These are the people I work with.  With origins in five different countries we all concentrate on reaching kids and teenagers in Kyiv.

¶ 4:01 PM //

I hope you had a Happy Thanksgiving. While I missed out on pumpkin pie and such, a bunch of Americans (and some non-Americans) had a late night Thanksgiving feast at McDonalds. None of us particularly like McDonalds, but it’s jokingly described here as “The American Embassy.” By the way, turkey costs about $2 a pound here.
Dan, from California, ordered Chicken McNuggets because they’re the closest thing to turkey. I ordered a Happy Meal. The McDonalds workers can speak English quite well. If you squint when you read the menu, you can almost imagine you’re really in America. You might also have to hold your ears.
I’ve been asked about what my normal schedule is like. I’m only forming a “normal” schedule now. I’ve started Russian lessons twice a week and I usually study language at least an hour a day. Nurlan and Jorun, our team leaders, want to be careful not to burn us out. But I’m a chronic volunteer. Here’s a prototype of my schedule.

Sunday – 8:30 am Church on Sunday morning (Hillsong Kyiv)
Monday – 9:00 am Base Intercession Time
11:00 am Team prayer with Key of Hope and Mother’s Care
4:00 pm Street Kids Rehabilitation Center
Tuesday - Orphanage in Makarov
Wednesday - 8:30 am Mother’s Care at Orphanage
3-5 pm Russian Lessons
Thursday 10:00 am Team Planning Meeting
6:30 Family Night at the Missions Base
Friday 3-5 Russian Lessons
Evening: Youth Gathering (ministry to teenagers)

By far, my favorite time of the week is the orphanage at Makarov. While my language is still in pre-school stages, I’m working with kids only a few years older than that. They also teach me important words like “снежок” (snowball) and “шар” (balloon) and “Не деритесь друг с другом.” (Don’t hurt each other). Really, I’ve taught myself that last one. It’s also important to make sure they don’t hurt me.
Today (Monday) was my first time at the Street Kids Rehab Center. I’ve been “encouraged” to head up this ministry, but I’ve made no promises. New laws have changed the way YWAM Kyiv ministers to street kids. Police pick up street kids and place them in centers to live temporarily, usually 3 t0 9 months. Instead of looking for kids in sewers and subways, we’re to go to the rehab centers. This is considerably safer for all. No concerns about used syringes lying around or crime. Plus, I’m told that when you give things to kids on the street, they sell them to buy glue (for sniffing) and cigarettes. They have routes set up. “There they’ll give us food, and over there money. We can get warm clothes here and sell them there.” Ministries that provide care for these kids find them wearing the same old ratty clothes from before.
This Rehab center is known as “The Music Orphanage.” It was called that because we teach music there to reach kids. I intended to “just meet kids” today, but I was given two students and placed in a room with an out-of-tune piano. I taught what I could without knowing any Russian music vocabulary. Now I know that “нота” is note and “аккорд” is chord. The kids were surprisingly respectful, and we prayed with them at the end. We’ll be picking them up for a youth service on Friday.

¶ 3:56 PM //

This morning I worked with a ministry called "Caring Mothers." There aren't too many men who take part of this ministry, but I'd rather be called a "Caring Father". I went, for the first time, to a hospital wing where they take care of sick children who've been abandoned. Before I left for Ukraine, I shared at church about a one year old boy named Anton who had been abandoned. I worked with the lady who wrote that story. Apparently he wasn't from this place though. The Mother's Care team goes to four different hospitals during the week, trying to visit each one at least once.

The ladies spend time with each child, holding them and rocking them. Often playing with their arms and legs, fingers and toes. These children are too young to really speak, at least the ones I met. The ministry they require is physical love and nurturing words.

There were nine babies here, most of them had Down Syndrome. I spent a good amount of time with a baby named Tanya (for obvious reasons), and also a little 2 year old boy named Alexander (but they called him Sasha).

Sasha woke up while I was there. He wasn't very responsive, but he had this crooked little smile on his crinkled face. I cuddled with Sasha in a chair there for a long time, sang some worship songs, and told the Caring Mothers that we needed some quality time. Rebecca explained to me that we're pretty much the only quality time Sasha has. He's severely handicapped, and the nurses don't even spend time with him. Because of his condition, he has virtually no chance of getting adopted.

You remember how when you were a child, and you got sick, how your parents made a fuss over you? I've never had to go to the hospital but I imagine if I were, as a child, my parents would've been there all the time. These kids have no one, but a few missionary ladies who check on them when they can. I can't cuddle and lay hands and pray for these kids enough.

So maybe Sasha normally doesn't get his "recommended daily allowance" of old fashioned TLC, but he got a good dose today.

¶ 5:26 PM //

¶ 4:58 PM //

¶ 4:57 PM //

¶ 4:55 PM //

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged.  Among other things, in the last week I've gone to my first Ukrainian ballet, (It costs one dollar for the cheap seats, and I like them better than the others because you can watch what's happening in the orchestra pit), started Russian lessons, checked out a new church, (still like Hillsong best) visited the orphanage once, spoke at a high school English class twice, led worship twice, and invented the Ukrainian burrito.  All newsworthy but who has time.
The highlight this week was definitely English class.  It’s good to know that once in a while my English is a blessing and not a handicap.  One of the staff members started bringing English speakers to a school that specializes in teaching English.  He asked if there was anything peculiar about me that I could share with Ukrainian children.  Peculiar?  Me?         
     I did tell a little about the Great Lakes area, and my family heritage, and my nephew Isaiah.  But then I got out the puppets.  Okay, all my former puppeteers together can say, “I can do all things… through Christ who strengthens me.”  Happy puppet memories revisited.  Victor was concerned about bringing puppets to a high school class, thinking I was going to do a kiddie show.
     I pretty much showed how to do different voices to fit the different puppets.  I talked a bit about different kinds of puppets, and showed how to do basic movements, and then I had some of the students give it a try.  Nobody really wanted to volunteer until I volunteered someone myself.  Then they didn’t want to give the puppets up.  
     The teacher was so excited about the puppets, she asked Victor and I about four or five times if we could come back.  She was a funny little grandma, very energetic and lovable.  Then at the end as if to to seal the deal, she had me sit in a chair and had the students tell me individually in English how much they appreciated what I did.
     The teacher brought us to the principal’s office to show her what I’d brought, and then I guess to her favorite fellow teachers.  I had such a good time.  Victor explained that while I couldn’t bring the gospel to the students, of course I could answer any questions they had and explain why I do puppetry in the first place.  I was able to talk about orphan ministry, and being a children’s pastor and what those things mean to me.  So there was no “hard core” ministry, but lots of relationship building and certainly showing “another facet” of Christianity.
     There’s a thousand good ways to minister to people here.  People invite me to help in all sorts of things, but like Gary Glaske told me, I have to really pray about what God wants me to do and be involved with.  I can see how easily I could become a “crispy critter” if I take every ministry opportunity that crosses my path.

¶ 4:41 PM //

The picture's grainy, but it's the best I had. It starts getting dark around 4:00 or 4:30 pm and I had to doctor the photo to make it even visible. This was the best I had.

¶ 7:26 AM //

Sergey and I are a little red in the face after hard playing with the Marakov Mashers.

 

¶ 7:14 AM //

I haven’t been good about blogging lately. I’ve been busy working on newsletters. As well as doing my own snailmail newsletter, I now write the newsletter for the team, and I ended up helping my roommate with his as well. All in all, my home time has been spent editing and re-editing and submitting for approval. I’m all newslettered out.
One of the major social issues in Ukraine is the high HIV/AIDS problem. In 2003, there were 360,000 people infected with AIDS, and about 20,000 AIDS deaths. Ukraine has the fastest growing AIDS population in Eastern Europe. And since this is a country with a population decrease problem, it makes it even worse.
That brings us back to the orphanage. Unfortunately in the orphanages, children don’t have training in right and wrong. Many of them are sexually active at an early age and it’s a breeding ground for HIV and AIDS. Another problem affecting our kids is the amount of drug use among the street kids.
That was a big ole’ encyclopedia back story brings us to Tuesday. We have a new team member, Vicka, who specializes in HIV education. While she was talking to the older kids, it was my job to watch the younger ones. (The younger kids that I worked with last week were in some sort of class study time)
Sergey, directed the 10-11 year olds into a classroom. “Here, these are your kids for today.”
I looked around the room. They were all boys, already hyper and laughing, making Russian comments I couldn’t understand. What would these boys want to do?
I shrugged my shoulders. “Futbol?” I asked. I didn’t even know if that was the word in Russian. I just pronounced football with a Russian accent. They were excited about the prospect, and told me with much gesturing that I’d better get my coat because it was “xolodno” outside. (Oh and just in case anyone’s wondering, “Football” is what the rest of the world calls, “Soccer.”)
Arrangements were made outside of my understanding. I did recognize that the captains played “paper, rock, scissors” twice to see who got to pick first. Being the only player over 4 and a half feet tall, I was chosen first. Might be the first time in my life. It also helps for them not to know how uncoordinated you are.
I’ve decided that I have to learn my Russian soccer terminology. For boys, this is great relationship building. You learn names when they call each other to pass the ball. There’s a lot of laughter, and communication and teamwork. And there was a lot of opportunity for me to say, “Hey, hey, Tulke Eegrah” (It’s only a game.)
Any life lessons here? I’m not at all a sports fan, but I am a relationships fan. Just like I don’t like bloody lips, but I will let it happen, even encourage it, if it means that I will be able to speak into a kid’s life later on. By now, all the kids in the orphanage know me, at least my name (Markoos). A handful of them might know I can draw and puppeteer but can’t play soccer. And in the midst of learning that, I hope they’re learning that I care about them, that I’m interested in the best for their lives. Ultimately, they’ll learn the God that motivates my love.
I recently got a pilot program for teaching life skills at the orphanage. We have a copy in Russian and English. It starts with identity and teaches about good hygiene, social behavior, money management, etc. I’m glad because it has a Christian Foundation. It was produced by CBN, and we’re working with it, with the intention of reporting back what works and what doesn’t work, or other ideas we might have to improve it. Kind of a neat process, actually.

¶ 7:06 AM //

¶ 6:16 AM //

I received a bloody lip at the orphanage this week. It was nothing serious, and really quite worth it. It all started with my desire to reach out to the younger kids at the orphanage. Key of Hope works with the older kids, age 10 to 14. But the younglings aren’t involved. It’s believed they can’t sit through the discussion times. I haven’t really seen this in action, but that’s the system in place. But the pastor in me can’t help but seek out the little guys.
For this week, Nurlan, our team leader, had brought a copy of a Russian language version of Max Lucado’s “You are Special” movie to show the older children. I decided to take advantage of the “video time” to visit the younger children downstairs.
I found the room, with a few children, all between the ages of 7 and 9. There was also an 11 year old down there, but I didn’t have the vocabulary to say, “Did you know there was a program upstairs just for you?” I saw one girl at a desk writing, another girl had a babushka on/around her head and was dancing around like a gypsy. A couple of the boys were in the next room play fighting, like little boys do.
I introduced myself, apologized for my poor Russian. The girl at the desk brought a book written in English to show me. I needed some kind of “icebreaker” so I asked for a piece of paper and proceeded to fold an origami boat. The children gathered around. Somehow they began to multiply. They shouted out words trying to guess what I was making. (The Russian word I learned for boat is “korABel”) Finally I finished, and lo and behold, there was a boy next to me who had finished his “korabel” first. With a great feeling of pride he showed how he already KNEW how to make such a korabel. Then with a big smile, he kicked me.
It wasn’t a terribly painful kick, certainly not polite. He was playing. So I turned around and picked him up, making sure he saw that I wasn’t angry, but told him not to do that again. I think the kids were a little shocked by my actions. You can only imagine their fear of a 6 foot man picking up one of their own. But when they saw I was smiling, and everything was fine, they all wanted to be picked up. I had children everywhere on my legs and arms pulling me, nearly knocking me over. I prayed that they wouldn’t decide that kicking me was the best way to receive attention.
Here is the thing about children in orphanages. More than anything, they want parents. They want someone to love on them, to be held, to belong to someone. I think about how I wrestle and tickle my nephew, how he cuddles into me when we take naps. Most of these kids rarely get hugged. Especially by an adult who cares for them.
You can also imagine how vulnerable a love-starved teenager can be when they age out of the orphanage. They could easily fall prey to wicked people, unhealthy relationships, or cults that would say, “Sure, we’ll give you attention.” That’s why it’s so important that these kids are prepared for the outside world. This is part of what we’re trying to do in working with the orphanage.
I had to figure out a way to give those kids love without getting mauled. At some point, a kid climbed on one of the tables and jumped on me. I caught him mid-flight, trying to avoid injury to him, my own head, and to the other children. That gave me the answer to control the crowd a little. I let them jump, one at a time into my arms. More often than not, when I caught them, they would just cling and hug on me. They didn’t want to be set down again. This was just as well, as it gave me a little chance to breathe between catches.
Finally I was worn out. “Ya ooSTAL,” I told them “I’m tired.” One of the children led me to a bench. I thought at first this was an act of compassion. But when I sat down, he sat on my lap. Then all the children tried to sit on my lap. Once again, I felt like the football player at the bottom of the collective tackle. Finally, one of the children yelled for the others to stop and pulled me to the mirror where I could see a little cut on my lip.
I ended up pulling out more paper and drawing a picture of a dog or something. It’s fun because people think I can really draw, but they are just doodles. I must’ve made 20 pictures of cats and cows and penguins and such. But I guess it beats being trampled.

¶ 5:59 AM //