Alone

A few weeks back Faith, our Lighthouse Project translator, was in Russia visiting orphanages we work with. Looking for new kids and checking on children awaiting their family’s arrival, one of her stops included the institution my kids were in. Faith met with the children on her schedule and was going out the door when the orphanage director told her about Valentina. Most children who travel with Lighthouse are “social” orphans: kids who found themselves in an orphanage when their biological parents’ rights were terminated due to alcohol abuse and child neglect. As a true orphan with deceased biological parents, Valentina was a bit unusual. She arrived at the orphanage with four younger siblings, but when they were taken by Russian foster families, Valentina was left feeling she had no one in the world. As word spread that Faith was at the orphanage seeking kids for trips to America, Valentina urged her orphanage director, a rotund, Russian-blonde I met twice and liked well, to let her see Faith, pleading that she needed to seek a family in America as her parents were dead and her siblings were gone. Acquiescing, the orphanage director spoke to Faith, who agreed the eighth grader should be interviewed, though there wasn’t time to do so at the orphanage.

Valentina’s orphanage is a winding-roaded two hours away from the regional capital, where both Faith the director were imminently bound. Given an opportunity to be considered for a precious trip to America, Valentina seized the chance, though it meant she would endure a joyride to the capital to spend time with Faith. Like many Russian orphans who seldom leave the orphanage, she gets carsick. An ever-changing Russian landscape formed the backdrop of her interview, which proved she gutted out the white-knuckle ordeal heroically. Valentina displayed a reluctant charm, punctuated by laudable episodes spent willing her stomach to compose itself. When Faith worried she might not be able to persevere, the director offered a commendation of Valentina’s ability with younger children, who idolize her as a role model.

Most kids do not travel on Lighthouse trips so soon after they’re discovered, but Valentina’s story and age mandated special consideration. Turning fifteen during the Michigan trip, she’ll need to be adopted before her sixteenth birthday to enter the US on an orphan’s immigrant visa. Absent an adoptive family’s expeditious intervention, Valentina will return home and hopeless to no one in Russia. While her age makes it urgent she finds a family, and soon, it hampers my search for said hosting family. Even those who profess to be host-only, void of adoption intentions, ask no further questions once I mention her age.

I continue promoting her, fretting at my failure to find a family. Valentina says there is no one for her in Russia. Two weeks before her scheduled arrival, there is no one for her in America either.

Cheering

Attempts to recruit host families in recession-weathered Michigan had been taxing of late; it seemed almost everyone I spoke with had lost a job since our last conversation. I’d been feeling like a lone cheerleader in a dark, vacant stadium, goading enthusiasm from a nonexistent crowd, when the lights finally went on late Friday night. A dearly treasured friend of the Lighthouse Project left joyous news in a word-thrifty thirty-second voice mail, conferring hope beyond my deserts and allowing a euphoric Oklahoma family to say yes to Lima’s adoption.

Five years ago another friend adopted Lisa from Russia, only to discover impossibly late that she had a younger sister named Lima in a different orphanage. Home in Michigan, Lisa settled in but didn’t forget her sister left behind, faithfully praying and tirelessly spreading the word of a waiting orphan in need of a family. Sweet Lisa’s prayers got an emphatic affirmative at 9:03 p.m. last Friday in a message that stole my breath away. That news of this joy could be imparted with such economy in verbiage was art I did not equal in ensuing conversations with the new family, Lisa’s mom, and the Lighthouse Project director.

Since Lima’s family-to-be didn’t even know about her while the January Tulsa trip was in their town, they’ll host her in March in Grand Rapids, Lord willing. Besides meeting her new parents, Lima will see Lisa in a poignant reunion I’d give anything to witness. I expect they’ll embrace, maybe hold hands, as Lima shares with Lisa what her last five years have held. While Lisa no longer speaks Russian, she recalls orphanage life sufficiently that her heart will understand what this week means to Lima. In a mercy gifted by youth, Lima will not struggle wondering what words of gratitude would be appropriate for the sister whose prayers have secured her place in the heart of a family.

At my age, I suffer no equivalent delusion. I ache to convey appreciation to my Friday caller, but can't assuage apprehension that anything I’d say would be woefully disproportionate to the gift. I must trust the determined love that compels Lima’s new family to venture across the country, then around the world, speaks the volumes of thankfulness I only wish my words could.

As I continue seeking families for March, I have new optimism that I’m no longer alone in my Lighthouse stadium. The stands aren’t packed yet, but benevolent friends are filling them. With prayer and more effort we’ll be ready by game time. For a new family beside themselves with elation, for Lisa who prayed without ceasing, for our incredible friends who will never know the depths of the Lighthouse Project’s gratitude, and for Lima who waited five years and two visits to find the family who will love her, I am cheering tonight.