I’m coming home on Thursday for my sister’s wedding.  I plan to be home for a month and I’m speaking in at least three churches so far.  It will be a good time to visit and renew relationships.  Please pray for me as I’m traveling.
     In case you haven’t heard, we’ll be doing a charity disc golf tournament on July 29th in memory of my dad.  The funds will go to provide a summer camp for orphans next year.  I don’t know how many people to expect, but I was happy to tell my leaders that while they suggested a $2000 dollar budget, we managed to do it for $600.  That’s paying one dollar per child for a six day camp.  There are reasons behind that, but it’s an exciting statistic.  So if you’re interested in disc golf or just want to support the camp for next year, check out this webpage.  There’s a registration form there and everything!
     I want to share a little story.  Yesterday, I was at an orphanage for special need kids outside of Kyiv.  Because of involvement in other ministries, I don’t often go to visit there.  The building houses orphan babies with mental and physical handicaps.  
     There’s a special boy in this home whose name is Nikita.  His legs don’t function properly and his arms are twisted in an awkward way.  Nevertheless, he manages to move around quite quickly by pushing himself forward with his hands.  Nikita is five years old.
     When I first met this boy, it was a little distressing to see his condition.  From the neck up, he’s a normal kid.  He can communicate if you know enough language.  And if you don’t, he’s pretty good at telling you what he wants.  He’s the oldest child in the home.  None of the other children speak there because of age or conditions.  It may be that Nikita’s there because they don’t know where else to take him.
     I was playing with these handicapped children in a relatively quiet manner yesterday, when a thought comes into my head.  “What Nikita really needs, is someone to play rough with him.”  I’d like to believe that the thought came from the Holy Spirit, but seeing how some of the others were shocked by my behavior, I don’t want to give Him undue blame.  I went for it just the same.  It’s the kind of command that’s fun to obey.
     Most of the time Nikita only sees older ladies, and when Mother’s Care ministry is there, it’s women too.  But Nikita is a boy, all boy.  He’ll shuffle his body up on to a chair and fall from it, on his head, and not shed a tear.  Most people would see him and say, “Oh be gentle with him, he’s handicapped.”  And I think that does him a disservice.
     The proper way to play with real boys is to throw them in the air and catch them just before they... um… splatter.  Nikita spent a good amount of time upside down, to his delight.  I even pretended to fling him out the window once or seven times.  
     Now of course, there’s a certain staff member who’s smarter than I am, and more concerned about safety and that sort of thing.  She worried about Nikita feeling some sort of “pain.”  And our games did grow rather barbaric.  But I never dropped him, not once.  He kept saying, “Yesho, Yesho” (again, again) until I was tired.  She was right of course.  When I told him it was time for us to go, there was a really painful expression in his eyes.  I had to stop and give him an extra hug right before I left.  
I don’t know that on this side of heaven, there can be love without pain.  It seems we’re always saying goodbye to people we care about, and there’s a correlation between the amount of pain in the farewell, and the amount of love in the relationship.  But even if you’re not saying goodbye, doesn’t love cost something?  Love is continually giving to another, at your own expense.  King David said, “I will not offer anything [to God] that costs me nothing.”  Giving is a necessary part of love.
So, I lift my bottled water to those boys who need to be treated like boys, and the loving dads who get just a bit carried away.  Relax mom, they’ll be just fine.  Cheers!    

¶ 4:00 PM //

What a big hit this game was. Nobody, even in the staff, had ever played it before. Great Event!

¶ 2:30 AM //

I'm pretty sure meeting the Commander in Chief of Orphan Town will be an unforgettable moment in Steven's life. 

¶ 2:29 AM //

     Imagine if this happened to you.  You’ve been assigned to lead a camp of 90 gypsy orphans, but you can’t speak their language, and few of them can speak yours.  You want to run a program to meet as many of their needs as possible, but they range in age from maybe 6 to 18.  Many of them have mental problems, some of the girls have been pregnant.  They’re also accustomed to doing whatever they want with little to no adult supervision, many are hard core smokers.  You have a staff of 25 people who also can’t speak their language, but a few can speak Russian or Ukrainian.  And only one translator shows up, but she thought she was translating for a woman going shopping downtown.   Oh, and at the last minute you have 115 children, with twenty more possibly coming later in the week.  The venue?  A former military base in Western Ukraine.  Now, give ‘em Jesus.
     Sound like a challenge?  Welcome to my world.  I say, “Bring it On!”  Don’t be impressed, I didn’t always say that.
     I realize that one page of text cannot possibly capture the atmosphere, the stress, the downright comedy of a week’s worth of immersion into this unique subculture.  Do you know the gypsy orphans had their own president?  He’s maybe 15 years old.  His name is George (seriously but they only called him “President”) and he always wears a suit, even to play soccer.  Now I never saw him tell anyone what to do.  He didn’t talk very much or give speeches.  But whenever they saw his picture in the slide show, they would clap and cheer loudly with a great deal of respect.  Every day, he gave a huge bouquet of flowers to one of the girls on staff.  Come to think of it, that’s not such a bad president.
     In the States, the typical teenage boy is emotionally detached and certainly not affectionate to adults.  In this world, I was hugged and embraced continually by teenage boys, some who had more facial hair than I did.  One afternoon I realized that I was drenched in sweat and body odor, but none of it was mine.  Not a pleasant sensation.
That was the most difficult part of the camp.  These kids are so needy, so hungry for attention that they would hug and hang and pull on you all day.  And when one would walk away, there would be several others waiting who wanted to be picked up or held.  It was exhausting, especially on a hot summer day.  I told the staff to really take care of themselves and walk away for a while if it gets to be too much.  I had to do it myself once.
But at the end of it all, when we drove off in our bus, it really was worth it.  You capture these faces in your mind, the ones you felt you really touched, or maybe they touched you more.  I’m realistic.  A week of camp can’t repair 16 years of neglect.  There’s so much baggage that we can’t even sort through in that environment.  You can’t heal a wounded heart in a week.  Ah, but you can change the direction of that heart in an instant.  And if we can teach the children how to focus on following Jesus, as they follow him, the healing will come.  

¶ 10:56 AM //