Evil into Good

Sasha found pleasure in little things.


The 14-year-old bully thought no one was looking, so he punched Sasha hard in the side of the head unprovoked.  The smaller boy, just 11, was surprised and dazed, but never retaliated. The rest of the evening, clearly rattled, Sasha shadowed any available adult; as the two oldest boys on the trip, he and the bully roomed alone.  I told chaperone Tatiana, whereupon she pulled Sasha into her room to stay with the younger children, much relieving the poor boy.  The next afternoon the bully would return to his own orphanage, but until then, we watched him like hawks.

Sasha was irresistible, the kid everyone liked. Kind, earnest, intelligent, curious, positive, and persistent, he was mesmerized by plastic birds which balanced perfectly on their hooked beaks, and he carried them everywhere.   At first, content just to balance them on his finger, he later solemnly demonstrated how they balanced as effectively on his nose or a Pixy Stix. 



Sasha balances his birds on Pixy Stix
I gave him after he spoke with me.

He got his birds the day we gave out gifts, after he’d answered our questions about his four younger siblings.  He proclaimed how he loved his brothers and sisters; then Tatiana mentioned he’d beseeched Father Frost for gifts for them last New Year’s. For Luba, 5, whose name is Russian for “love,” Sasha requested a dress worthy of a princess; for his brother Dima, 8, he asked candy.  Most noteworthy of all, he asked nothing for himself.  Father Frost rewarded the boy’s kind heart with two model cars, one of which Sasha slipped into Dima’s hands.  Inspired by this anecdote, host dad John piped up, extolling the sweetness he’d seen Sasha lavish on Petr, 5, the most trying member of our band.  Tatiana’s teenage daughter, who’d spent much time with her mother’s orphans, was with us, and heard the praise. Though she spoke at no other time, she bubbled now, judging Sasha a “remarkable person” who “differs from other children.”  

One afternoon while the kids swam, Tatiana sat down with me to talk.  She beamed when she spoke of Sasha, a very good and caring boy. His biological parents never enrolled him in school at seven as required, so when he arrived at the orphanage just over a year ago, he’d had no education beyond what he’d garnered living virtually alone with his siblings.  As the eldest, Sasha assumed responsibility for cooking, cleaning, laundering clothes, and caring for the younger children.  When a social worker discovered the little family in a wretched state, all were taken to an orphanage, where at last Sasha learned to read and write. 



Sasha back at the orphanage with three of his four siblings:
(L to R) Elena, 7; Luba, 5; Sasha, 11; and Dima, 8
Alexei, 2, is in a baby house in another town.



Tatiana called Dima active and physically on-target, a boy who likes loud games.  Industrious Elena, 7, much resembles Sasha, liking to care for younger children and play house.  Little Luba, 5, likes singing, dancing, and drawing.  Though delayed when she entered the orphanage, she has flourished there, which made me shudder to think what “home” must have been like.  Baby Alexei, 2, lives apart in the baby house, far from his siblings.

Sasha told me he sees his siblings often, though a year has passed since he’s visited Alexei.  Not answering when I asked if he knew why he lived in an orphanage, he just shook his head no. While he likes it there, he really wants a “good and kind” family. His dreams are incremental: to serve in the army, then to attend university, then to get married to someone he has not yet chosen.  When I wondered what he would change about the world, a question which stumped some older children, he reckoned he’d turn evil into good.  Knowing his sad past, and witnessing the thoughtfulness he so willingly displayed, I thought he was changing the world already.

Click to tweet below, and help Sasha and his siblings find their way home.



I promised Luba, Elena, and Dima a kiss to
 get them to smile for this adorable photo!



At the end of the week when we dropped the kids off at their orphanage, Sasha stayed only a few minutes before he was whisked back to his summer camp.  His younger siblings remained behind, so Sasha entrusted several trinkets from his bag of gifts to them.  I interviewed Dima, Elena, and Luba individually in a room depressingly crammed with 14 little beds.  My gentlest queries brought Luba close to tears, so I called Dima and Elena in to sit beside her.



Luba, 5, took this photo of Dima, Elena, and me.



Asking them to show me their beds finally broke the ice with Luba.  The three leapt to their feet, proudly showing something that felt like theirs, as Dima boasted his was most comfortable.  Teaming up to hide behind a headboard, they bounced up with a roar when I pretended not to see them.   Luba jumped on her bed, then skipped for me.  I taught them “bye-bye” before quizzing them on their English knowledge, which they found hilarious. I asked them to smile together for a photo, but they were laughing too hard.  Only when I promised each a kiss did I get my smiles; I was charmed by how grand a reward they thought the offer.  When I volunteered the use of my camera in exchange for their kiss on my cheek, the non-photographers rushed to pose next to me.  Reviewing the resultant photos later, I chuckled to find the five-year-old had taken the most respectable photo. 

When the clock demanded we catch our train to Moscow, it pained me to leave such a joyful group. As I waved goodbye, the kids merrily charged at me for one last hug and kiss. I never saw baby Alexei, and I departed wishing he could grow up with his siblings.

Being a fivesome will handicap the children in our quest to find them adoptive parents. So for now, this darling quintet is headed by a big-hearted eleven-year-old. And when he returns from camp, he’ll surely show Dima, Elena, and Luba how to balance the birds he got from American friends. Then he’ll wait in hope for a good and kind family to share with them all.

Click here to tweet about Sasha, Dima, Elena, Luba, and Alexei.

*****

Sasha relaxing in the van on our
way back to his orphanage.

If you would like to meet Sasha and his siblings, travel with us to Russia this November 9-16! And now, when you travel to Russia with the Russian Orphan Lighthouse Project, you can bring a friend along with you for free! You and your friend will explore the sights of Moscow, encourage adoptable orphans, and visit an orphanage to deliver donated humanitarian aid like bikes and toys. As always, you'll also enjoy a scenic trek by train through the Russian countryside, experience Russian-style hospitality at a retreat set up perfectly for our visits, and ponder the fascinating mysteries of post-Soviet culture. And if the jaunt’s not already sweet enough, now you’ll make a difference, times two! For more information call Becky at (616) 245-3216, or e-mail becky@lhproject.com.

Liza and Nikita

Nikita and Liza

Love, our Russian coordinator, was on the other end of the phone, imploring me for my opinion of Liza and Nikita, siblings she’d taken a shine to the first time she’d seen them.  She was giddy as she waited for me to know and love them, and then find them their family.

But nine-year-old Liza was coughing with a vengeance, miserable when we met. After a lengthy nap the first afternoon she awoke with a fever, so chaperone Svetlana was delighted to find I’d brought a suitcase crammed with acetaminophen bottles to donate to the orphanages. Though Liza declared swimming her favorite pastime, she was subdued even in the pool, and the rest of the week Svetlana kept her out. 

Nikita, 7, was a thankful little boy, lisping heartfelt spaciba’s whenever I gave him anything, the only child who never needed reminders. The first evening, when I played Bingo with the kids, he stood watching beside me until I lifted him onto my lap to play my card. As he found the numbers, I praised him; he reciprocated with a tight hug, kiss, and proclamation of his love.

Liza plays checkers while humming a song.

The next morning, as Liza played checkers alone on the floor, she hummed a little song, something Svetlana explained she did frequently during activities. After a music teacher evaluated her abilities, her musical talent was recognized. But aside from the humming and hacking, Liza remained silent on the trip, making herself a challenging interviewee, which I attributed to her illness. Despite asking many questions, I gleaned only that she liked school, reading, and painting; that she saw Nikita often, enjoyed playing with him, and thought him “naughty”; and that she dreamed of having a cat. 

Nikita was less hesitant to speak, confiding that while they sometimes fought, he knew Liza loved him, and he appreciated her kindness and frequent visits. He liked soccer, puzzles, cartoons, and kittens, and said he aspired to be a pilot someday. But he hadn’t forgotten the hard times, foraging at a garden for corn when the cupboards were empty at home. Having endured substantial neglect, a year ago the kids arrived at the orphanage, where the caretakers had devoted much time to teaching them skills they hadn’t learned.  

Nikita enjoying his glow "bracelets"

Click to Tweet below, and be a part of finding Liza and Nikita's mom and dad.

For her part, Liza liked her new home and its kind caretakers. As the caretaker for Liza’s group, Svetlana knew her well, describing her as shy but affectionate, and a “very good girl” esteemed for her tenderness. At New Year’s, children penned letters to Father Frost, a Russian Santa figure. While some children disbelieved and refused to write, with Svetlana’s encouragement Liza petitioned him for a beautiful dress. Through the generosity of orphanage sponsors, her wish was granted, and she swelled with pride in her new finery. Svetlana smiled as she savored the memory.

Nikita was also well-liked at the orphanage for his thoughtfulness, Svetlana added. He was a typical boy, “emotional, playful, energetic, and curious.” While still managing to listen and obey, on group nature walks he’d make time for everything, caring for a dog or noticing a car entering the grounds in between the required observations of sundry bugs or leaves.

As the week closed, Nikita showed glimpses of that winsome personality, but poor Liza never felt well enough. And after all of Love's hope, I was left with little beyond a recollection of Liza's misery, and a lament they hadn't had a real chance to shine.

Click to Tweet here, and help Liza and Nikita find their family.

Don't miss your chance to meet Liza and Nikita and other older Russian orphans as our welcoming group of American families travels together to their region of Russia July 9-16.  This trip could change your life, and theirs!  Call (616) 245-3216.

Mouths of Babes

Victoria’s smile revealed she was missing her two front teeth, and she spoke with a lisp as she answered her questioner without a hint of shyness. For a young seven-year-old, she was unusually open, sang without cajoling, and was a most engaging interview subject. The first grader likes her teacher and loves school. Russian schools value memorization of poetry, and most interviews of young children feature at least one recitation; praised by the interviewer after her first poem, Victoria clapped for herself, and launched headlong into a second. Asked about a new friend, Victoria puzzled a moment, and then confessed she didn’t remember her name. Ironically, she wore a shirt emblazoned with a drawing of an elephant and the cryptic English words, “Don’t want to forget me am an elephant.” As the interview was ending, she neatened her pigtails in preparation for photos the interviewer would take.

After Victoria’s turn, her sister Alexandra, nine, arrived back at the orphanage from school, where she’s in second grade. Asked what subjects she liked, she rattled off painting, reading, math, and Russian language without an instant’s hesitation. At her orphanage’s library, she checks out books of fairy tales. She likes watching Chip and Dale cartoons and playing. Several of the orphanages where we work have animals; Alexandra enjoys feeding the dogs and kittens at hers. She easily remembered her best friend, sister Victoria. During free time at school or the orphanage, they visit together. Alexandra added it’s her pleasure to help Victoria when she needs it. As her interviewer translated this, Alexandra smiled sweetly.

The girls arrived at the orphanage a few months ago, after their biological mother’s rights were terminated. At the court hearing which effected this deprival, their mother did not show up to contest allegations of neglect, nor did she trouble herself to inform the court that she would be absent.

As is too frequently the situation with the kids we serve, the one who should have cared most for the girls did not care enough to fight to keep them. So in an orphanage without their mother, little Alexandra does what she can to help her littler sister, only too pleased she has the chance.

*****

Alexandra and Victoria are able to travel on our November 9-15 Lighthouse Project trip to Moscow, provided they have a host family within the next few days.   For more information on the trip, these girls, or other children, please call Becky at (616) 245-3216 this week.

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They Have to Love Children

A wet snow descended at the close of our three days visiting orphanages. During the drive, Faith briefed me on a sibling trio she’d promised to help find a family for ages ago. We were coming to visit them, to do a picture retake of another sibling group, and to collect three kids for our first reverse Lighthouse Project trip to Moscow. School was history for the week, and as Faith opened the orphanage door, music pounding in celebration slapped us in the face. Kids spilled out into the hallway from several rooms to see us; several I recognized from old interviews I’d watched.

There was more protocol to suffer here than at some places we visited, as the staff graciously insisted on feeding us first. We had sated our appetites on the way, though a bulging stomach was least of my objections when tepid chicken soup awash in fat was set before me. I scarcely had time to resign myself to the greasy atrocity when an ante-upping plate appeared: a pickle and tomato, both steaming, paired with chilled mashed potatoes and still-scaled herring. It felt immoral to discard meat, lest an animal perish in vain, but the fish’s odor, aesthetics, and temperature worked wonders for my powers of rationalization. When our server briefly excused herself, Faith, eyeing the fish banished to the side of my plate, swapped her scales for my herring, salving my conscience in one deft exchange.

Formalities mercifully over, a parade of children entered. Those awaiting their families’ arrival appeared with confident smiles, lavishing hugs of recognition upon us. Others, not yet slated for a trip, made more circumspect entrances. One girl, leaving with us this afternoon, was Larisa, ten. The elfin brunette piqued my interest during an earlier interview, allowing of school only that she liked it “better than being in the hospital” while paradoxically aspiring to a nursing career. She defied anyone to dislike her, and finding a host for her on our trip was a cinch.

Now in Russia, waiting to meet her in person, we learned she had a sibling, of whom we’d been unaware.

Larisa bounced carefree into the room, leaving sister Maria, 13, her pensive shadow. As we spoke with her, Maria warmed up, but remained decorous. Interview basics were addressed: favorite subjects, music and physical education; preferred seasons, summer and winter; hobbies, crocheting and reading; and career hope, medicine. Her dream was a good family, thoughtfully defined as one where parents love children. She “certainly” believed in God, and affirmed God loves her, editorializing, “He loves everyone.” Larisa’s characterization of Maria as strict elicited a chuckle from Maria, and a swift addendum from Larisa that it helped her. My friend Elaine asked how long they’d been here. “One year,” Maria answered, alluding to how momentous their arrival was by giving its exact date.

After our meeting, Larisa left to collect her things for Moscow. While I liked Maria’s dignified charm, I knew her existence would shock the host, who was leaving the States in a few hours, oblivious that a second child would also need to be adopted. With Maria unable to travel with us, it would reduce the girls’ chance of being adopted this trip. Watching Larisa through the window as she returned with her bag, it was devastating to know we’d unintentionally failed to give either girl her best opportunity.

Several interviews later, we departed the orphanage, three kids in tow. With five of us wedged in the backseat, we sought respite from our boredom by playing tic-tac-toe in the window’s fog. As he glared at us in his rearview mirror, I suspected our entertainment choice displeased our chauffeur. But as his reckless driving risked seven lives, our window game seemed minimal recompense. One last orphanage stop killed time and dished up a few more interviews. As she waited for us to finish, Larisa mixed effortlessly with the kids she met there. When we left, four children richer, an orphanage van whisked us to the train station in a joyously forgettable ride.

We reached our Moscow hotel before the families. When they arrived from the airport in early afternoon, I spoke with Larisa’s host. While her magnanimous understanding of our discovery of Maria was a boon to my stress level, she doubted any second child, particularly one she couldn’t meet, would fit her family.

As our visit unfolded, Larisa smiled generously. She knew some English, with a hearty appetite for more. She shepherded the trip’s two youngest children, and accepted guidance from an older child who criticized minor shortcomings in her behavior. Asking a host parent if she was adopting two other children on the trip, the affirmative answer brought Larisa genuine happiness. Still, she retained her own painfully obvious desire to be adopted, as she shooed away kids who wanted to hold her host mom’s hand. The day we departed Moscow, another child gave Larisa’s host a heart-shaped "I love you" pin, complete with blinking red lights. Larisa’s efforts to convey that the garish pin was from her, too, were heart-rending in their desperation.

When we left Moscow, every family had chosen a child for adoption; Larisa, twinkle in her eye, was not among those picked. Twice since, she and Maria have been selected by families, only to have both families back out before even meeting the girls. The last few weeks, whenever Lighthouse Project director Hope and I discuss kids for future trips, she tells me Larisa and Maria still very much want a family.

I appreciate the reminder, but don’t need it. I remember the request.

They have to love children.

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