Little Romanian Ones

ASL and International Adoption

2009-11-22T23:34:00.000-08:00

Because children adopted from international destinations are accustomed to hearing another language, sign may play a vital role in introducing a young internationally adopted child to communication. According to speech and language expects even children who are not adopted are able to sign their first word before they can speak their first word. Children usually speak their first word at 12 months, but infants can do their first sign at 7 to 8 months of age. It makes since then, that a child being exposed to English for the first time at the age of possibly 1 or 2 (or even later) might benefit from ASL combined with the new language they are being exposed to.

In The Complete Book of International Adoption by Dawn Davenport, parents are encouraged to “Use hand gestures or basic signs from American Sign Language (ASL) with your child, from infants through school age, as a way to transition to English with less frustration and tantrums” (http://books.google.com/books?id=WtkLEocSDv 8C&pg=PA281&lpg=PA281&dq=ASL+and+International+Adoptions&source=bl&ots=bjIP6u_hXM&sig=WBX4cfuAyUCw9Cp9irKCH3atRc&hl=en&ei=VzgKS5uAIZOMtAO85q3BCQ&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=8&ved=0CB0Q6AEwBw#v=onepage&q=&f=false).

One mother, with the internet name of jwpines, explained that sign really helped her adopted child to be able to communicate “rather than pointing and grunting in frustration” (http://www.signingtime. com/forums/showpost.php?p=2910&postcount=15). Her daughter even made “little signing jokes, like signing, “milk, milk, milk" really fast so that I would say it really fast” (Et al). Sign was a neat introduction to language because, though the child had to start all over again with learning to identify new language sounds at the age of 1, sign enabled her to communicate. It should be noted that this didn’t take away from her ability to learn English, because as in the example of the language joke, her adopted mother was using English (like saying, “milk, milk, milk”) while her daughter signed. In fact, jwpines noted of signing videos for children that she had ordered “are the best DVDs for teaching English, let alone Sign” (Et al). Sign videos were helping her Chinese daughter learn ASL and English at the same time! ASL accompanied by the parent’s voice provided both “visual and verbal” communicative development.

For the past three years I have been spending my summers working at an orphanage for disabled and handicap Romanian children. Unfortunately a very intelligent and physically capable young deaf Romanian boy is in this orphanage. I feel bad for him because I know he is very intelligent and capable of a lot more than he is exposed to in this negative environment. It was this boy, Cosmin, who first got me thinking about adopting deaf children from international locations. Because America has a thriving deaf culture, I think it is an advantage for deaf children to be raised in the United States. Within the U.S. deaf persons can be exposed to a “normal” life. In many other cultures these same children are institutionalized, like Cosmin, or considered dumb and/or left to beg. It is horrible to witness deaf people being treated as though they are disabled. When cultures treat deaf persons this way they are not only robbing people of their potential, they are robbing themselves from what their gifts and talents can bring the world.

Jamie Berke, a deaf person, considered adopting a deaf child in order “give the child the kind of deaf childhood I did not have”(http://deafness.about.com/cs/parentingarticles /a/deafadoption.htm). After adopting a foreign deaf boy Jamie had the thought, “that if the computer had helped our child to find a family, wouldn't it help other deaf children?” (Et al.) which lead Jamie to establish Deaf Adoption News Service around March 1994.

From my international experience I can testify that deaf children in places like Africa and India are often subject to extremely horrible conditions, not to mention they are never exposed to a full language like ASL. Unfortunately they usually do not get the opportunity to use a language as Deaf and hearing Americans use ASL and English. I have a desire to help orphaned children in the third word, and among these I think that deaf child in the third world should be especially sought out early as children to be adopted in first world countries, like the U.S.

http://books.google.com/books?id=WTkLEocSDv8C&pg=PA281&lpg=PA281&dq=ASL+and+International+Adoptions&source=bl&ots=bjIP6u_hXM&sig=WBX4cfu-AyUCw9Cp9irKCH3atRc&hl=en&ei=VzgKS5uAIZOMtAO85q3BCQ&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=8&ved=0CB0Q6AEwBw#v=onepage&q=&f=false
http://www.signingtime.com/forums/showpost.php?p=2910&postcount=15
http://deafness.about.com/cs/parentingarticles/a/deafadoption.htm

The Elephant In the Room

2009-08-18T12:01:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what you want to hear. I could relate all that I’ve done since I last blogged, but I feel like that would be ignoring the elephant in the room.

I’m leaving … and whatever I would write, that fact would be buried under all the sentences, lurking between the lines.

I’ve always liked writing. Sometimes when I've felt something deeply I would sit down and tell myself to write a poem in order to express myself better, to experience some kind of catharsis. But so often I would start with what was pounding in my heart and would find that I was trapped by very plain and simple language. My feelings may have been intense, but my language was not complex and routine. I feel the same way now when I write, “I’m leaving.” Such a simple sentence with so much weight.

I’ve been thinking that spending three months in another country when you speak the language, know a few people and are working on a fascinating project, can be torture. It is torture because something happens in three months; some kind of glue is formed naturally. I’m not sure from where it comes or when it comes, but the recipe for you soul sticking to foreign land for sure has the requirement that your soul must sit there for three months.

I try to write happy or interesting things when I blog and I’ve left out a lot of the negative, but the truth is that up until a month ago, I had days when I wanted to be in Sacramento badly. HOME. I didn’t feel the same “magic” as I did last summer. Many of the kids I had loved and lived for had been re-assigned to other orphanages. Many days I was the only volunteer at the orphanage. I felt so frustrated with the Romanian language that I felt like I somehow gave-up on it, though I still used it daily … but now when I think about returning I am confused.

Recently I have been volunteering in a small classroom for six of the older orphan boys in the center. I LOVE THE CLASSROOM! It is such a unique little place with a sweet security, and it brings new purpose to the lives of these boys, many of them actually men. Try putting 19-year-old boys in a school when they’ve never been in one their whole lives and you will find that there is a lot of drama to be had, but as you learn the peculiarities of each child, and the children begin to understand structure and security, there is such a sweet, motherly/teachery feeling that develops. It is one of those feelings that fill up the tank, and make your life a song. I find that the boys can almost be controlled by praise, so I have become one of their main cheerleaders. Also, as my friend Ariana teaches the clas,s I cheer her on, giving her a smile when the boys give her black stares, trying to be an extra pair of arms for her as much as I can. I feel that I would lie down on the floor if she needed to be a little taller. Because I believe in her and what she’s doing, I would do almost anything to help her, even to my own detriment.

And there are somethings I don’t like about the U.S., but once I go there, I am trapped. I can’t get away from the U.S. when I am home. It’s bothering me how alone I will feel when I’m there. When the streets are empty, and there aren’t a dozen people to meet along the road to where you’re going. I’m going to sadly miss working with people, monitoring the process of children that I’m dreaming for. I’m going to miss the company, even when it’s bad. I dread being all alone again, and for anybody who’s traveled, I’m going to miss that the people around me won’t miss what I miss. They won’t long for a world they’ve never entered.

I don’t think I’m going to like how clean people are in the U.S. I won’t like how they can leave the shoes they wore outside in the house as well. I’m going to hate hearing hour-long conversations about seemingly pointless you-tube videos and going to parties when there’s no one in the room who obviously needs help. I’m going to miss trying to speak Romanian. I’m going to miss the questions I can ask here without really offending anyone. I’m going to hate it when I eat at a restaurant and the waitress/waiter is being abnormally kind and attentive. I’m going to miss sweeter fruit with more seeds and eating peppers. And really I’m going to miss the boys at the school in the orphanage. I just don’t like them growing without me. I don’t like that Alexandra Sa. is at the orphanage right now in her bed, staring at the ceiling when she could be speaking and dancing. I’m going to miss the sincerity that seems more common here.

What I don’t like about America is shallowness, being bored because we have everything we need, being too nice, and being afraid of insulting others and therefore holding back on what we really think and feel. Oh, how guilty I am. But I want home, too, I think. I just have to wait till I get there to see if I really wanted home as badly as I imagined when I was away.

Mathematical Sense

2009-08-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

Bianca wailed for the volunteers long after they were gone. She couldn’t rest but held onto some hope they would return and she would receive their affection. She held onto the bars of the backyard gate, distressed.

“It makes my heart hurt to hear her wail like that,” a worker told me. The worker told Bianca not to cry, but somehow holding the dirty little Bianca to calm her was something the workers NEVER do. Bianca has stopped looking to them for affection.

I can’t remember what I was doing at the time, but it caught my attention for an hour or less inside the orphanage. At some point, I had come out briefly and noticed that Bianca was still crying.

When I came outside I saw that Bianca had escaped from the back yard. She was moaning, whimpering, and kind of running around aimlessly. The eight year old had somehow lost all the clothes she had on earlier. Even her diaper was gone. She was completely naked. I was distressed by her running around naked and couldn’t help but note that she clearly had a six-pack. A life of tantrums had made this little girl ripped.

An older girl with MR, Doina, was attempting to grab Bianca. But Doina would respond to Bianca as the caregivers did, and Bianca would never willingly go where Doina led. I couldn’t bare Doina’s hitting and yanking the eight year old, dragging her tantruming body on uneven concrete.

I ran to Bianca and spoke to her. “Okay, come with me,” but Bianca was beyond listening. She wouldn’t have trusted an angel at this point. I saw some large cuts on her that were bleeding. I couldn’t take it. I scooped her up in my arms while her legs kicked and her muscles tightened. I held her close to me. Two adult men who work at the center had been sitting just outside the gate, enjoying their cigarettes and laughing at the sight of Bianca running around naked. I could hear their laughter as I carried Bianca inside the building, up the stairs. As I was on the stairs I set Bianca down. I attempted to use my voice in a soft and calm way to create an atmosphere in which she felt she was loved and cared for and everything was okay.

“Bine. Asa. Mergem sus sa facem o baie, dar trebuie sa cautăm pentru rufele inainte de facem baie, da? Cautăm rufele si pampers …” I walked through the steps of what we were doing and going to do. Between every word was another message, “This is such a normal, familiar, calm environment. If we feel a little excited it is only because what we are going to do is so fun.”

I washed Bianca as one of the staff watched. I was glad she only watched and didn’t tell me to make Bianca wash herself. This is usually what the staff tell me whenever they see me doing something children can do themselves. I delighted to wash out the bleeding wounds on the little girl.

“Look at your shirt,” the staff worker and Doina pointed out. Little specks of Bianca’s blood were on my yellow shirt.

I took Bianca to a room to stay alone with her after she was clean and dressed. She was distracted by all the toys in the room, donated but never used, and couldn’t sit still. I employed the ABA techniques I had learned at a seminar the day before to control Bianca, who still lacked calmness. As I sat next to her at the table I had a thought about how Bianca was hated by the staff and the workers because she insisted on receiving what crumbs of love and security she could get and wouldn’t give that up. Being beaten and having her hair pulled out and her body dragged downstairs (as I had watched for two years) wouldn’t keep her from insisting, “I must be loved.”

I thought about how thankful I was for this attribute in Bianca and how I would hate it if it left because that would mean that we had lost Bianca and she would be dead to us. As long as she insisted on being reached in meant she had a soul that still had a hope of being rescued from a mindless black night.

I looked at her across the table and felt compassion for her need.

“Come here and sit in my lap,” I said, and she got up and sat down. I moved us to a bigger chair where I just held her as she held onto a doll with no legs in her arms.

I’ve heard or read somewhere that when a mother holds her infant, chemicals are released in the mother and child’s brain that are so healthy for them. As I held Bianca, kissing her cheek periodically and telling her I loved her and what a good girl she was, I could FEEL the love inside me, and something of its power had to do with the fact that it wasn’t just myself involved with the emotion, but Bianca was there, too, giving and taking.

There was a moment there (and not a second or a minute or anything measurable, but a MOMENT) when I felt with Bianca in my arms that all the pain I had caused and encountered in my life was worth it in order that in that moment I could hold and love Bianca.

Maybe it doesn’t mathematical sense that the nine hours my mom had of labor plus months of depression in my own life could equal one moment in Romania, but in this moment it made sense.

A Needy Bunch

2009-08-08T12:07:00.001-07:00

A handful of Americans wanted to visit the orphanage and gained permission to do so after much string-pulling. The director insisted on being there when they came to supervise the visit. I was so excited when they arrived, but only a few of the really sweet kids who were not locked in the backyard were around them as the director took them on a tour of the facility.

I walked with them through the orphanage as they looked at empty rooms that the director showed them, but the whole time I was trying to think how I could get them permission to go where the kids were outside. A couple in the group asked about a boy they had met last year, Johnny.

“He’s outside,” the director said.

Almost without thought I found myself saying, “I could take my guitar outside. We could sing with the kids, and they could see Johnny. I could get some instruments for the Americans to use with the kids? “ I looked at the director. “What do you think? Would that be okay?”

When the director consented I ran to collect the tambourines that spent their hours locked up in room, unused. I grabbed my guitar and one American girl passed on the tambourines to the Americans.

As soon as we approached the gate to the back yard, the kids ran towards us screaming. They were shouting unintelligibly, so excited to have visitors, and from the drool on their shirts and their pushing each other, you could tell they were a needy bunch.

One worker yelled at me, “Marilyn! Tell your friends to come in quick and not hang around the door or else the kids will run out.” Once the kids get out of the backyard they can no longer be supervised, which is quite dangerous.

I yelled in English, “Come in, quick so the kids don’t run out!”

I wondered why they waited.

I forget how intimidating these “children” (many of them actually adolescents and teens) can seem.
In the end, two of the men entered. Kids surrounded them. One adolescent girl was walking around topless. Nobody knew what happened to her shirt. Bogdan hit the guitar as though it were a baseball, using his instrument like a baseball bat. Then he twisted the tuning strings, making the guitar out of tune. I sang a few songs (before Bogdan twisted the strings) and then yelled for the Americans to go. They left slowly, one by one, so that the kids wouldn’t notice them leaving. I continued playing, but nobody was really excited about the songs now.

Looking back, it was a complete disaster. The workers chastised me for bringing the group. Somehow the instruments were broken or stolen and Bianca couldn’t stop crying for about an hour after they left, because she wanted the visitors to come and hold her. Bianca has received affection primarily from visitors. When they come, this eight-year-old fights to get the attention and affection of just one.

Dramatic Dental Hygiene

2009-07-30T22:02:00.000-07:00

Adriana begged me to brush her teeth with her.

I believe Adriana hates getting her teeth brushed, but begs me to brush her teeth because she likes the attention. When it comes to the part where the toothbrush enters her mouth, she wants no part of the hygiene ritual. Today she screamed a care worker’s name while I patiently faced her with the toothbrush. We have the difficulty that she won’t open her mouth to allow her teeth to be brushed even after she’s claimed that she wants her teeth brushed and/or she shakes her head from left to right so that it is impossible to brush her teeth. For this reason I make her do “toothbrush exercises” before I consent to brushing her teeth each day. These exercises require her to open her mouth for 5 seconds straight without turning her head.

Today a cleaning lady passed by the door and looked in. We were in the middle of teeth brushing and Adriana was being especially difficult. When I saw the cleaning lady, I said loud enough for the woman to hear: “Oh, let’s show the cleaning lady how you brush your teeth!”

The older woman kindly stopped and looked in on us.

“Open your mouth!” I commanded with enthusiasm.

I could see the desire to please in Adriana’s eyes. She had a look of pride as she held her mouth open despite the fact that she didn’t want to. Quickly I put the toothbrush in her mouth and then began to count, “1,2 …”

Seconds one and two are usually the best two seconds when I can actually hit some surface area of the teeth.

“3, 4 …”

Now Adriana began wagging her head back and forth, slowly at first but then the momentum built. The more she wags her head, the more uncomfortable she is with the toothbrush in her mouth. Her lips were closing. I couldn’t see if I was doing good work with the toothbrush at all, but I was hoping that I was managing to at least sideswipe one tooth. By now she was starting to moan.

“…5 …!”

I breathe out and smiled as I removed the brush from her mouth.

“Okay,” I said as though it wasn’t that dramatic of a five seconds. “We’ll take a break and then we have some more brushing to do on the bottom.”

Adriana didn’t look excited.

“Well brush for five seconds,” I reminded her, “and then we’ll take another break.”

I looked at the cleaning lady’s face. She was laughing. Our efforts at dental hygiene were so pathetic they were humorous. I think that Adriana wasn’t aware of how poorly she was doing, and my upbeat attitude about the whole event brought added layers of humor.

The cleaning lady tried to encourage Adriana and help make my work easier. “I brush my teeth every day!” She told Adriana. “It makes our breath smell good.”

“Oh, yes,” I chimed in, “And it’s healthy for us!”

“Yes, yes!” the cleaning lady backed me up. “Well, I’ve got to mop the floor in here, so I’ll see ya around...”

Separating the Boys From the Girls

2009-07-24T11:59:00.000-07:00

So a British Charity has arrived that wants to work with Marin Pazon. I am so glad they are there because I don’t feel so alone when they’re here. Like me, they want so much more for the orphanage only they've come with a whole team ready to do something.

Today the woman who leads the group came in the room where I was feeding Lucica mashed potatoes for lunch and sat down across for me.

“We’ve noticed that some of the boys are living in the girls quarters in the orphanage,” she began.

I nodded. This had bothered me, too, in the beginning, but after initially noticing it, I had gotten used to it.

“We don’t approve of this and we want to make it completely clear to the director that this is unacceptable.”

Okay.

“We think that if all the foreigners get together on this and all say the same thing, it will motivate the director to change things.”

So she wanted me to be clear that I disagreed, too.

I honestly thought about what she said, and following after the Romanian way, I didn’t hesitate to bring up any oppositional thoughts. If I was going to be with the British folks on this, I wanted to be with them 100%.

“I have one thought,” I explained, before agreeing. “I’ve noticed that they’ve put some of the more passive boys with the girls, and I’m worried about how the other boys will treat the more passive boys if they are grouped together.”

I thought about this comment later as I was walking home, and realized that really I’m thinking of Vasile, the small 15-year-old boy who is often grouped with the girls. I do see him get hurt by the big boys, and I am afraid of anything happening to him. I’ve never noticed him mistreating any of the girls. I only notice him being safe.

The woman told me, “That’s a different situation entirely, and we need to start with the step of separating for boys from the girls.” It seemed to me she wasn’t concerned for the small boys as much as she was concerned for the small girls. And it seems that if we are going to begin protecting someone first, and we should have to choose, it should be the small girls.

“No matter how passive some of boys are, they are still boys,” a young British girl told me, as she listened behind her leader. I agreed.

The British woman continued and brought up some of the girls who had been placed with the boys. She brought up the fact that many of the male staff sleep at the orphanage and have care of the girls that had been placed with the boys. I cringed. I knew what she was getting at. Quite possibly our worst nightmares had already happened.

Yes, yes, yes, I agreed, and I would support them.

Outside

2009-07-16T10:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Adriana's Tantrum and The Bad Word

2009-07-12T10:07:00.000-07:00

Today I arrived at the orphanage with my guitar and backpack. I played some simple children songs for the girls while they waited to go outside. They love the guitar. Ana Maria wanted to touch it badly, but the staff worker reprimanded her consistently, telling her to sit and listen or she’d go to her room.

When the girls left to go outside, as usually happens, many have to be coaxed, if not forced, to leave me. Since I tend to play games and not raise my voice, remaining with me is often more desirable than going outside where they spend a majority of their time when they’re not in their beds.

This morning Alexandra Sab. stayed behind and I took her into the therapy room, to which I have a key. She wanted me to keep singing and playing the guitar. She is a seven year old with autism who only speaks about twenty words, and so communicated to me that she wanted to keep listening to the guitar by crying. I considered that maybe Alex needed a smoother transition and so told her we’d sing the chores once more and then go into the therapy room.

Once in the therapy room we transitioned well (with practically no tears) by touching the guitar, even strumming it and saying the word “guitar” in Romanian, or actually, by just saying the first two phonemes that make up the word, /ki/.

We went on to do therapy, maybe even for a half hour with a three-minute pause to “play the piano” (listen to the demo mode on the electric keyboard). I thought it’d be nice for Alex to go outside for a few minutes so I looked for the woman who could give us a permission slip, which was necessary to show the doorman. The woman said she’d write the slip later, but didn’t have time now. So Alex and I tried to leave without the slip. The doorman asked for the slip. I told him Rodica didn’t have time to write it and Alex and I would go later if he wanted, but could we go now? His friend (boss?) waved us on and told us to go. We went to the park near by where Alex enjoyed swinging. When a small boy stood nearby, waiting for a turn on the swing, autistic Alex didn’t notice. We made another smooth transition, by using forewarning. “We have two more minutes, Alex, and then we’ll go.” Once we returned I wanted to make sure Alex would leave me without a tantrum, so I tried to bribe her to go into the yard with the other children by offering her small pieces of a candy cane. It worked! Then I found some of the older girls (three of them) and went with them to brush their teeth. This takes a lot more time then you would think.

“Okay, we’re going to go upstairs,” I say slowly, “and get the keys to your lockers.” While we get the keys I have to tell Doina, a 26 year old with MR, not to take a hat that’s not hers and please put it back in its place. “Now we’ll go to our lockers and get our tooth brushes.” First I show Florina all the keys.

“Which key goes to your locker?”

She chooses the right one.

Florina’s locker has been mysteriously broken into, but I pretend to open it with they key anyway.

I feel exhausted telling you all the details. I need so much more patience than I have in my repertoire.

This morning I prayed for the patience that ONLY God has because before I even arrived I felt that my patience was already mostly gone. He must have answered the prayer, because I left the orphanage today at 1:30pm happy. I came with fear and a little patience and I left with joy.

I walked through the step by step with the girls of brushing their teeth, washing their face, and explaining to Doina and Roxana that they could both stand at the same sink and brush their teeth (“This is MY sink!” Roxana said, pushing Doina out of the way). Florina rinsed her mouth out about five times, very slowly, until I told her we were finished.

Meanwhile, Adriana, who can’t walk, was trying to talk to me from her wheelchair from the other room. She was saying, “You and Roxana are going to give me a bath today, right?”

“Da!” I say. (“Da” means “yes” in Romanian.)

“Right now, right?”

“Da,” I find myself saying, unconsciously, because my uni-task mind is occupied with trying to help Florina wipe the soap off her ear. Then I realize I agreed to give Adriana a show right then, and that’s impossible. I tell Adriana what I’ve already told her twice that morning.

“No, I can’t give you a shower right now. At 11am we will give you a shower.”

I was so glad to hear when I arrived that morning that Adriana had spoken kindly with Aurica, one of the staff with whom she often speaks unkindly. I repeat the brushing the teeth routine with two other girls.

Then Roxana and I give Adriana a bath. Here I lose some patience, too. Especially when I try to move Adriana to the bathtub. I realize that Roxana’s no help in this, but I learned this only today from experience. I was holding half of Adriana telling Roxana, “Okay, lift her into the tub, lift her into the tub,” while Roxana stared at me blankly. As Adriana was slipping from my fingers, Roxana didn’t seem to become any the wiser. I had to hold and carry the nineteen year old myself, violating all the recommendations of how one is to lift and carry heavy objects.

As we were drying Adriana off, I heard her say, “I’m going to bite you.” I immediately stopped what I was doing.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

That was a lie. I was sure of what Adriana had said, and this was a habit of hers. Anytime she said something bad and she was questioned about it, she would claim she hadn’t said anything. With much prodding, she would say things like, “Forgive me! I won’t do it again!” However, when asked what she wanted forgiveness for and what she would never do again, she wouldn’t say.

Now from my experience as a caregiver to people with Cerebral Palsy I have found them to be the most determined (stubborn, if you will) people in the world. This determinedness makes sense to me, because when you think of how easy it is for those of us without Cerebral Palsy to pick up a pencil, and then consider someone who has Cerebral Palsy to the extent that they must concentrate to do the same action, you can see that this stubbornness is a requirement for living. What’s more, it is often exercised daily, hourly, and possibly for the majority of the activities of their life.

In a test of will against a person with CP, I am certain that I will lose. At the same time I can’t stand a nineteen-year-old friend lying to me, so I attempted the impossible. I stuck my ground. I had been putting on her tee shirt when she’d said, “I’ll bite you.” She was now insisting she hadn’t said anything. I assured her, this wasn’t true and we both knew it. I lowered my arms and kept them by my side.

“We’ll wait,” I said patiently, “until you’re ready to tell us what you said.

“Nothing. Nothing. I said nothing.”

Roxana, not comprehending the seriousness of the moment, tried to tickle Adriana.

“No, Roxana,” I said, “We are not playing games. Adriana has something to tell us.”

We waited there with Adriana lying on towels on the floor in the bathroom (which is a uni-sex restroom, she was fully clothed at this point), Roxana and I kneeling beside her. A teacher with his autistic student walked in the bathroom and saw us there and then went on with their business. We waited in silence. Another teacher entered the room. Adriana tried to engage in friendly conversation with her while I sat beside her doing/saying nothing. Adriana’s hair was still wet.

I thought about just walking away, telling her to call when she was ready to tell me what she said, but there were several reasons why this wouldn’t do. The biggest reason it wouldn’t work was because the restroom was public and people were bound to be coming in and out. It wouldn’t look very good if I just left Adriana there on the floor.

“Okay,” I told Adriana, “You have one minute to tell us what you said, and if you don’t tell us, I’m going to put you in your bed instead of putting you back in your chair.”

Adriana has spent most of her nineteen years in that bed. Maybe putting her there seems cruel, but there was another option, we shouldn’t forget: Adriana could tell us what she said and go in her wheelchair any time she wanted.

Adriana confessed nothing.

“10 more seconds,” I counted, “10, 9, 8 …”

When I got to “one,” I immediately began trying to pick her up. Follow-through. This was something Adriana had not observed. She screamed. She tried to kick. I tried to ask Roxana to help me put her in her chair so we could wheel her to her bed, but she didn’t seem to understand.

“No! No! I don’t want to go to bed!” Adriana screamed.

“Then tell us what you said,” I simply stated.

Roxana and I laid her in her bed. “When you’re ready to tell me the words, just let me know,” my voice said calmly amidst her screams.

“Forgive me!” She pleaded.

“Sure, I have,” I said in a way that I hope relayed that forgiveness was not the issue.

Because follow-through isn’t really practiced, Adriana only sees people follow through on their threats when they are extremely angry, so forgiveness is an issue. The reason it is easy for me to not begrudge her stubbornness is because I was not allowing her to get away with it. My heart was easy because I was attempting some kind of discipline, but Adriana’s heart, undergoing the discipline, was anything but easy. She was screaming. I closed the door and carried on my activities. Through the strong, double-paned doors I could hear Adriana’s violent screams.

I went back ten minutes later. “Are you ready?” I simply questioned as I opened the door.

“Marilyn, I didn’t say anything.”

I closed the door and walked away. I could hear the screams behind me.

When I went back to Adriana’s room the second time, I found her on the ground beside her bed, still screaming.

“Oh, you fell out of your bed,” I said sympathetically. I put her back. “Do you have something to tell me?” I prompted. She confessed with further prompting that she did know what she had said that was bad, but prompt as I might, she refused to repeat what she’d said. I walked away again. I told her I wouldn’t put her in her chair until she repeated what she’d said, even if that meant I didn’t put her in her chair tomorrow. Maybe this seems cruel, but why then do I feel so free when I hold fast? When things are just, there is peace. People have told me in the past I’m too severe, but I can’t sense where other people say their line is. I only know where my lines, my boarders are. How can I change this internal line if it is in the wrong place? And is it really in the wrong place? And maybe by sticking to my lines, I could teach Adriana that such a thing as a line exists.

After I put Adriana back in her bed I saw her edging toward the side where she had fallen and I realized as she rested one hand on the ground and screamed that the fall likely hadn’t been an accident. Adriana had enough physical control to keep this from happening. She wanted attention and if she were lying on the floor she would likely get attention. Two days earlier when she had had a similar tantrum and was left in her bed after speaking horribly to a staff member, my co-worker had found her in her room lying beside her bed, crying. Of course, she got a lot of sympathy from my co-worker who found her there.

When it was time for me to leave I said goodbye to a woman on the staff.

“You know what happened?” She asked and then answered her own question. “Adriana was so angry that she refused to eat. We tried to feed her ourselves, but she refused this, too.”

I told this sweet blond lady how Adriana had spoken to me and that I put her in her bed because she wouldn’t confess what she’d said.

“It’s because of what happened with me that she’s acting this way. Do you think it would do any good if I went in to talk to her?”

“Oh, you could go in,” the lady suggested, “and just encourage her to eat something.”

So I walked in and said good-bye to all the kinds in Adriana’s room (including Adriana) as I usually did, kissing them on the cheek. Then I feed Adriana as she sat on her bed. I reiterated that I must know the word before putting her in her chair tomorrow. She said, “Okay, the word was XXX,” and she uttered a word I’d never heard before. Since it was a new word for me, I considered that maybe she had said the word and that it was a really bad Romanian word that I hadn’t learned, worse than “I’ll bite you.” So I accepted that as the bad word and told her that because she had said the word, I’d put her in her chair. Who knows whether or not Adriana really won? I’ll have to ask a Romanian friend of mine if the word is really bad, and what it means.

Orphanage

2009-06-29T10:32:00.000-07:00

I want to tell you about the orphanage because I've already been there four days this summer, and I haven't told you anything about it. The first time I went there was two years ago.

So much has changed since that day. My entire life has changed as well as the atmosphere of the orphanage. I believe this is the direct result ot Lili's prayers, and then later, other volunteers who cried out to God for help. God, who loves these children more than us, has answered.

I saw Adriana in her wheelchair when I first went up the stairs of the orphanage six days ago. Because she can not walk, she did not get to go to camp with the other kids. She screamed with emotion for a bit and then started crying. I hugged her and kissed her. She asked how long I would stay and if I could take a walk. "Taking a walk" means I push her around the hall and living room upstairs in the orphanage. She loves to see people in the hall and greet them. Besides greeting people her and I talk. She is never ready to be wheeled back in the living room to stay by herself.

"... but there are other kids I want to stay with, too..." I try to tell her.

The orphanage director was very kind to me and chatted with me in her office, asking how camp was with the kids and how my studies were going in the U.S. She told me I could make a schedule to chose the children I wanted to work with. I told her I wasn't certain I was properly equipped to practice speech therapy with the kids, because I still had three years (at least) of school left and she said she was sure I could practice and do good with what I had learned so far. I told her I wanted to work with Bogdan, teaching him basic math and reading, more than speech therapy. Bogdan's a discipline problem. He's an eleven-year-old who was dropped off at the orphanage by his parents who had no idea how to handle him. He has ADHD and can be very agressive. Well, I've tutored him the past three days and I LOVE it! When I taught third grade, it was boys like him that I loved to teach the most. I feel so happy with what feels like success, but I know I can't be too quick to determine how things are really going.

With Bianca and especially Ana Maria, I need some help with Speech Therapy and discipline. I can only hold their attention for about 30 seconds to the sounds I want them to attempt before they are distracted. I need to adjust my methods so that I can hold their attention or else I must do the "play therapy" that is so popular in the U.S. Both girls scream and throw tantrums when I tell them our session is over and they must go back to the other children. I talked to two Dutch volunteers about their tantrums and Diana recommended a sticker chart for the girls that will culminate in a reward every three days that they walk away from therapy calmly instead of being dragged away. I'd like to do it, and think I'll start tomorrow, though I don't have stickers yet or a chart. Paper and pen will do until then.

Lili showed me a book with American Sign Language over the weekend and encouraged me to use it with Cosmin, a deaf boy at the orphanage, who appears developmentally normal. Cosmin speaks Romanian Sign Language, and I've been intimidated by that, but today we sat down and worked on some sign. Mostly he taught me Romanian sign, and I showed him the pictures of how to count on one hand to nineteen in American Sign from Lili's book. We both learned this counting together. However, just being with him and listening to him is maybe more what he needs than anything else. After our session I caught him smiling in the hall to himself for "no apparent reason." I'd like to think it was because it felt good to him to get the full attention of an adult for more than a half hour. Teaching me sign may be some kind of therapy to him. I hope it is, because I don't know how else to start.

There's more I could write, but not enough time and energy. Suffice it to say, when I was coming home on the tram I felt so happy and satisfied with life. It feels so full with dreams of what I could do in the future and total happiness with what I'm doing right now. I love the adventure of Romania, the dirty tram, the walk to the apartment, and that I used the correctly gendered adjectives in a converstation I had with Lili on the phone about a book.

And thank YOU ... for listening to me. :)

Nite

2009-06-28T05:33:00.000-07:00

6/20/09

This evening had a great ending. After all the kids took showers, I said a prayer with some boys in their room as they lay in their beds. The prayer I've memorized is the Lord's prayer, so we prayed that as we did last night. Unfortunately, when we come to the part right after "give us this day our daily bread," I forget the rest of the phrasing in Romanian so I just said "Forgive us!" ("Iarta-ne!") and continued with, "Amen," and said, as we crossed ourselves, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." All the boys seem to have a desire to participate in this prayer and show some kids of respect for God.

(A note on crossing myself: As a protestant, I don't have any qualms about doing this. I've given it some thought, and I love what it symbolizes, so I do it. For me the act does not hold supperstition, but faith.)

Then I kissed the boys once on both cheeks before I left, wishing them goodnight as they lay in their beds and I turned out the light as I went. Tonight Mihai said he didn't want to be kissed. "I will kiss you right here on your cheek," I said, pointing to the spot on my own cheek.

"No," he said again.

"Perhaps you want to kiss ME, instead?" I questioned.

"No," Mihai said. Bogdan giggled.

"Okay," I said pleasantly, "perhaps tomorrow?" and I left it at that.

When I went to kiss Mitica, who suffers from mental retardation, he was so eager to participate in the goodnight kiss that he just kept kissing my cheek reapeatedly and didn't seem reflect that it was I who had kissed the other other boys before him and not them who had kissed me. :-)

Mitica's giving act shows how the disabled are like missionaries to us who are not disabled. They bring us joy and show us what love is. The are messangers of a love that doesn't think of itself and a joy that won't be corrupted even when it is thrown in an orphanage and yelled at by non-disabled co-workers everyday. Unselfish love and joy is a gift that God has granted many of them, and of which we can be the unworthy recipiants.

After turning off the lights, I somehow found my way to the workers. They talked about sex and who was interested in who, but not understanding some made the chat made it more bareable to me, and I couldn't say I was invested completely in the conversation. I was partially invested in the fire that a young man was attending and the bosses eight-year-old son who was eager to douse any ember that fell on the ground from the fire, screaming "Pompierii, Pompierii, Pompierii!" as he did so (Pompierii = fire department).

At one point, when I was standing with the ladies around the firepit, the eight-year-old pretended to call me on a pretend phone.

"Hello?" I said, because I took the call, ofcourse.

"Hello," he said, "You've called the emergency number."

"Good," I said, "We need some firemen over here - quick!"

"When?"

"In five minutes," I approximated.

I drank just a sip of tuica, Romanian country alchoholic drink that is served warm. The closest thing I've tasted to it is the Japanize drink you drink with sushi. It was very sweet, but enjoyable.

When I said goodnight and wished all the ladies a pleasant evening, it felt so good.

The sun had gone down and it was getting dark. The boss's husband teased me that there wreen't any bears to be afraid of, as I began the short walk to my cabin. "Good. I'm glad," I giggled.

Random Compilation of Camp Thoughts

2009-06-28T05:02:00.000-07:00

6/20/09

So I'm sharing things with the staff. Yesterday, for example, when the kids were in bed, I joined them at the table and ate mici (sounds like "Mitch"). Then tonight I hung out with the younger crowd in front of the television. Earlier today, I stayed with them on the lawn while the children "napped."

It was so nice tucking the boys in. Adi wanted badly to get out of bed, but wouldn't do it when we told him not to. I "lead" us in the Lord's prayer and gave the boys a kiss (on both cheeks, or course. Romanian style) before turning out the lights.

I'm worried about judgement day and standing before God, because it seems there are times when I consider my own comfort and take the easy road rather than helping the kids or thinking of them first. For example, today something disgusting was on my hand (mucus from someone's cough, maybe), and I instictively wiped it on Vasilie's shirt. Selfishness seems so natural to me, while really putting the lowly ahead of myself takes effort.

There were time of difficulty today, and I felt certain that I would never return again.

I figured out that Ana Maria can't produce the /s/ or /z/ sounds. Alexandra walked around saying /ks/ all afternoon, which are sounds in her name I taught her. This gave me great pleasure. My first chance to encooperate what I learned at school with the orphanage children.

Florin, the staff worker, called me a prostitute because I wouldn't sit near him while we watched a film this evening on the TV upstairs. The only reason I moved away was because I wanted to make it clear to him I'm not interested. He's not married, but he has six children which I've never seen. Florin, the mostly deaf orphan, tried several times to put his arms around me while we watched the film, until I got up and left.

We danced tonight before dinner, the children and staff, and this seemed something of a small success. The children were enjoying themselves, as well as the staff.

The compassion that I show my neighbor seems small and weak. Help me, God, to rise up against the wicked. If it is not for your help, I will slip and fall. I do slip and fall. Father, Son, Spirit, I need you. (Psalm 94)

Every moment of these children's lives they live with disadvantages that we don't know, like walking and speaking ... but one of their secrets seems to be that they have advantanges that we'll never know.

They smile at the simplist things that make me wonder who really has the better lot?

But honestly, my ability to walk and communicate are a source of so much pleasure and life for me, and I'm using it all to myself, primarily. But I don't want to. It doesn't seem right if I have the gift of walking, then hasn't it been given to me to share? So that those who normally couldn't, can walk?

Cluj

2009-06-25T09:57:00.000-07:00

Toward the Kids

2009-06-25T09:55:00.001-07:00

(Actually written 18 June 2009 in my journal)

Picking up where I left off, I spent a day of rest in the Children to Love International apartment in the heart of Bucharest after my long night at the airport. The following day I caught a train to Cluj. I lived in Cluj before I ever came across the orphanage I love. It’s where I learned to speak my first Romanian sentences. My Romanian friends there have grown from acquaintances to kin.

I had an awesome four days in Cluj. I saw babies that had been born who were only a twinkle in their father’s eye two years before. I found childless friends were now pregnant. I listened to great conversations, fertile ground for Romanian language growth. Overall, I felt genuinely spoiled by Livia and Coco who escorted me everywhere I went, let me sleep in their bed, cooked great food for me, let me wear their clothes, and gave me a cell phone to borrow.

While visiting Cluj I got word that the orphanage children would be gone when I returned to Bucharest. They would leave to summer camp in the mountains before I’d return to Bucharest. I had gone with the children to camp the past two years. Summer camp is a week of being with the kids 24/7. My comfort zone is totaled and my patience is pushed to the limit, but somehow I look forward to the challenge. Even with the support of American teammates and Children to Love International Staff, the camp can be quite intimidating because the special needs of the children require patient care and lots of attention. Also, unlike many American camps, there’s not always a schedule of activities, and finally, the bathroom/shower conditions can be “unfamiliar” (dirty squatty potties and … what is that I just stepped in on the floor of the bathroom? I hope it’s just thick mud … we ran out of toilet paper with five days left of camp. There’s no soap either, just water … and you were hoping to wash your hand after you held the hand of the girl who had her finger in her nose).

Anyway, when I discovered this mountain camp was nearer to Cluj than Bucharest, I aimed to go straight from my small trip to Cluj to the mountain camp. I took the train from Cluj to Sibiu, a city near the mountain camp. I was so nervous because I was traveling through the country by myself to a place I had never been. I looked out the train widow all the way there while the travelers in my compartment slept, and made a switch to a different train for the second half of the journey. I waited at a bus deport for over an hour, again – not investing the time by reading, but just waiting, so that I could be sure I caught my bus. The bus took me way, way up in the very green and very silent Romanian mountains, past a German town, now occupied by Romanians, I imagine, and then on to windy mountain roads. Finally the bus driver’s daughter pointed down the road we stopped at.

“See that road?” she said. “Go straight, straight, straight ahead for a long, long time. Don’t switch to another road and then you’ll see the camp you’re looking for on the right.”

So I walked to the road and got two phone calls on my borrowed cell phone along the way, Lili wondering if I was there yet. It’s amazing to me that a girl who has no sense of direction and still doesn’t know the streets in her own city can follow directions Lili sent her on-line to a small children’s camp on a lofty Romanian mountain peak.

I saw a group of people on the left-hand side of the road. It was the kids and the orphanage workers I had traveled thousands of miles to see. They were sitting and mulling around by the side of the road.

As I walked into the group, I wished I could slowly look each child in the eye one by one and let them know they were so special, but the atmosphere somehow didn’t allow for that. Kids came up to me just as though I had never left and continued their conversations as thought I was returning from a brief trip from the bathroom and not a ten-month absence in the U.S. I would stop them in the middle of what they were doing/saying, look them in the eye and say their name slowly. Then they would smile, as though maybe they realized that they had been missed, and I had been gone.

BELKEYS AND I!!!!! And our long night of conversation at the airport!

2009-06-25T08:44:00.002-07:00

BELKEYS AND I!!!!! And our long night of conversation at the airport!

2009-06-25T08:44:00.001-07:00

Trying to sleep in airport chairs with arms ... totally unsuccessful

2009-06-25T08:40:00.000-07:00

Irish Park. Can't you tell? ;-)

2009-06-25T08:34:00.000-07:00

Departures and Arrivals

2009-06-13T22:55:00.000-07:00

As I was packing for my flight to Dublin on the 8th of June, Crysta, my good friend and ride to the airport, asked me to check my ininery. I starred at the departure time: 3pm. I must be seeing things. I was certain my flight didn't leave until later that evening. It was 4:30pm. I re-read the ininery, but read the same departure time: 3pm. There must be some mistake. I gave my itinery to Crysta to read. She read 3pm, too. I wasn't seeing things. I had misread my itinery. My flight had already left.

I got on the phone with the airline, Aer Lingus, and listened to their hold music for 20 minutes. We gave up on the phone and Crysta drove me to SFO, an hour drive from where we were.

In vain we sought a human representative of the Irish airline through which I had purchased my ticket in the international terminal. The best efforts of numerous airport personal, other airlines, and calls to the airline could offer me nothing better than the oppurtunity to leave a voicemail with Aer Lingus.

Many tears and much embarassment later, I booked the next flight from SFO to Ireland. The two days I had planned to spend with dear friends in Northern Ireland were instead spent in Cupertino (which isn't such a bad place, afterall). I trust God can use this embarassing mistake for good as only he is skillful enough to do.

I did get to Dublin, and when I got there, I had six hours before my next flight left to Romania. I took a bus to the center of Dublin, walked around downtown, bought some food which I enjoyed on a beautiful park lawn filled with people on a sunny Irish afternoon, managed to send one postard to the U.S. and caught the next flight to Bucharest. Our plane was filled with Romanian people, but I managed to share a row with a skinny, older Irish man with a very chatty and friendly dispositon. We interacted with the three-year-old who hung over the seats infront of us and spoke an interesting English/Romanian, childish sort of babel.

Mr. Irishman insisted on paying for a tea for me and somehow chatted his way to his general view of mankind: good people with good intensions and good hearts. I tried to sympathize, but wondered if he had forotten about genecides, rape, murder and the obvious bloodstained history we shared. Surely he must be aware of these acts. I think what he was saying, that we all have basicly good inside us, would seem like a nice view on the outside (and I'm certain he believed his intentions were good), but to ignore the crimes humanity has commited against inself, seems to me like another great crime itself. I wasn't eager to add this to my list of wrong-doing. I looked at him, but he saw somehow that I wasn't in total agreement with what he was saying.

"You have a different view?" He asked.

"Humankind does do good," I conceeded, "but where does the good come from? It has to come from somewhere."

"Yes!" he joyfully agreed, "and it comes from inside of you!"

I frowned. "Surely," he continued, "you don't think these people are bad," he said, referencing the passengers in the other seats.

"I think they are bad," I answered honestly, "and you and I are in the same boat as them. All people are in need of salvation."

And when he heard me say this last sentence, he seemed to deflate. Of all the people he could have sat next to on the plane, his disappointed sigh seemed to say, he had to sit next to the evangelical Christian. I had seemed young and friendly, so this disappointment was even more unexpected. Honestly, I felt very comfortable and fascinated by the topic on hand and I said a few more things, trying to engage in dialogue, but the Irishman was done. He turned to his left to strike up a conversation with the older Romanian woman on the other side of him.

When I got to Bucharest, no one was waiting for me at the airport as I expected. I realized after about half an hour that Lili forgot to pick me up and then realized I'd never asked her for her phone number or address when we have conversed over the internet about her picking me up. I sat in the airport and waited. I realized that though I had several friends in Bucharest, I didn't have any of their phone numbers on hand. If I had been stuck at the airport during the day, I could have found my friends at work or likely found some American interns at the apartment owned by Children to Love International, but at this hour (10pm) no one was at work and I couldn't be sure someone would open the door for a stronger at the American apartment, even if I did speak English.

At about midnight I realized there was an "American-looking" girl beside me who hadn't left the airport. I had decided to spend the night at the airport by this time and go to the office where my friends would be in the morning by bus and metro. After much hesitation, I turned to the "American-looking" girl and asked if she spoke English. She answered me with an accent, "I do!" and she eagerly left her seat and began a converation with me that lasted all night. She wasn't American, she was from Turkey, living in Milan, a 36-year-old fashion design student who looked much younger. Her friend was getting married in Turkey and she wanted to go back for the wedding, but couldn't buy a ticket for Istanbol because her bank card wasn't working. Her parents had put money in her account in Turkey, but the bank wasn't giving it to her. She tried several machines, and wasn't sure what to do next.

"My situation is worse than yours," she said, refering to my being left at the airport. She was right. Her name was Belkeys and she was so easy to talk to.

We put my camera on Belkeys' baggage cart and set the timer to get some photos together. I showed her the National Geographic I read on the plane and the picture that I thought Jennifer Aniston was in in one of their articles(Mach 2009, Sinai article), and she showed me some of her fashion designs and a journal inwhich she recorded her dreams.

Belkeys planned to call her bank when it opened around 8:30 am, but that would be too late to catch the 8:35 flight to Istanbol. At 6am I encouraged her to go to the ticket counter, show them what little money she had and ask if she could fly standby. She looked doubtful.

I said, "Tell them 'I spent all night in the airport waiting for my card to work, but it hasn't and my friend is getting married in Istanbol. I really want to attend the ceremony."

"But it's not like me to try to get what I want with sympathy," Belkeys said. "I would feel uncomfortable saying that."

"You can tell them that, too," I said. "Say, I feel uncomfortable mentioning this, because it's not like me at all, but I've spent all night in the airport and my friend is getting married today in Turkey."

"Do you think it will work?" She asked.

"I think it probably won't," I said honestly, "but if it did, it'd be worth it to have tried."

I watched our baggage while she went to the ticket counter. "I'm going to pray you'll get the ticket, while you go," I told her. I bowed my head and prayed while she approached the counter. "God, please," I prayed, "do a miracle. Help her to get the ticket. Give the ticket woman compassion on Belkeys. Please. Please. Please." I begged because it seemed so impossible. I continued to pray as I waited.

And ... God opened the ticket woman's heart. She compassionatley listened to Belkeys. She looked at what money Belkeys had. It wasn't enough. "Let me try your ATM card," the woman said, "and see if we can get the remaining amount." Belkeys skeptically gave her the card that she had just tried to use twenty minutes earlier in the airport's ATM without success.

"The card is working," the woman told her. "You can make the flight."

My hands were folded in prayer as I watched Belkeys from a distance. I couldn't hear their words, but I saw Belkeys jump up and down and give a little excited scream. Tears came into my eyes. God had heard me. After Belkeys had her ticket, she walked back to me and we hugged. We were both in shock. I told her I would never forget how she had gotten the flight when it seemed so unlikely. "Maybe this is why my ride forgot me," I told told Belkeys, "So that we could spend the night in the airport together and meet each ohter and I could watch you get the flight and be encouraged that God hears my prayers." We kissed and parted at the same time, her to Istanbol and me to find my friends in Bucharest.

At this time I was very tired and carrying my 25 kilogram bag plus backpack and purse up and down the long metro steps and wheeling my cargo around the streets of Bucharest was no easy feat, but I made it to the office. I heard my friends before I saw them. I left my bags on the porch and ran inside the office.

They stopped their meeting and looked at me with surprise and delight and listened to me (mostly in Romanian) tell about how Lili forgot to pick me up and my night at the airport.

"But what did you eat?" Florina asked. "Didn't you get hungry?"

"I ate some of the presents I brought from America for you." We all laughed. I felt so at home after seeing them. I was loved and definitely cared for and having that makes one feel at home wherever they are.

Being "home"

2008-10-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

Thank you for your support. I wanted to tell you what it's been like to be home for over a month now. The first two weeks had difficult moments of sadness as I remembered what I left behind, but school quickly captured all of my efforts and concentration. The program I began at Sacramento State is more competitive than I could have imagined, and in every class I need to apply myself fully and study as much as I can. This keeps me from being sad or dwelling on what I left behind. And my studies have extra meaning for me as I consider the kids from the orphanage during training on hearing and speaking. It has turned into an unexpected blessing to move to a new city. Because I have no friends here, I am able to study during the day without the distraction of a busy social life. :-) Also, because the program is so intense I am developing a special bond with many of my classmates. Living with my parents has also been an amazing economic and lifestyle blessing. They are the perfect friends, as they are very understanding if I act like a hermit and read my books all day. One day I told my mom I wished I had some cookies, and a few hours later I walked into the kitchen to find her baking chocolate chip cookies!!! I am spoiled! I feel like school is filling me up with new ideas of what I want to do with the kids when I return to Romania and what I want to teach them. I have a new passion to learn Romanian sign language (which is different from American Sign Language, of course. Each country has its own unique sign language. Even deaf British people use a different sign language that's different than American Sign Language. This seems unfortunate, but that's another topic). I want to bring an otoscope and check one child's ears who has not developed language, though she's almost 2 years old. I want to teach a deaf teen how to use his desire to do drama for visitors more pragmatically. One of my Romanian friends who works at the orphanage told me that Ariana asks for me often (she is the girl I bought the juice for and she was so excited about it). I imagine showing up one day to the orphanage and jumping in her bed and hugging her. I can imagine her screaming with joy. I want to take her outside in her wheel chair in the winter for a walk.

I want to trust in Jesus regarding my return. Since I am allowed to "dream big," I want to return to Romania for a month during Christmas vacation, as well as over the summer again (for 3 and a half months!!!) after the program ends for the summer ... How can I be sure that this is God's will and not "Marilyn's will?" I have learned that if something is God's will - He will open the right doors. I pray he opens the door to return for a month over Christmas ... but it is difficult to pray in such a way that I feel I'm totally "letting go" and letting God. Pray that I will trust in God heartily even if he says, "No."

Vasile and I at Camp

2008-09-04T08:15:00.002-07:00

Sleeping with the 3-year-old at camp (She's more of a morning person than I am)

2008-09-04T08:14:00.000-07:00

David, the boy with CP that I visited in the hospital, and I

2008-09-04T08:11:00.000-07:00

After Camp, and Goodbye to Romania

2008-09-04T07:21:00.000-07:00

If the thought of me saying goodbye to Romania makes you sick to your stomach, then you and I are on the same page. I'll write a bit more about "Goodbye" later.

I have returned from Camp. It was an amazing experience. It was, like I had hoped, a whole new world for the kids. The British volunteers had a program and the kids got to do new activities every day. Normally they do the same thing everyday of their lives, even on the weekends. I got to sing with my guitar with the kids, which they enjoyed. In fact, a British volunteer asked me to sing "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" in a new Romanian Version and this became one of the theme songs of our camp. We sang it daily, often several times. It was such a pleasure to see the kids and the staff be singing all together, doing motions to the music with slight smiles on their faces!!! These British folks, from a charity group, seem committed to returning next year to help with camp again! This commitment is such a delight. So instead of saying goodbye to them, we said, "Until next year."

I got to sleep with the three year old during camp. The first three days she wore no diapers to bed, and I woke up twice during the night to sit her on the toliet. She wasn't very excited about being woken up, but she made it two nights without any mistakes. The third night she went several times, once on my pillow, on a blanket, on the bed. We put the diapers back on and slept soundly. These orphans, even at camp, take a 3 hour nap after lunch. This is to help give the caregivers downtime, but none of the kids are really very sleepy. I realized that though the 3 year old could nap, she slept much better at night if she didn't - so I spent the 3 hours after lunch with her most of the time. We went on walks. Spending so much time with her was good, because I got to apply some consistant disciple which was EXTREMELY affective. It was nice to see her change by the end of camp, and I loved caring for her. You would have loved her, too.

It was at the camp, also, that I got an insight into why God didn't allow me to spend as much time with Vasile as I wanted to. A
British volunteer made me see that unless I was a permanent/life-long volunteer it was bad to form a really strong bond with just one child, because they would be really hurt emotionally if we had a strong bond and then I left them. Also, although I didn't get to work with Vasile daily, I can see that Vasile is different from last year, and the difference seems good. Last year he wouldn't allow me to touch his face. He was uncomfortable with this. This year was quite the opposite. Vasile was very comfortable with me touching his face. In fact, his new greatest desire is to be held like a baby. He's about 13 years old. I pray for God to continue working mightily in his life.

When I told the three year old that I was going to go home to the US, and not coming back to visit for a long time she said, "Well, then I'll leave, too." I have always had the conviction that I would never want to adopt a child unless I was married, because I would want the child to have a father figure as well as a mother figure, but passion threw reason out the window when I saw the need in this young girl's life. I new I would give my life to make hers better. If God made a way for me to do so, then I couldn't stop myself from adopting her.

Have I told you that I plan to return to work with these same orphans next summer? How can I help myself? I almost didn't have the courage to return to the US. Can you tell from all I write that my heart and life and hope is all here in Romania? This ministry is what I am living for, and sometimes I feel that it is what I was made for. In the middle of my stay in Romania I seriously considered not returning to the US to begin school. Nothing would make me happier to continue being a consistent part of these children's lives. But there is only one desire more important to me than doing what I want, and that is doing what God wants. God never yelled at me from heaven to leave Romania in order to get my degree in Speech Pathology, but he opened all the doors for me to do so. Honestly, I hoped that he would close the doors, but he did the opposite. I am now at home, I just began classes at Sacramento State yesterday. I feel a sense of morning as I go about my day, and what gives me hope is dreaming that maybe I can return for a month to the orphanage during my Christmas Vacation from school. Please pray for me, that I will be a good student and not miss the kids and the staff and my Romanian friends in a hopeless way. Pray, pray, pray that I will do God's will. And I want to thank everybody who gave a piece of themselves in order to help me go on this trip. You can't know how God has used your prayers. I am SO thankful to you!

I hope to keep this blog and use it when I return to the orphanage. I pray that my return is much sooner than later. Isn't God good to give me work I love; work that makes life truely LIFE?

Danuț

2008-09-01T18:40:00.000-07:00

2008-09-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

Adi

2008-09-01T18:30:00.000-07:00

Gianina

2008-09-01T18:27:00.000-07:00

Cosmin and I

2008-09-01T18:25:00.000-07:00

Camp

2008-08-20T11:59:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been going to the hospital every morning for two hours, then going to the orphanage and then returning to the hospital in the afternoon, early evening. I have grown so attached to David, the boy with Cerebral Palsy who I visit at the hospital (who is normally at the orphanage). His little mouth opens and he laughs when he sees me come. We always fill our time with activities like being held, walking around the room (with him in my arms), listening to my iPod, eating (which takes him a LONG time), or giving him a massage. David loves the massages and the music, but he seems the most responsive to being held with his face near mine. I ask him to give me a kiss and put his open mouth to my cheek and make the kissing sound. He does not have the muscle control to pucker his lips. You should hear the beautiful sound of him laughing when I tell him that he has kissed me! :)

Tomorrow early I leave for a camp in the mountains with the orphanage. Some British volunteers are going to accompany us! Please pray for a successful time in the mountains, for peace and harmony with the staff and volunteers and kids! I pray that kids are exposed to a different world. They are so excited to go to camp. Today my Romanian friend mentioned having the 3-year-old sleep with me. I like this idea, but the 3-year-old is still being potty trained so I need to wake up in the middle of the night and take her to the bathroom to avoid an "accident." Needless to say, I am so excited about camp! I am planning on bringing my guitar and singing worship songs! I pray that God use us!

God's Will Be Done

2008-08-11T10:00:00.000-07:00

For the past four days I have been going to a baby hospital where one of the little ones from the orphanage was placed after a coma. He is very small for a seven year old and doesn't speak due to his Cerebral Palsey. It is so sad to leave him there in the hospital after only a few hours of visit. Thankfully he is getting better. Today there were no more IVs or oxygen masks and his Godmother was able to feed him with a spoon!

I was playing with an eleven year old autistic girl today and one of her care givers walked by and told me that she was a very bad girl. Twice the eleven year old put her hand on my throat tightly. I'm not sure why she did this. Perhaps she likes to feel the vibrations in my throat when I speak, but I need to be on gaurd when I'm with her. I felt in a new way how misunderstood she is today. She seems to function best with lots of physical intereation and very few words. When I communicate with her I try to include a physical direction to what I'm trying to say. For example, if I say "No" I also shake my head "No" and wave my finger in a way that also means "No." I heard from another volunteer that this is a better way to communicate with autistic children. A teacher for autisic children in the US said autistic children respond better if they see a picture of what they're to do, rather than through hearing a verbal command. I am hoping that body language can be a physical picture for this girl. I've heard that autistic children only process about 20 percent of the words they hear.

Please pray for a new boy who seems practically normal who has come to the orphanage. He is about six years old, and I've heard a rumor that he's autistic, but he speaks which means he's at a much higher level than our other autistic children. Because this orphanage is more difficult than others for children, I pray that God will open up a way for him to be at another orphanage if that is better for him. God's will be done.

Tantrum

2008-08-06T05:52:00.000-07:00

Vasile is about 12 years old and most likely a genius, though he can not speak and has never learned sign language. Besides not speaking he has other handicaps as well. I took him on a walk outside the orphanage grounds today. His teacher said he could only be out for 15 minutes. I told him as we left and he was giggling with excitment that we had to come back in 15 minutes. When we returned he threw a horrible tantrum. He wanted to walk more. Fifteen minutes was not enough. I felt so bad for him. I hope his teachers and care givers will still allow me to take him out even through he threw this tantrum ...

I also got to walk with another older girl outside. She was scared to even leave the orphanage. She didn't know how to behave in public, but I think it's good for her to get this one-on-one time with an adult and to begin to be confortable with the neighborhood around her.

Juice

2008-08-01T05:51:00.000-07:00

Today I took Adriana, a girl who is about 20 years old with Cerebral Palsey, for a walk outside. Adriana, because of her CP, spends most of her time in her bed. Days can go by without someone putting her in a wheelchair. Thanks to some of my training at Green Pastures, I am able to put her into her wheel chair without asistance, and can also give her a bath without aid if required. I thank God for how he has used my training at Green Pastures in so many ways. Once outside, we bought bottles of juice. Though the bottle cost about $1.75, Adriana couldn't stop talking about her juice. Oddly enough, she didn't want to drink any of it. She told all the childcare staff that she had some juice when we returned to the orphanage and offered them some. She was eager to share. I think she just wanted to feel that SHE was doing something for others rather than being served all the time. I let her call another volunteer on my cell phone. "Come to the orphanage," she told them, "I have some juice for you!" In the end, I think Adriana needs much more than juice. She needs someone who will help her go out and buy some. She needs someone who will drink it with her. She needs someone she can give to without receiving anything in return.

2008-07-25T06:57:00.000-07:00

I had so much fun today. I went on a small walk with such an assorted bunch! There were five of us in our crew. One non-verbal 11 year old who is re-learning to walk after an opperation, one healthy three year old, two teen girls with mental delays, and myself. Four kids and I. Since the kids can't leave the orphanage without a shaporone, our little walk was a treat. God really blessed us, as they all were careful to listen to my instructions. Two kids pulled down their pants in the middle of our walk and when to the bathroom on the side walk, before I could stop them. At least they didn't go in their pants ... and it was only number one.

"Bye"

2008-07-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

I try to walk with Elena because she is in need of physical theropy after a foot opperation. She doesn't speak and has some awkward behaviors, such as flapping her hands and wringing them. When we go for walks she is so excited to see other people, and yet fearful of them. For this reason when she choses a park bench to sit on, she always choses one that someone is already sitting on. In Romania, it's more common to share a park bench with a complete stranger than it is in America. Unfortunately, Elena has no quams about engaging in her awkward social behaviors while she is sitting next to strangers. This almost always involves touching the stranges next to her and sometimes pushing them with her small pale hands. Today she sat next to an older woman who was watching her two grandchildren swing on the swings. After a few minutes the grandmother heard me call Elena by name, and when Elena reached out her hand to touch the woman, the grandmother spoke to hear kindly and called her, "Elena." Elena's response was to raise her hand and say (one of the only words she understands and uses in context) "Bye! Bye!"

"Are you going somewhere or do you want me to go?" The older woman asked Elena.

Elena pointed toward a park bench, "Bye!" She waved her hand for the woman to go away.

"WE are going, Elena," I explained, "not this woman."

The woman understood Elena however and to my horror she picked up her stuff and moved from our bench.

"Where are you going, Grandma?" One of her grandson's called out.

"Over there."

"Why," he asked.

"Because Elena wants it that way," his grandmother responded.

When we left two minutes later I said Goodbye to the woman and she called out, "Goodbye, Elena." This woman was so kind.

MacDonalds

2008-07-20T08:43:00.000-07:00

We took two boys to church today on Sunday morning. When the nine-year-old heard (his name is Bogdan), he ran down the hall and jumped in my arms. He never gets to leave. Along with him we took Florin. Florin has some sort of condition that causes him to move very awkwardly. There were "snacks" at the church and Bogdan and Florin couldn't get enough. They kept returning to the snack table. After church we went to the park. Bogdan ran to the toys and told me, "Catch me! Catch me!" After I started chasing him, another little boy joined Bogdan and dared me to catch him as well. When I caught Bogdan I tried to give him the hardest hug I could as revenge. He didn't learn his lesson, however, because as soon as I let him go he told me to catch him again. Florin tried to climb the play equipment with his awkward limbs. The most beautiful sight was watching him slide down the slide. He also waved to every stranger he saw. If the stranger appeared friendly, he streched out his hand for a handshake. Most people couldn't help but stare at the funny way he walked. Florin is about 17 years old, and also enjoys blowing kisses to ladies. He remembered to blow a few to me throughout the day. :) After the park we visited MacDonalds and the boys got everything they wanted, including a "Royal Shake." Finally, we went to the arcade. Both boys were overwhelmed by the arcade. I think they wanted to live there. After we used our coins, they were content to stare at the arcade screens and pretend they were still playing. We promised they would return if we heard they had good behavior.

I feel very spoiled to get to be the one who got to spend such are GREAT day with them. Their joy makes me happier then I think any pleasure could bring me by myself.

2008-07-17T06:45:00.000-07:00

Answered Prayers

2008-07-14T07:03:00.000-07:00

I've thought over my future and what I'm doing with my life so many times, and I was mulling over my decision to go to school in the fall to study Speech Pathology on Sunday afternoon. That night an American woman arrived and asked me about my future plans. When I told her my plans to study Speech Pathology, she was extremely enthusiastic. Her encouragement came at just the right time.

This encouragement came from a Special Education teacher who specificly works with autistic children. Today she went to the orphanage with me. Along with her came two other American volunteers. It was such an encouragement to have these new volunteers, especially because they often have ideas that I wouldn't have. Through their coming God opened a door for me to spend special time with a boy I am particularly fond of (Vasile), but who I rarely see.

When Vasile sees me he runs to me, but usually his teachers yell at him and tell him he must sit down and remain quiet. I have asked to have one-on-one time with him, but for various reasons my requests have been denied. I asked to take a walk with him today and the staff seemed very open to letting me go with him. We walked around town (also a 3-year-old came with us) for an hour and a half. Vasile is very interested in tractors and construction, but he is non-verbal, although he understands what I say to him. I lifted him up so that he could see inside fenced off construction zones. We found a magazine on the ground that advertised various construction tools which he enjoyed looking at. We we returned I got to give him a bath. I sat with him at lunch and the 13-year-old boy put his spoon in my hand. He wanted me to feed him though he is capable of doing this himself. He moved himself into my lap. Sadly, when it was time to leave I have to leave him quickly and without him knowing so that he wouldn't run after me. Getting to spend this time with him was an answer to prayer and I PRAY that I can be with him even more.

Also, I am thankful when Americans come because I get to see the orphanage in a new way when tell me their first impressions. Carol, the Special Education teacher I mentioned earlier, asked about a shy girl whose hands were tied behind her back. "Why are her hands tied?" She asked.

"Because she hits herself sometimes. You can untie her," I explained, "but we should tie her up again before we go." Carol's motherly eyes filled with tears as she looked at this beautiful girl with her soft smile. There is just not enough staff to make sure she is not hitting herself, so they tie her up so that she won't get hurt. What compassion Carol had on this girl in her prison.

Also, Hermina has been in the hospital ever since I last wrote about her. I hope this means they have found the problem. I hope this means she is being helped. I hope she is getting better. Thank you for your prayers.

twelve-year-old Alexandra

2008-07-11T05:28:00.000-07:00

When twelve-year-old Alexandra is happy she lets out a brief high-pitched squeak. To hear this twelve-year-old autistic girl squeak, I pick her up and spin her around. When gravity pulls on her, she seems to like it. She is twelve, and somewhat heavy for me to lift, so after a few "spins," I try to pull her around or lay her on the long couch and pull her by her feet and hands. Alexandra doesn't always show signs of happiness that I can understand, so her high-pitched squeak means a lot to me.

2008-07-09T05:17:00.000-07:00

I have been hoping to really be a help to the staff at the orphanage. Lately I've been staying later and have been able to help more. I've been pleased by being able to stay. Also, it is nice to be a volunteer because then I have the ability to really spend one-on-one time with kids. The staff doesn't have enough time to be with kids one on one. Today I put Roberto in a stander. He usually sits in his bed all day. The stander allows him to stay in an upright position and he can move his feet around to get places. Each of Roberto's legs have a different length, but Roberto seems to be happy to use them. He also always wants to chew things. I was able to buy a chew toy with money donated that Roberto has enjoyed emensely. I took the chew toy away from him, and he used his little legs to gallop around the room in order to retrieve it. Once he got it, he injoyed chewing it a bit before the game began again.

"Sedinta"

2008-07-05T01:23:00.000-07:00

(This blog was written June 3, 2008)
It was quite a full day. This morning when I arrived at the orphanage every worker I knew was sitting outside the orphanage dressed in his or her normal clothes (not his or her work clothes). I asked what was going on. They told me that they had a meeting.

“Who will watch the kids?” someone asked. “Marinela!” one of them responded. ‘Marinela” is what they call me at the orphanage since my English name is difficult to pronounce. “And Ingay!” said someone else. Ingay is another volunteer.

So Ingay and I spent the morning in the back yard with all the mostly mobile kids. My guess is that there were about thirty kids out there.

“Be careful that Alexandra doesn’t jump over the fence, like she usually attempts to do,” Ingay told me. Alexandra is a very hyper and also autistic child who is always trying to escape from where ever she is. Bianca, a wiry eight-year-old that is also autistic, always wants to be held. Screaming tantrums were the result of her being set down. Vasile kept trying to tell me in his non-verbal way that we should leave the back yard, sometimes by using all his weight to try and drag me to the locked exit. Many of the kids were very good, which makes me know that God was with us.

Unfortunately it was impossible to discipline the thirteen-year-old boy who threw rocks at me and the other kids and gave the middle finger to construction workers working beyond the fence. I could record a list of his other offences here, but I think I'll won't. At one point, after he had tried to pants me and was hitting the baby in the face, I had the gut reaction of wanting to kick him in the groin. I just wanted to disable him from causing harm to others, and I must admit I was mad. Psalm 37:7-9 encourages me on how I aught to think of Bogdan's actions.

"Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him; do not fret when men succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes. Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret - it leads only to evil. For evil men will be cut off, but those who hope in the LORD will inherit the land."

How I wish real love and real disciple could be administered to Bogdan. His only reason for staying at this orphanage is that he is has ADD, other than that diagnosis he is a healthy boy with an unhealthy attitude. He abuses almost all of the kids at the orphanage. GOD, HELP!

As soon as workers came, Ingay told me that we should try to “escape” out of the back door. The reason we had to escape, is that if we made a big deal about our exit, then the kids would likely become a problem for the other workers who were coming in. As soon as anyone goes in or out of the exit, all the kids rush to the door to escape. I had held 8 year old Bianca with one hand all morning, and was pulled around by Vasile with the other. I should also mention that 8-year-old Bianca had taken off her dirty dipper and shorts, and Ingay had to hold her down on the ground while I tried to put her pants on her kicking legs. Before Ingay had said we aught to put on her pants, little Bianca had been in my arms clothesless. (clothesless is a word I made up that actually means naked.) Speaking of legs, I had pulled Alexandra by they legs as she tried to crawl under the fence. Thankfully this attempted escape only happened once.

I thank the Lord for his presence and his help today. That I got to help the staff, be with the kids and that no one was seriously injured. Maybe all these events sound horrible to you, but somehow I am blessed by the events of the day. This day makes me want to continue what I'm doing, and pray with more faith than ever for God's intervention. Days like today keep me coming back.

About Hermina

2008-07-01T10:06:00.000-07:00

I wrote in my previous blog about Hermina, who fell from the second story window, because I was so pleased of the miracle that she wasn't hurt. But, time has proven my summary of the situation was premature. A week ago, I fed Hermina. She clearly didn't want to eat, but I knew the food was good for her so I encouraged every mouthful. By the end of her bowl of pudding she was throwing up all over herself as she lay in her bed.

"It's okay," I encouraged her while she vomited, though she's non-verbal. Now I thought I understood why they had asked me to feed Hermina. She had been vomiting most of her meals, and nobody was eager to try to feed her. I told my friends at "Children to Love International" to pray, and we did. This morning I asked to help and someone handed me a bowwl and took me to Hermina's room. At the first mouthful, before she even swallowed, she began heaving. I told the staff workers, and a nurse told me not to give her more.

Somehow the director who runs the orphanage decided to send her to the hospital, and the staff asked me if I would help. I was eager to assist.

An ambulance arrived after one hour and I hopped in whit a staff member I hadn't see so often before. She was younng and pretty and had changed out of her white uniform and into hger mornal clothes for our visit to the hospital.

Hermina cannot speak, and it is uncertain if she understands us when we speak. When the doctors tried to insert a catheter, she had no idea what was going on. She screamed and fought. the pretty staff worker and i held Hermina down as she tried to fight off the doctors ... how horrible it was ...

Though she is sixtreen years old, she is about the size of teh average nine year old. The doctors gave up on the idea of the catheter and told us to go to another hospital; one for children. There they seccessfully inserted the catheter and did an ultra sound of her stomach. They found nothing and sent us to a third hospital where they took X-rays of her head and spine. After about five mintes of looking at the x-rays, they told us there was no problem and that we should go home. Thankfully the catheter was providing some immediate success. her stomach was no longer swollen, but an understanding as to why Hermina couldn't walk or urinate was yet to be obtained, as well as an explaination for her constant vomiting.

I grew to like the worker from the orphanage that I had accompanied more and more as we spent the day together. One doctor explained things to me in English so that I could understand. One man who pushed the gurneys asked me for my phone number; maybe we could become better aquainted outside the hospital? I tried to pretend that I couldn't understand he was hitting on me ... but int he end I just told him ... "No," or to be more exact, "Nu."

So we returned to the orphanage with no explaination for Hermina's medical problems. While the orphanage worker went inside the orphanage, I stayed with Hermina. She had tried to open the bag attached to her catheter, and had punctured it slightly. I asked the ambulance driver to take her out of the ambulance so that I could empty the now full 1-liter bag of waste beside the road. I did.

Hermina went back to the hospital again, but I didn't go with her. I hope they will find the cause of her problems.

Glee

2008-06-24T08:27:00.000-07:00

I walked by one of the rooms and saw Hermina sitting on her bed. The thirteen year old (?), developementaly slow girl was rotating the trunk of her body back and forth, shaking her hands at the writs and staring upwards at the air with a gleeful smile. Her joy seemed so bright that it was almost other-wordly. Three days ago, Hermina jumped out of a second story window and fell on the dirt road beside the building. She spent the weekend in the hospital. She broke no bones and seemed to have suffered very little. "She must have had an angel on her shoulder," a Dutch volunteer told me in broken English when we disgussed the outcome of Hermina's fall.

Today I tried to have patience and help a girl with Cerebral Palsey eat her food. "How old is she?" A woman visiting the center asked. "Eight or nine years old," I guessed of the skinny and fragil girl I was easily able to hold in my arms without assistance. The woman looked at me with surprise. "Why is she so skinny? so small?"

"I think it's because she eats so little," I said. "Her mouth muscles are difficult for her to control and she can't swallow. As a result, she eats very little."

The woman I spoke with had come with her seven-year-old son to the center so that the nurse here could take a look at her son. The seven-year-old boy had some sort of problem that kept him from walking.

He sat on the orange couch with a smile. "I can walk!" he told me with excitment. His mother held him under his armpits wile his nearly limp legs tried their best to make a walking motion. "I can walk!" He told everyone who came into the room with perfect glee. One girl from the center ran into the room only to slap the unsuspecting seven-year-old visiter. His mother came to his rescue while a volunteer simontaniously pulled Ana Maria out of the room and explained that Ana Maria only hit people in order to get attention. Her son was not singled out; Ana Maria did this to everyone. I can vouch that this is true. Twenty minutes later the seven-year-old was using his hand to scoot over on the couch in order to throw his arms around another girl from the center he had never met before. This girl was seventeen. He seemed the ideal picture of childish happiness, even though his little legs wouldn't move and he'd earlier been hit for no fault of his own. How much I could learn from such a tutor?

How to Talk to Aurel

2008-06-18T05:59:00.000-07:00

I held a little one and a half year old for the first ten minutes. Her feet are deformed and she doesn't speak. Her name is Luminita. It means "Little light" in Romanian. Today I saw Luminita's standing in her crib and reaching toward the girl in the crib next to her. The girl in the crib next to her is named Maria and she has Cerebral Palsy. Maria arched her back as much as she could look back at Luminita. It was not easy to place Luminita back in her crib after just 10 minutes of her in my arms.

Next I walked with Aurel. He is blind and deaf. Both of his eyes do not have the colored part, so when you look at him all you see in white. When you touch him in his crib, this eight year old starts to grab for you. As soon as he can get ahold of someone he uses all his strenght to try and climb from his crib. When I first tried to walk with him, it was difficult. He keeps going in circles and he seemed to have a mind of his own. Does he do this because he has no sense of space? After having experienced walking with him I feel more comfortable with the task. I took him to the enclosed balcony so that he could feel the breeze on his light skin. I wonder how Aurel understands the world? His world is a crib and he loves to rub bits of string with his long fingers. Sometimes he hits his chin, and seems to derive some pleause out of this. Ingay (another volunteer at the center) told me that we feel a lot of vibration with our jaw, and this is why Aurel hits himself so peculiarly there. In Aurel's world pleasure doesn't come from what he sees or hears. It comes from vibration, touch, smell, and taste (I'm guessing here, I'm no expert). I've observed that when I hold Aurel close to me, this is when he is most likely to tap himself on his chin. Why is this?

He smiles big when I talk him out of his crib. When he walks with the support of my hand, he smiles. When I press on his soft nose with my forefinger, he giggles. When I pat him on the chest he laughs. I can't think of a way to reach Aurel except to allow him to experience the pleasures of walking, being outside of his crib, and, most importantly, being with someone. I am trying to indulge him in these pleasures. Experiencing pleasure is an important part of being human.

A little earlier in this post I wondered what Aurel's world is like. I wonder if the world is made of different sized cribs for him. The bathtub is one kind of crib. The enclosed balcony is another, bigger crib. I want him to know where he's at, and so I try to walk the same path with him when we walk in the hallway. He doesn't seem to understand the idea of sitting in a chair. I try to sit with him in my lap, but the sitting position seems foreign to him. Standing or sitting on a flat surface are the only positions he seems comfortable with.

I have a lot to think about when I walk with Aurel. How can I speak to him? Would he ever be able to understand there is such a thing as communication? If you happen to know the answers to any of these questions - I am listening.

I'm Thankful For

2008-06-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

I am completly thankful for my past experiences with Romanian culture. Walking on the streets, riding in a crowded bus, greeting strangers on the street, all these normal activities are different then they were in my previous experiences of them in Romania. There is no longer a strangness about these things. This world is not different , as it was before. This place makes sense. In short, I am becoming more comfortable here. This is because I have spent so much time here in the past. I thank God that these past experiences have allowed me the privilege of feeling at home in a differnt culture. Oddly, this feeling of familiarity is an entirely NEW feeling, because I've never flet comfortable in another country before.

Also, the differences that I notice are smaller now then they once were. As the superfishal differences cease to amaze me, the differences in the details become easier to observe. Instead of noticing how people dress differently in general, for example, I notice the uniqueness of dress that one person has from another. Noticing the simpler things is sweet. I've also been able to get a glimpse into a new dimention of the culture. The people have endless complexities.

There is a girl who had an operation in December at the orphanage, but she has not recovered. She no longer walks so much. Today I walked with her. She was scared, but made it down a long flight of stairs with my help and encouragement. When I told her we were going to go back up the stairs, she couldn't handle this. She screamed in the hallway, giving a little tantrum in response to my statement of returning up the stairs. Although she can understand most of my Romanian, she does not speak for the most part. I tried to understand what her screaming meant and decided it meant that she had walked enough. I carried her up the stairs.

I am so thankful for my pervious job in the states at Green Pastures. My exposure to kids who have trouble waking at Green Pastures has allowed me to begin to understand the importance of foot orthotics. I got a hold of a Phusical Therapist and she gave me the idea of making sure that Elena at least has strong boots that come up around her ankels when she practices walking. I found some winter boots. One pair was missing a shoelace. When i asked a worker, she found a shoelace and give it to me.

I am amazed by the amount of hope and light I have felt at the orphanage in the past week. Many people from outside and INSIDE the culture have taken time to help some of the children, and this makes things so hopeful. Prayers for help and growth have been and are being answered in extraordinary ways. Another way I saw prayers answered today was that God helped me to understand a staff member at a key moment that allowed me to connect with them. This is an answer to prayer.

As I consider that there is so much to be thankful for, I find that I am wishing for one thing more. There are kids who may be more desperate than the ones I've worked with so far. I want to help them. I want to reach out a hand to kids I am afraid to touch. Pray that I will do this.