Grand Rapids another 870 miles. While the story revolves around the few hours spent in Tulsa, for Randy it’s less compartmentalized. His cooperation borders on the fanatical no matter how creative my suggestion; a girl couldn’t ask for a more supportive husband. When I proposed this audaciously abbreviated trip to attend a welcome home party for a dear friend of the Lighthouse Project, Randy didn’t bat an eye, insisted of course we should do it, and said he’d drive. As it transpires now, we are speeding by semis less full than my heart has been in the short time since we left home.

Heading west on I-44 to Tulsa, I had a great excuse to stop and see Elaine, coordinator of last month’s stupendously successful Rolla, Missouri, trip. It was great to see her again; even three weeks apart left us with plenty of catching up to do. Randy, who’d been polite enough to show interest in my spate of stories about the Missouri trip, felt like he knew Elaine already when he finally met her yesterday. We ate lunch with her and her husband, celebrating their anniversary with more Lighthouse Project talk. Randy got a kick out of meeting another husband as tolerant of his wife’s Lighthouse work as he is.

Late afternoon brought Tulsa; my friend, for whose daughter Katya the party was held, had no idea I was coming. I’d been racking my brain for months trying to figure out what I could do to show her how special she and her family are to us. (Happy Birthday, Katya!, 7/9/09) So when I heard about a welcome party for Katya that would be like a baby shower, only for a fifteen-year-old, I knew I had to be there. When my friend saw me, it took three proclamations I’d come to Tulsa just to go to her party before she finally believed me. Each avowal on my part was punctuated by a hug from her. The third hug, when she finally believed I really was there just for her, was so emphatic that I had to brace myself to keep from falling to the floor. Her reaction was more than I could have hoped for. I didn’t know anyone else at the party, so I made literal small talk with Katya, given my painfully limited Russian vocabulary. When my friend’s phone began to ring, Katya called, “Mama, Mama!” and hurried the phone to her. She had waited fifteen years to call someone that; knowing I’d had any part in making that one word reality was worthy of a tear. Later, opening gifts, Katya found the partygoers’ generosity overwhelming, so her mom took over the unwrapping honors. Kids in orphanages are not accustomed to receiving presents.

After the party, there was just time enough to get to the airport to welcome a family arriving with new brothers Losha, 12, and Jacob, 15, both from the November 2008 Tulsa trip. (Tulsa World article, 11/10/08) I’m a veteran of countless airport homecomings, and the assembled throng was, by far, the largest I’d seen. The boys beamed from ear to ear when they saw the signs and heard the ascendant cheer as they entered the airport’s waiting area. Several of the family’s other children had stayed behind in Tulsa while their parents went to Russia. Reunited, their mom Marie cried and had to reassure the younger ones her tears were of the happy variety. That my own young daughter had the same reaction on my return from Russia years ago was worth a few more tears on my part. As Marie saw me in the crowd, her face registered shock. We shared a long embrace, and her whispered “Thank you!” gladdened my heart at having had part in the festal occasion. When they’d gotten Jacob at his orphanage the previous week, he was the only child there: the rest were at camps or with foster families for the summer. My dear friend Julie, also in Russia picking up her three new children, was along for the ride, too, and found it odd to see an orphanage sans children. I sometimes lament our efforts make scarcely a dent in the worldwide orphan population, but that vision of Julie’s was a sneak preview of what we work toward every day with our program.

***

Due to length, the remainder of this entry will be posted Wednesday.

"He Just Won Our Hearts"

Eyes brimming with tears, Egor waited alone at the St. Louis airport. Each of the other orphans in his group had a family. Where was his? The translator tried consoling him, reminding him the plane had arrived 30 minutes ahead of schedule and his family was driving from far away.

On time but for the plane’s early arrival, Egor’s family had fears of their own. They’d felt God’s Spirit moving when they first saw Egor’s photo on this humble blog. (Unmasked, 4/22/09) Everything pointed exactly to him, yet questions of their adequacy gnawed. They weren’t sure they could afford Russian adoption. Maybe people would stare.

Mutually allaying their concerns, the van continued toward the airport, and Egor tried to believe that someone who’d treasure him was coming. The moment they finally saw each other, hope, trust, and love replaced the fear. Egor had wished for a mama and papa in his orphanage interview a few months before, and he’d soon find they’d been worth the wait. The family would make their own discovery: a son and brother whom, until recently, they’d not known they were missing. (Eager, 5/28/09)

Egor’s family calls Michigan home. With only a few weeks’ notice, their hearts adopted Egor and they planned their trek to Missouri. They expected to love Egor, to make him their son.

The depth of that love surprised them.

From the first meeting on, Egor conquered his fears. Day two, getting into a go-cart, he shook visibly. The car rocketed off when he was too aggressive with the accelerator; chastened, he drove the first lap Buick-tentatively. Emboldened once around, he then drove as maniacally as the rest of the kids. It made an impression: asked at the evening program what his favorite activities had been, he gave the go-carts a serious “thumbs up.”

His family reveled in the special relationship he developed with each of them. He watched baseball nightly with his soon-to-be older brother. While he didn’t really understand the game, he knew enough to cheer whenever Chandler did. Not seeing a reason to wait until his adoption is finalized, he playfully teased his future sisters, demonstrating a sense of humor and personality in spades. He started pillow fights with Arianna. Older brother Riley took seriously his self-appointed role as Egor’s protector, and sang a song in his honor at the evening program. Egor had a kind and generous spirit, too. Gum is a prized possession amongst all Russian orphans. When the baby of the family asked Egor for his penultimate piece of gum, he didn’t hesitate. Two other sisters saw his largesse and asked for the last piece. Egor eyed the two of them, then tore the remaining stick in half and gave each a piece, leaving none for himself. He proved a quick study in chivalry. Seeing his new dad opening doors for his new mom, and not wanting to be outdone, Egor started opening and closing the car door for her. When Egor gallantly tried to open the doors at all the stores they went to, it hardly mattered to his mom that he frequently wasn’t strong enough, and that she had to help him anyway.

In the ten days they spent together before Egor’s return to Russia, he smiled perpetually. Nobody stared, except a few small children. Almost all the comments were positive, focusing on how cute Egor’s smile and enthusiasm were. He flexibly went along with whatever they planned. He had fun and instigated it. He sought help from his family; that they might let him down rightfully never occurred to him. Miracles happened.

Two dear and saintly ladies adopted the family during the week. At a sweetly informal ice cream sundae party Egor’s family hosted for them in the hotel lobby, the ladies ate up the family’s story, encouraging them to follow God’s direction. At the end, each pressed a check into a Michigan hand to help them do so. Their message was a clarion call: you are sufficient for this!

On the way to Missouri, Egor’s family had expected to be obedient to God no matter what. Having met him, their act of obedience was transformed into an act of love when Egor won their hearts. The day after they arrived home in Michigan, his mom was feverishly filling out adoption paperwork, explaining, “We love this kid. We want him, and we want him now!”

Their last full day together, Egor’s family visited a cave. The floor was slippery, and he was afraid. As he grasped his long-awaited mama’s hand and clutched it until they were back in the light, she imagined the times in the future when Egor will face frightening situations. He’ll have to trustingly hold their hands. He’ll find they’ll be there for him, helping him along, when he wonders if he can make it. Likewise, they will hold their Father’s hand. Their Father will be there, too, guiding them along, when they’re not sure they can make it. He’s already led them this far, to a little orphaned Russian boy whose most wondrous wish at last is coming true.

Happy Birthday, Katya!

Working through interviews of kids for my July 2008 Lighthouse Project trip, I waded through an overexposed interview of a then- thirteen-year-old Katya. Amongst other things, she mentioned she was doing leg exercises, and I didn’t think much about it at the time. Understanding arrived past midnight on a July 2008 night at the airport as I met the kids in Michigan. Katya lagged behind, struggling to walk. She apologized to the translator for slowing the group and not walking better, and explained the stilted gait as cerebral palsy.

Katya was an immensely sweet girl, but the day before the kids returned to Russia I still had no leads. At VBS that last morning, a nice lady came to meet Katya; it was her fourteenth birthday. They shared the day and ate birthday cake together. By mid-afternoon, the family was “100% committed” to adopting her. Based on this assurance, I promoted only other children with a confident serenity that Katya had already found her family.

Happy Birthday, Katya, right?

Wrong. The next day the kids returned to Russia, though they had scarcely arrived home when the family changed their minds. They gave a few reasons, excuses, really, and nothing they hadn’t known at the time they were 100% committed. Not that it mattered: Katya was gone, I now knew she had special needs, and no other family had expressed interest.

Katya’s second chance would have been Tulsa in November 2008. When a last-minute, dysentery-inspired orphanage quarantine kept her, and six others, at home in Russia, it was Katya my heart ached most for. But the Lighthouse Project returned to Tulsa in January this year to give those quarantined souls, and a few newcomers, their chances at families. Katya came on that trip, played the piano, sang a solo at the evening program, and slept in what she proudly told the translator was a “princess bed.” Mid-week, her host mom whispered to me they loved her and how well she fit in their family. A decision to adopt was followed by a flurry of paperwork finished at breakneck speed.

Earlier today, less than six months after Katya’s departure, her parents-to-be stood in a Russian courtroom. The judge asked Katya why she wanted to go with people who’d traveled halfway around the world for her. The answer was as simple as it was profound: she wanted a family. There was no reason not to; the judge approved the adoption. Providentially, it was Katya’s fifteenth birthday. While she got what most kids her age already have, it was the well-chosen gift she wanted most: a family.

So to a very special family, congratulations! I pray for you the best adoption ever. May you be as blessed as you have blessed.

To Katya, I wish you the happiest of birthdays! Bring joy to the family that has brought such joy to you. You’ve found your family. You’re a daughter.

What a difference a year makes.

Smile, Nikolai!

Some Lighthouse kids are self-promoters, finding their families by force of personality. Some are clingy, finding their families when the parents realize they’re needed. Other kids come compliant, good, and quiet; were they not in your photos, you’d forget they were there. Nikolai, newly fourteen, reserved and unassuming, is such a boy. In Tulsa in January, other boys his age were boisterous, more bother, and adopted; Nikolai’s cooperation was less requited. Now in Grand Rapids, agreeable again, his future is jeopardized by factors outside his control: age, gender, and personality. He needs and wants a family, oblivious that on a Lighthouse trip, it’s possible to be so good and so little trouble that you’re overlooked.

Nikolai dreamed of visiting America, though rumors circulate incessantly around his orphanage that Americans adopt Russian children to harvest their body parts. Asked about his best friend, Nikolai described a boy he appreciated for his reliability and trustworthiness. But as of December, Nikolai’s friend was gone to Michigan, the first child adopted from their orphanage, ever. Without parents, friends in the orphanage become family, and Nikolai’s mournful eyes stared out the window as his best friend left with his new mom and dad, lacking any expectation they’d meet again. Traveling with Lighthouse in January, Nikolai arrived in Tulsa and phoned his friend daily, finding him not an organ donor, but a loved and cherished son. Ultimately Tulsa offered no family for Nikolai, but he enjoyed his first trip enough to return to America when opportunity knocked again two months later.

Quietly compliant here also, on day two of the trip I might panic prematurely that all is lost. But I’m not, yet anyway, because Nikolai has a reliable and trustworthy mentor, his best friend Sergei, providentially living with his new family immediately across the street from Nikolai’s Grand Rapids host family. When Nikolai arrived late Friday night, Sergei and his dad went to the host family’s home and stayed over an hour. Relishing his role as a voice of experience, Sergei showed Nikolai around, explained rules, and offered pointers that he, as my favorite Lighthouse child ever, was uniquely qualified to give. (It's a Boy!, 12/9/08) and (Welcome Home! Welcome Home!, 12/21/08)

Back at home after showing his best friend the ropes, Sergei’s parents went through their bedtime rituals with him. As a fifteen-year-old American boy, Sergei could feel too old to be tucked in by his mom and dad. But as a child only a few months removed from the loveless existence of orphanage life, Sergei harbors no such pretensions, soaking up this birthright of childhood. As his parents said their good nights, Sergei shared how he’d advised Nikolai to smile a lot, let his personality shine through, and show he was having fun so someone would want him to join their family. His mom encouragingly enthused, “You’re such a good friend!”

“He’s a good friend, too,” Sergei said. “That’s why I want to help him have a family.”

Hope, Quarantined

Last evening I fired off an urgent e-mail to Michiganders who were previously involved with the Lighthouse Project, pleading for host families. Early this afternoon, having just hung up with a lady destined to be Maya’s host mom, my quest to find Valentina’s family ended sadly when my next caller was the Lighthouse Project director. Her news was discouraging: Valentina’s orphanage is quarantined, precluding her from traveling next week to Michigan. We’re now reduced to an eleventh-hour attempt to find her parents on a July 3-13 Rolla, Missouri, trip that I am only tangentially involved with. Timing leaves no margin for error; without an adoptive family in Missouri, Valentina will live out her days, however many they’ll be, in Russia somewhere, with no one who cares.

On the cusp of finding a family in Michigan, Valentina instead is victimized by orphanage quarantine, keeping her “home”. Worse is the worry her hope has been quarantined, too.

It's a Boy!

Having coordinated several Lighthouse Project trips, there is no thrill for me like receiving e-mail updates from Russia, sent by families who are completing adoptions for kids I’ve had here. My favorite correspondences are the ones sent by new parents that start something like, “It’s a boy!” or, “It’s a girl!” immediately after they complete their court process in front of a Russian judge who approves the adoption and declares them a legal family. I experience a cacophony of emotion as I read those lines: nostalgia for our own moment a few years ago, when nothing but hope stretched before us; melancholy while considering what the child will leave behind; pride at having been a part of bringing a family together; joy at a new beginning for a previously hopeless child; pensivity at the prospect of challenges I know lie before my friends; and even a twinge of envy at the excitement and expectation that accompany adoption. It is not outside the scope of this blog about the Lighthouse Project to look at the end of the road, or at least the end of the beginning, when a new family is finally rewarded with a son or daughter birthed physically years ago and half a world away, but born to an American family through a dream of the heart.

A good parent would never admit to having a favorite child; a good Lighthouse Project coordinator is bound by no such decorum. In July of 2008 a boy a few days shy of his fifteenth birthday traveled on my Grand Rapids trip. He was added to the trip at the last moment; the project director flattered me when she told me she’d added him to the trip without consulting me, hoping she had not acted out of turn! As director it was not out of turn; having met him, I would have forgiven her if it was. Sergei brought an unusual expectation in his eyes, a smile that owned his face, and an attitude so winning it defied you not to like him. It was hopeless: I crumbled at this defiance and Sergei ensconced himself as my favorite child ever to travel on a Lighthouse trip.

For finding an adoptive family, though, age and gender were not on his side, and it worried me. With two days remaining before the kids' return to Russia, I had high hopes but no leads. That night at the evening program that is historically my best avenue in finding adoptive families, one family was cajoled into attending “for support” by a hosting friend. After the kids performed in their typically touching manner, the supportive family rather tentatively approached me with questions about a list of three kids that had piqued their interest. My heart leaped when Sergei’s name was mentioned. While it is tempting to claim I knew then I was speaking to Sergei’s parents, honesty requires disclosure that it was more circuitous than that. But in the end, both the supported and the supporters decided to adopt children from the July trip. Friends before but with a deeper bond forged now, both families are in Russia together as I write, proud new parents of teenagers.

So it was with a more acute sense of pride, joy, and envy than usual that last Friday I received my latest “It’s a boy!” alert. Sergei’s family posted a few photos of their trip; the best was a thousand-words shot that showed his “Poppy” helping him with his tie before their court appearance. For many boys, this lesson by their father would be a rite of passage into proper attire; for Sergei, this was a passage into his family. The expression of admiration on Sergei’s face exemplified the emerging connection between Sergei and his dad; the tie was demonstrative of the importance of the court moment when they would become family in fact; and the lesson from Poppy “Exhibit A” that parenthood is a series of seemingly mundane lessons on the path to responsible adulthood that all children require. The photo said Sergei has parents who care how he grows up. Somebody has come alongside him. He is not rudderless. He is not an orphan.

Congratulations, Kevin and Kelly!

Welcome to your family, Sergei!

Time to Say Goodbye

Early Sunday morning the Lighthouse host families met at the airport in Tulsa for a tearful goodbye with the Russian children who’d helped them put faces on the world’s orphan problem. Depending on the source, estimates of the orphan population worldwide range from 30-143 million. While no one person could save them all, I believe I speak for the entire group of host families when I say it was a privilege to help the six children (nine, counting their siblings) whose visit kept us busy the preceding week. Awaiting departure, backpacks were checked and rechecked to ascertain the presence of mementos acquired during the previous week, and notes were compared as the children passed around their photo albums, chronicling just how they had found their way into their own family’s hearts. Lingering hugs and tears, a group photo where the smile words were “Russia” and “Oklahoma” instead of “cheese”, and a somber walk to the security lines to share the last precious seconds of togetherness marked the end of our time with the November Lighthouse children.

After the children were out of sight, Dima’s host mom, who also just happens to be his future adoptive mom, passed out copies of the November 5 Tulsa World. Her sister teaches school and her class receives the paper. They’d taken the section with the election results and left the important part for us: an article written by a reporter so touched by the children and their stories that he wept as left the two-hour interview time on the last day of Vacation Bible School. As he walked out the door of the church, he justified his tears by telling us he’d adopted an older child years before and was “deeply moved”. Having adopted older children myself, I embraced the sentiment.

Anatoly’s host dad offered a prayer for travel safety of the children on their journey back to Russia; safekeeping while they waited in their orphanages; and their prompt return to the families who, with love and anticipation in their hearts, would be working here to adopt them. Any eye dry after the last wave to the children as they disappeared from view was no longer dry at the end of the prayer, and we stood there at “Amen” unknowing what to do. A farewell seemed appropriate so I reminded them I’d be back in January with the seven children left “home” in their orphanage due to illness, along with others also awaiting their chance at a family.

Three children, along with their three siblings unable to travel, had definite adoptive families. The other three had families prayerfully considering them, though that number decreased to two later that afternoon when a mom told me she and her husband had decided to make one of these kids part of their family. While these two more children wait, I pray that the decision is quick and in the affirmative.

After all the work, prayers, e-mails, miles, phone calls, and late nights pondering what else might be done to find families, the kids were gone and the time for doing was past. The kids had entered their families’ hearts and, for them, there would be no going back to life as it was before. Leaving the airport that morning, the paradoxical sensations of emptiness and fullness dueled. These dear ones were gone, yes, but with hope for the future. On the road heading back to Michigan, a plane soared overhead and I thought it must be our kids, off to tell their siblings and friends the hope they’d found in America. As they’d been blessed, I’d been blessed, too, blessed enough to think I’d do it again, and soon.

Ready to Go!

Today brought news that our trip is complete: Denis has his host family! I am praising God that this final piece of the puzzle has been put into place. While the prayers for host families for all children were graciously answered, there is much prayer needed for each child’s forever family to be found. Here are two more of the children I’m praying for tonight:

Andrei (left) is a twelve-year-old who was proud to recite the English alphabet on video. His favorite food is milk soup. Like many boys in Russia, Andrei wants to drive for a career. He was on the master list for two previous Lighthouse Project trips, but as a host family never chose him, he had been unable to travel prior to Tulsa. This time, a host family picked Andrei, so this sweet boy finally has his turn to seek his place in a family. A generous pediatric ophthalmologist in Tulsa has offered to do a complete ocular evaluation on him, so any family considering making Andrei their son would have a realistic picture of challenges he might face. After the struggle to find Andrei’s host family, I am praying that his adoptive family senses God’s call on this first trip so his wait can end without further delay.

My first six Lighthouse Project trips have run in my home state of Michigan. Since the Lighthouse Project has been such an important part of my family’s life for the past few years, it’s not surprising that some of the people I speak with most have wanted to participate. My sister-in-law lives in the Tulsa area; her desire to host a child led to my decision to run a trip in Oklahoma. Her family is eagerly awaiting the arrival of eleven-year-old Anton (right). Anton’s teacher says he is one of the best students in his grade. He knows many poems and has visited the art museum in his orphanage town. When asked what he wanted in the future, he said just a brother, sister, mom, and dad. I’m praying that my sister-in-law and her family will know the same joy that has so thoroughly motivated me: being part of a child’s life in a way that leads him to a future filled with hope and promise.

Lighthouse Project, Take Two

I’ve coordinated seven Lighthouse Project trips to date. What keeps me coming back, again and again, to do the hundreds of hours of work it takes to make one trip happen? As an adoptive mother of two Russian children, I have been to the orphanage some of the children come from. I’ve seen orphans at the train stations who aged out of the system, never having found that forever family of their own. My friend’s son, adopted at age 10, tells of how whenever he saw a stranger drive up to his orphanage, he wondered if they were coming to be his mom or dad. I’ve seen the difference between kids arriving at the airport nervous and unsure for their Lighthouse trip, and the same kids a few months later, arriving home holding hands with their adoptive parents, confident in the knowledge that they are not orphans anymore. Seeing the joy these kids have received when they found love has blessed me immeasurably.

On my previous Lighthouse Project trips, about 70% of the children who traveled have found adoptive families. One of the most frequently asked questions in conversations with potential host families is what happens to children who are not adopted? With the Lighthouse Project, kids who don’t find the family God intended for them on a first trip are generally be able to come again on a second, or even third, trip. Several children on past trips I’ve coordinated have found their family on their second trip to America. Three children traveling to Tulsa are on their second trip; I am prayerful that their third trip here will be hand in hand with their new family.

Katya (top left) is a bubbly 14. She has lived in an orphanage since about three months of age. On her first trip to the States, she enjoyed horseback riding, visiting the zoo, and picking out her own flavor of ice cream at the ice cream shop. This sweet girl loves to read the Russian Bible she received in America, and she told the Lighthouse Project translator that she most likes to read about Adam and Eve. I am seeking a special family for Katya; she has mobility challenges most likely stemming from a mild case of cerebral palsy. Her future in Russia is even bleaker than for the typical orphan.

Anatoly (right) is seven; he is a smiley boy who likes to help and was very kind and generous to the children of his previous host family. He loves pie, going barefoot, and the color red.

Losha (bottom left) is 12. He had a fantastic trip in July to Michigan, and especially liked going to the amusement park there. He likes sports and would like to be a professional skier; his school group won every cross country skiing event they entered last year. Like many boys in Russian orphanages, Losha can knit and crochet. He also dreams of a family in America choosing him for their own.

None of these children have been forgotten just because they did not meet their family last trip. While my goal has always been 100% of the children being adopted, attaining that figure has been elusive to date. One of my favorite things about the Lighthouse Project is knowing that the kids who don’t find families can come again if they want to. Until I reach my goal of every child being adopted, I know we always have the hope of next time. That’s one of the great treasures bestowed by the Lighthouse Project: giving hope to those children who still wait at the windows, wondering if each car that pulls up might be the mom and dad they’ve dreamed of.