Outside

This morning I rode in a car with two ladies from Canada and another American to a Catholic convalescent and disabled children’s home. Some of the kids from Marin Pazon (the orphanage I volunteer at) had been relocated in the past year to this new center. The five children who were moved were the ones who were the worst off at Marin Pazon. They sent almost all their time alone in cribs.

I would know five of the children: Roberto (who eats EVERYTHING), Marian (I think he has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome), Maria with cerebral palsy, Blind Aurel, and Donut (with hydrocephalus). The home was big with a cross in front and when we arrived all the kids were outside under shaded awnings. A few elderly people from the center were also outside. With only ten children, and three or four staff on hand, it was obvious this atmosphere was centered on the children. Nobody was yelling. The staff were all patiently and lovingly working with the children, and the children were OUTSIDE! Aurel, who was always laying down in his crib at Marin Pazon, sat upright in a stroller. I’d like to think that when I grabbed his hand, he knew it was me, but can only hope that this was the case. As he felt my hand, however, he moved to get up out of his chair to walk, but he was strapped in.

“Can I untie him,” I asked one of the staff, “and go for a walk with him?”

“Sure!” said the worker who continued feeding yogurt to one of children.

I untied my little Aurel and we walked. I noticed right away his shoes were strong and sturdy. Also, he was physically stronger than last year. That signified that people had taken time to walk with him. He was no longer confined to his crib. He loved walking, and, oh!, the change I saw in this little man. He LAUGHED and GIGGLED as we walked and he felt the sun on his face! He was the same boy, who preferred being carried and swung around, despite his weight and age, but he was a happier, freer one. When he got tired he just wanted to sit on the ground like he used to do last year in the halls of Marin Pazon. As I rounded the corner of the building with him, tears collected inside me and rushed toward my eyes. This Catholic home WAS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE!

The five kids here, sitting in the sunlight, properly dressed, feed, no longer sitting in their own urine and feces were the children who had been the MOST HOPELESS, THE MOST ALONE, AND THE MOST ABANDONED at the orphanage! God had taken the ones we thought there was no hope for, and brought them to “a land flowing with milk and honey.” I cried out of awe of what God had done, and went on to imagine how safely, how warmly these children could continue their days – outside of the city, in a spacious home with green lawns, toys, and LOVE.

The sister who attended the children smiled like a child herself, without worry or fear and spoke to us in Romanian. “I’m actually from Paraguay,” she told me.

I gasped with delight! “That means you speak Spanish!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” she continued, “I also speak Italian. I worked with handicap children in Italy for thirteen years before coming to Romania in 2007.”

Her Romanian was very good, but she declared that it was such a difficult language, using the Romanian term ‘dificil’ (from Latin) to describe the language.

I looked in her warm eyes and wanted to tell her so much about my faith. I sensed she felt too, this love of God and I wanted to celebrate with her, the love that meant so much to both of us.

Roberto was there, and all the sores that had covered him for lack of care were practically gone. He was no longer dressed in his straight jacket, but in a Spiderman shirt with matching shorts. He used to wear the straight jacket because he would always eat his clothes and his diaper. A staff member noticed he had bitten through his Spiderman shirt at lunch. “We’ll just have to keep a better eye on him,” she cheerfully reasoned.

During lunch I remember looking at Donut (who has hydrocephalus) lying with his enlarged head in a stroller. He looked back at me consciously. I smiled slightly and his eyes gleamed with great joy. I realized as we looked at one another that his joy surpassed mine which caused me to smile back all the more. He erupted with laughter. He has SO MUCH to give this crazy world. His laughter reminded me of the thought that he must know Christ in a way we don’t. Where does his joy come from when he has spent more than sixteen years alone in a crib in constant pain? If anyone knows the heart of God, it must be him. He has received so little but gives so much.

The catholic sister asked me when I would visit again, which I took as a sign that I was invited to return. I considered that they didn’t often probably get visitors that stayed very long, so it was probably a treat to have someone come. I wanted to come again, even though my presence didn’t seem as necessary. I would be one more pair of hands to HOLD the kids. For all the attention they got, I still felt that there could be a little more HOLDING. One can’t over-love a child, right?

So all these little details really tell us something about God. People started praying for these children in inhumane conditions long ago. Later (two years ago), an American friend of mine saw Donut in his crib at Marin Pazon and it caused her such agony. She couldn’t find it in her heart to return to the orphanage because it was too emotionally disabling. People were usually afraid to touch him or pick him up. I was, too, when I first saw him. And here he is safe, and leading a life outside of the noisy city in a peaceful, loving, catholic atmosphere. If I had known that God could answer prayers this way, then I would have asked for more. It seems to me, that when you pray for widows, orphans, and abandoned people, God hears these prayers better than others. I don’t know how he is able to take the most hopeless cases and turn them around, but apparently He does.

Oh, God, take the most hopeless part of me … and turn it around.