Do you remember being age sixteen?  What if you were told that you were ready to be on your own at that age?  Every year, thousands of teenagers around 16 and 17 are released by the Ukrainian orphanage system and are considered adults.          Shortly before I arrived here, Key of Hope completed the paperwork to take responsibility for four kids who had graduated from the orphanage in Makarov, where we visit weekly.  We have three girls, Anya, Yana, and Lena, and one boy Valera.  Two of the kids are social orphans, removed from their homes because of abuse or neglect or other problems.  The other two have no surviving parents.
     I’ll be spending my New Year’s with these teenagers.  I don’t know anything about Ukrainian New Year’s celebrations but apparently here it’s a very big deal.  Let’s face it, back home the holiday was just another excuse to eat.  Or, if you’re not a Christian, an excuse to drink.  We’ll be spending New Year’s in Kreshatik, downtown Kyiv, where my roommate says President Yushchenko will be speaking.  Oh, now that I’ve written it down, Rosen’s not so sure the president will be there.  So it’s a definite maybe.
     But they’ll definitely have some kind of concerts down there.  And I’ll try to keep my mouth shut because when strangers find out I’m an American, they’ll want me to drink vodka with them.  
     New Year’s is a good time to reflect on what the year has brought.  For me, 2005 has been the year of more changes than any other.  When I started the year, I was preparing for a short missions outreach to Malaysia.  After that I went home for a time and prepared for my journey here.  Now I’m in a new country, new culture, and learning a new language.
     We’ve been asked as a team to begin praying about where God wants us to focus our time and energy as individuals in 2006.  As I’ve prayed about it, there weren’t many surprises.  My heart burns for the orphans and for the abandoned babies in the hospital, the Fatherless ones.  The other ministry opportunities are great; working with English club, street kids, youth ministry.  But my direction is toward these two.
     And beyond 2006, I don’t know.  When I ask God about where this is heading, I feel in my spirit that He’s saying, “Now is the time to work in another man’s vineyard.  Learn the people, learn the methods, learn about the needs and wants of the Little Lost Ones.”  That’s not really a prophetic word so much as the thought process that rings in me when I pray.  
     I want to thank you for your continual prayers for me, and for your support in other ways.  There are many people here who don’t have the backing of their church, or the encouragement of their families.  I’ve met already two Christian workers who don’t even have a home country to go back to for fear of their lives.  While I miss the security of a steady paycheck and Thursdays with Isaiah, I really don’t have any fear of the future.     

¶ 11:39 AM //

All I want is one nice picture of the three of us...

¶ 2:38 AM //

Leda, would you just look at the camera for a second?

¶ 2:33 AM //

No, Rosen. Those toys are for the kids. And put that candy back!

¶ 2:31 AM //

Why is your hair brown and your beard white?

¶ 2:30 AM //

Before I begin, I know Christians have different views on Old Saint Nick.  In my early days of kid ministry, I got in a bit of trouble in Kid’s Church once when I said there was no such thing as Santa.  On the other extreme, some have said that Santa is one letter misplaced from Satan.  If you’re from either pole (er… yeah) my actions might be controversial, but like the great theologian (Popeye) said, “I am what I am.”    
Santa was never taken very seriously in my family.  I distinctly remember one Christmas at Oma Kosachuk’s when my mom’s uncle put a strategically ripped napkin on his face and said, “Ho ho ho.”  For all our purposes, or at least the lifetime of that napkin, he was Santa.
My Santa suit this year was better than that napkin, but not much.  That is to say, it’s the best Santa Suit that seven dollars can buy.  I went on the annual trip to Uzhgorod, Ukraine to bring Christmas cheer to an orphanage that consists mostly of gypsy children.  87 boys and 15 girls.
     Once there, we prepared 130 Christmas bags for the kids.  Each bag contained useful things, like pencils and notebooks, mandarin oranges and juice boxes.  Then there was fun stuff, like cars or stuffed toys.  That evening, we found imitation Lego sets for 2 grivna each (40 cents!).  I bought quite a few.  Lego is, of course, the coolest gift you could give, even though they weren’t “quite” Lego toys.  
How do you minister to 103 orphans when you don’t speak the language, don’t know much about the culture, and are limited to a few days?  This was my prayer before I left.  The truth is you can’t.  I felt like God said, “Your mission will come find you.”
When we first arrived, we were audience for a concert performed by some of the orphans.  Sure enough, a little gypsy boy, six years old, reached for me to pick him up.  His most distinguishing feature was his immediate need for a Kleenex.  After wiping him and putting him on my lap, I learned his name was Popovich.  He became my left hand during that stay.  He particularly enjoyed my watch.
My right hand was even more memorable, a six year old girl named Leda.  I can count on one hand the words I know in Ukrainian, and I’m on the slow boat to learning Russian.  On the other hand, I think I’m pretty fluent at the language of “Hug.”  I’ve been practicing it for years.  But Little Leda spoke a dialogue of “Touch” that I’d not encountered before.  
     Little Leda took me by both cheeks and looked into my eyes.  She rubbed my “sideburns.”  She pinched my nose, felt my eyebrows, and smelled my hair and squealed.  Again she rubbed the stubble on my chin.  That was, I think, her favorite.  If I had allowed it, she would have played with my face for hours.  There was such an intensity in her desire to explore my face.  
     The next day at the orphanage, I played the part of Santa.  Our Ukrainian speakers went in first, and read part of the Christmas story from the Bible.  They explained why we give gifts at Christmas and of the greatest Christmas gift of all, Jesus.  Then it was time for me to come in the Santa Claus suit and the gifts.  A little “Ho, ho, ho” was all my contribution.  Most kids knew exactly who I was and would let me know.
     Still, most of my stay in the Uzhgorod orphanage was Popovich on one knee, and Leda on the other rubbing my “real beard.”  That was the important part.  We’ll return at least once but possibly twice this year.  Last year they did a Kids Kamp for about forty of these orphans and we’ll do the same in 2006.

¶ 1:46 AM //

Just a note. The green is not a symptom of a skin disease, but a medicine they use frequently in this part of the world. I asked one of the locals what "the green stuff" was called, and it translates loosely as "green stuff."

¶ 10:43 AM //

¶ 10:39 AM //

     How I hate the masks.  I’m talking about those medical masks that doctors often wear.  I’m a part of a ministry called, “Mother’s Care” of which I’m the only male.  They wondered aloud if changing the name would draw more guys in.  Did I have a problem with it?  I told them that I’m my own ministry, “Father’s Heart.”
     To recap, on Wednesdays, I go to the hospital with “the moms” to minister to abandoned babies.  Of course, you must wear the mask.  It’s to protect babies from your germs, and you from the babies’ germs, I suppose.  Honestly, we know the babies get each other’s germs all day long because of the obvious poor health care that exists in this hospital.  At least this way we know it’s not our fault.
     The downside, other than being uncomfortable, is that masks tend to de-humanize you.  Being a 6 foot 3 man scares some of the kids once in a while, but the blue mask makes it worse by taking away your comforting smile and facial expressions.
     I must confess that sometimes I’m a little intimidated myself by the little patients I visit.  Don’t get me wrong, changing diapers and getting baby puke down my lab coat is not a big deal.  Been there, done that.  But their conditions shake me up sometimes.  
     Marina is a good example.  She’s not really a candidate for adoption.  She’s all bones, pale skin, severe facial deformities, very little hair.  One hand is entirely wrapped up, I’m not sure why.  I’d guess that her mother was probably a pregnant drug user.  As a result, some things didn’t develop right, some things didn’t develop at all.
     Marina might be around two years old, she’s long enough I think.  On the day I went to pick her up she looked so frail.  It felt like she would crumble in my hands.  I could feel her backbone.  She does smile though and you can see a couple of teeth.
     I wondered if she could sense my timidity.  She lifted her arms when I went to pick her up; a very good sign.  Then I did what I normally do.  I held her against my chest and sang to her while I looked into her eyes.
     “Jesus… Jesus… Jesus… There’s just something about that name…”  That was the song that came out this time.  I sat in the plastic chair with her on my lap.  Sometimes, I even dance a little with the older ones.  You know, to that little Nutcracker song, and only when nobody’s watching.  But not Marina, I didn’t think she could handle too much.  
     My big hand dwarfed hers as I stroked her fingers and sang.  I noticed that she didn’t have any thumbs.  She used one finger like a thumb to latch around my hand.  I prayed my prayer of wavering faith, “It’s not really fair for her to start out this way, Lord.  Who’s going to look out for her?  What’s her future?”
     But I kept singing.  “Kings and kingdoms may all pass away…but there’s something…”  Marina looked at me, reached up her good hand and ripped the mask right off my face, keeping a tight hold on it.  She wanted to see my whole face.  She wanted to know where the singing was coming from.  She wanted to see the real me.
     “Thank you, Marina.”  I said and held her up to my scratchy cheek.  Inge says there’s more important things than germs.  I kept the mask off for her the rest of our time.  
I don’t always get answers to my prayers, but I’m glad I can go to God without a mask.  I don’t have to fake spirituality when it’s not there.  I like the guy in the Bible who said, “I do believe, help me in my unbelief.”  Jesus took care of him.  I can’t help but think about the masks we wear in front of each other, trying to be safe, trying to be cool.  Wearing if for “their own good.”  How I hate the masks.

¶ 2:25 PM //

These are mine, or I am theirs. I'm not sure which. The boy in the red literally hanging from my neck is very special to me. Even though he's making it difficult for me to breathe.

¶ 5:07 AM //

¶ 5:02 PM //

     Thursdays at our team meetings, we each tell our highlight of the week.  This could be anything from a testimony, to a happy moment, to just a great deal at the market.  It’s often difficult for me to share a highlight, not because I don’t have one, but because I have so many, I can’t choose which one to share about.  I want to talk about two things.
     Christmas came early to Kyiv.  Today I received a care package from the good folks at LMCC.  In Kyiv, they send you a little note to go downtown to pick up your packages.  So getting it was an event, and when I saw the size, I was amazed.  (So were the people behind me in line)  I received some clothes, a dvd, someone even made me brownies.  On my way to the Street Kids Shelter, I mentioned my box of wonders to some of the Key of Hopers.  I was told to thank you from the whole team, because they’re all going to come over and eat my new jar of peanut butter.  Rotten friends I have.  :O)
     I wanted to share another experience of the week.  One of our missionaries is going home for good to Denmark  (Mmm, where Legos come from).  She’s trying to visit all the sites before she leaves, so I tag along sometimes.  That’s why I went to the National Museum of Chernobyl this week.
     For my younger readers (Hi Madi!) let me briefly sum up what happened at Chernobyl.  On April 26, 1986, there was an accident at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant (about 50 miles kind of north of here, according to my roommate).  An explosion destroyed one of the reactors and released large amounts of radiation into the atmosphere.  The accident was bad enough, but the shame of it was the response of the Communist government.  They did all they could to cover it up as long as possible, even from the people that lived there.
     There should have been evacuations immediately.  Instead, in the nearby city of Pribyat, seven weddings took place the day after the disaster.  May 1st was a labor holiday and many people were outside preparing for the celebration.  Everyone was exposed to unbelievable amounts of radiation before they were told (after 36 hours) that they would have to be “temporarily” evacuated.  Temporary is a relative term, scientists tell us this area might be safe to live in, in about 900 years.
     Anyway, the museum was amazing, kind of haunting.  The walls were covered with photos of workers who put out the fire, many of them losing their lives to radiation burns or cancer.  There was a 3D reenactment of the explosion and a computer simulation of how the cloud covered Europe.
     I couldn’t help but think about how communism, the government built on the foundation of atheism, left so much destruction to so many people.  Chernobyl caused an area as big as the state of New York to be uninhabitable.  Communism promised so much to the little guy, but in the long run only delivered persecution, poverty, and oppression.
     I know that communism is hardly the enemy it was a generation ago.  But here in Ukraine, it’s easy to see the results of rejecting God.  Every day I minister to kids who have been abandoned or abused.  Alcoholism and depression is a major problem in nearly all former soviet republics.  Ukraine has the worst AIDS problem in Europe.
     I haven’t yet met a person who’s working with at risk kids because they were motivated by their atheism.  Maybe some might exist somewhere.  But I’ve met many, many in churches and organizations of all backgrounds who sacrifice because of the God they love.  Makes me glad to know Jesus.

¶ 4:57 PM //