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

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