Epic Adventures

Missing Peaces

2009-01-31T05:51:00.001-04:00

I’m sure this is a common thought in the mind of people who work with orphans and troubled kids. It’s that wish that you could just buck the whole orphanage system, take the kid home and give him a decent family yourself. Not that the idea is always practical or possible. Well ha, I’m actually going to do it this time.

Long time supporters have heard my stories about a gypsy kid named Sasha. In my “fresh off the airplane” days, I went to an orphanage in the middle of nowhere in western Ukraine. All around me were children speaking some combination of Ukrainian and Hungarian. And then there’s this kid who’s spent his entire life in the orphanage, except he’s speaking English. Nobody around him, teacher or student, had his grasp of the language. Clearly, this kid has a gift.

We ran a camp for them that summer, and at age 14, Sasha asked if I would be his “Tato,” the Ukrainian word for daddy. I spent several days reasoning with him. A guy who visits once in while is not a real father. There’s a heavenly Father who really loves you that you can speak to at any time. I live 16 hours away and I’m just not able to give you the physical and emotional support you need. He said, “Yes, I understand all that. But will you be my Tato?”

That was the beginning of our friendship, formed mainly by cell phone and tri-annual visits. He often was my translator for my work there at his orphanage or talking to the staff there. But six months ago, I found out the Sasha was graduating from the orphanage this summer. His dream is to make translation his career, but his opportunities are too few, with no family, no job, and living in a village.

My original intention was to just take him in myself. But I prayed about it, and asked for wisdom from my leaders, and people who watch over my life. As a result, I felt like God spoke to me several times, “I haven’t called you to be a single parent.”

I took this as a “no” from heaven. But as I let it go and went on with my life, Sasha kept coming back up in my prayer time. Did I hear God clearly? I didn’t have a release to “adopt” him, but I didn’t have the release to close the door either. Somehow I was missing a piece/peace.

I ended up taking it to my team, Key of Hope. As a ministry, we’d already taken two kids from another orphanage. We are like a family. So I shared my heart with them and asked, “I can’t do this by myself. Would you be willing to take Sasha as a team? Pray about this. Understand that it will affect how we do things, especially me as a leader, and as his mentor.”

I suppose I wouldn’t be writing this if the answer wasn’t “yes.”

I called Sasha to let him know he had a home to come to and you should have heard him celebrate. Every single day he calls me to thank me and to pray with him and dream about the future. Sometimes he cries because he’s so grateful. What a cool kid.

So now I’m in the process of creating a kind of objectives list for the next three years. In addition to teaching him lifeskills and discipleship, we’re going to help continue his education. Did you know he can get a university education in Kyiv, Ukraine for less than $400 a year?

I’ll have more to share about all of this as I come home February 24^th. This is leading to the next big chapter of our ministry hear. We’ve got super big plans, not just for Sasha, but for kids like him. But that’s for another update.

2008-12-20T07:54:00.002-04:00

Holmok Greeting Card

2008-12-20T07:49:00.000-04:00

Hi Friends and Family,

Last week I was with Key of Hope in Uzhgorod, a city in western Ukraine. It’s so beautiful in the Ural mountains. From Kyiv, it’s a sixteen hour trip by train which to me is very relaxing and enjoyable. I even sleep well on the train. But then, as they say, I have the gift of sleep.

We weren’t there for sightseeing. We have a long standing relationship with an orphanage in Uzhgorod. There are 78 children there, many of them “special needs” kids, and most of them gypsies. We put together goodie bags for all of them. Each child got a sweater and a winter hat, as well as toys, some school supplies, candy, and a toothbrush. All the gifts came from donations, either directly, or things we bought with financial contributions. Thanks to all of you who gave for the kids.

Between our different programs and skits, I played Santa Claus, one of King Herod’s court, and a sheep. Such is the world of small teams and improvisational theatre. Weirdly enough, the lamb was the only part I didn’t need a costume for. Would’ve been a perfect set up for a joke about a Wolf in sheep’s clothing.

This trip we visited a gypsy village called Holmok. One of the girls from our team has permanently settled there to work in the gypsy village. She’s teaching the children to read and write in Russian. The needs in this village are immense. Most of us had never seen this kind of poverty.

Some feel that, as a whole, the children in the orphanage are better off then the kids in their families in the village. In the orphanage, children are having physical needs met and get a better education. In the village, some of the kids are suffering abuse and neglect. Obviously I haven’t seen this for myself, but I could see the condition of their housing and lack of clothing. I know for a fact that in the past, gypsy families have dropped their kids off at the orphanage.

Christmas in Kyiv is tough on a certain level, because I’d rather be home with my family. No family is perfect, but it’s hard to imagine that a family can be so hard up and dysfunctional that you’re better off living in an orphanage. Emotional needs aren’t being met.

Every family tree has a few nuts. Perhaps you have extended family that you really don’t want to face this holiday season. Say a prayer of thanks. At least you have a family to deal with, and a home to come back to. No exaggeration. In my world, that’s a valuable commodity.

A Case of Mislabels

2008-02-02T08:40:00.000-04:00

When I was a kid, I had the idea in my head that I didn’t like Butterfinger candy bars. I think I misunderstood the wrapper’s meaning. Between the name and the yellow packaging, I equated the product to a chocolate covered stick of butter. Mmm yum. At some point, of course, I ate one and realized the truth. While I don’t go out of my way shopping for them, I like Butterfingers just fine. In fact, if I came across one here in Kyiv, I’d buy it if only to show off to my American friends.

I work with kids who have been given a sort of misleading label. We’ve recently been working with a new orphanage. In a village just outside of Kyiv, there’s a boarding school meant for orphans with special needs. In the old days, it was a Pioneer camp, a center for training the next generation of communists. Weird to think about that, especially when I’m using their stage.
Clearly, there are children here with severe learning disabilities. But many more seem as normal as any kids you’d see in public school or a neighborhood playground. In some ways, these kids are exceptional; extremely open and loving. It’s my favorite ministry location in Kyiv so far.
I’ve noticed the kids to be unusually kind to each other. There is one girl who is mentally retarded and didn’t understand that she needed to wait in line for her snack. One of the big boys close to the front of the line pulled her gently in place in front of him. Nobody pushed her away or yelled at her. They understood she needed help and they gave her first class treatment.
A few weeks ago we were teaching the kids that God had plans for them. I encouraged them to “dream big dreams,” because God has great things for them. One of the workers told Vicki, from our team, “This is a good teaching, but not for these kids. They shouldn’t dream. They’re invalids.”

Vicki said, “Not all of them. They act like “normal” kids.”
“No,” the worker said, “all of them are invalids.”

Now I’m not saying that every kid who dreams of becoming an astronaut or football star will become that if they only follow Jesus. I wanted to be a marine biologist when I was a kid, and my work is… um… significantly different. But the ability and desire to dream is even more important than having them come true. With my dream, I had the motivation to explore that dream and the next one, and the next one. Somewhere I learned that I liked orphans more than killer whales, and here I am. And I’m convinced God’s direction was moving me through different dreams.

Orphans need to know that they have a hope and a future. They may target the moon, and only get to parliament (still not finding intelligent life) but it’s better than aiming for street sweeper because that’s all you think you can do. Most people live far below their created purpose because of what they believe about themselves and ultimately what they think about God.

My big emphasis with these children is, “Don’t believe what people say about you. What does God say about you? He’s your Designer.” Here’s what the Bible says. You’re not a tail-less monkey, but you’re made in His image. You’re valuable not because of your grade point average, or adopt-ability, or computer hacking skills. You’re valuable because you’re designed by the King of the Universe, in His likeness and adored and understood by Him.

I just needed one person to show me that a Butterfinger wasn’t Oleo coated in chocolate. One person to break one open it and convince me to “taste and see that” the candy bar was good. That’s why I believe that over time, we’ll change the course of many lives just by taking off the label.

Border Excited

2007-12-17T12:35:00.001-04:00

So far as I understand, as a visa holder, I must either register with the government or cross the border every six months. Since registration is $250, and crossing the border is about $50, I have always chosen the latter. Besides, who wants to give the government a bunch of info about yourself? In border crossings, however, sometimes things don’t go as you expect. Here’s what happened recently as I attempted cross the Ukraine/Moldova border with my roommate Lance.

“Documents,” the border guard said.
I handed him my passport with the visa and immigration card inside. He examined them slowly.
“I’m sorry, you cannot cross the border,” he told me.
“Why not?”
“You don’t have the documents.”
“What documents?
“Documents. More documents.” (I wished my Russian was better.)
“ I’ve lived in Kyiv two years and this is all I’ve ever needed.” I told him.
“No, I need documents.”
“Here is my driver’s license? Does that help?”
He examined it closely and looked at me. “No. You need to get off the train.” He even did the “slit the neck” gesture. The conductor behind him looked at me sympathetically. We were sort of friends because I had made her laugh earlier.

I knew I’d be stuck if I got off the train. There would be some sort of fine, and I had no idea what my next move would be. So without a better explanation, I wasn’t leaving. I just sat and waited, as they checked the other passengers. One guard stayed with me.

I’ve been told that Ukraine is the only place where you tell the border guards what the laws are. Regulations are always changing. Enforcement is often arbitrary. It’s not the Soviet Union anymore, thank God. But residue of the system; corruption, bribes, just the whole draconian mentality, still remains. They could just give me trouble because they don’t like me, or because they’re in a bad mood, or they want a little vodka money.

I opened up my passport to my Ukrainian visa.

“Look,” I explained to my guard, extending my 4 year old speaking vocabulary to the limit. “Here is my visa. Your government says I can be here 5 years. I don’t understand the problem.”

He looked at the passport in my hand. He looked at it closer. Then his eyes got wider and walked away to talk to another guard. But I followed him, passport in hand. I was getting somewhere.

Finally the guards came back to me and re-examined my visa. As it turned out, they didn’t realize I had one. They either didn’t see it, or didn’t look for it, or expected it in another form. I was never clear on that. But I was free to cross the border at that point.

I wish he’d asked me for it specifically beforehand. The Russian word for “visa” is pronounced, “visa.” How can I miss that?

Meanwhile, I met nearly every passenger on the train. A group of Moldovans asked why I was here and explained my work as a missionary. For the rest of the journey, they kept smiling at me, asking me questions. Not deep spiritual ones, just if I was okay. Did I like Ukraine? Did I know Angelina Jolie? Those sort of questions.

So thank you for your prayers. The trip was very successful. While Moldova’s not the exciting place you always dreamed it would be, the trip was intense for just a little bit there anyway.

2007-12-17T12:33:00.001-04:00

Eeps, I realized I hadn't posted anything here since October. So I'll post my old updates from back then to now... maybe every couple days or so.

New Definitions

2007-10-20T09:58:00.000-04:00

Monday (October 8th) marked my two year anniversary in Ukraine. Things that were once weird are now normal. Okay, maybe not normal, but perhaps “life as usual.” Not long ago, somebody asked if living in Ukraine had changed me, in the way I think and live. For your reading pleasure, I decided to write a new dictionary. This is how the meaning of such words and phrases have changed.

crowded - In the early days, when the marshutka (bus) was full of people, I’d wait for the next one. Now I just squish in like the locals. Crowded is truly a relative term.
My most memorable Marshutka ride was also one of the longest. I was literally smashed against a wall, not even really standing. I only had one foot on the floor. The other foot was wedged between two other passengers during the canning process. Every possible space, and some impossible spaces were filled, like the world’s biggest and least funny clown car. Yet the driver kept picking up more people, and they kept coming in. In my heart I believe he was trying for the company record.

clean bathroom – When I show new people around the city, I always help map out where the bathrooms are. A restroom is harder to come by here. So you’re more likely to accept some scary bathrooms. Nothing beats one particular outhouse in Moldova though. For mercy’s sake, I offer no details.

long walk – I walk everywhere, all the time. And love it. Last time I stepped on a scale, I found I was lighter than my college days. One day, playing with Google Earth, we discovered I was walking 2.6 miles just going to the boat and back every day. Blew my mind. Often I do it twice. It doesn’t feel like much, it’s a lovely walk. But Winter is coming.

grocery shopping – I’ll take the outdoor market to the store any day (except for buying meat). The check-out girls at Furschetts (the nearby grocery store) are absurdly grouchy here. What’s the deal? Is “grumpy disposition” a required trait on the job application? The babushkas on the street are more civil and offer free samples sometimes. Their produce is better. Plus, when I buy from them, I’m helping supplement their pensions.

Christmas – How I miss you, Christmas… (heavy sigh) Words cannot express the desire to go back to America during this season. We talk of “culture shock” when you go to other countries. It finds its ultimate manifestation here for me, because the holiday is simply glossed over. Some westerner friends refuse to be here during this time because it’s too depressing. We should warn new staff of this at orientation.

home – This is the word that has taken on the most nebulous meaning. Home is with family in Michigan, for sure. But when I come back from an outreach, or an extended time in a village somewhere, it feels comforting to see Mama Ukraine and that bridge that takes us into the familiar old neighborhood.

Good and bad, I know this is where I belong. If it’s just a season, I think it’ll be a long season. My roots are down. It’s my country, more than ever. Sure, there’s much to be desired in the areas of Christmas and customer service. But I’m here for the long haul.

And then there's the homeless...

2007-09-30T10:56:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, I’m not needed at the hospital (with the babies). If it happens to be a Friday, instead I may go with a group to feed the homeless. It’s usually a small group, that splits into teams of two and three. We go downtown with sandwiches, fruit and tea.

On my last such outing, I was surprised to have Zholt in my group. Zholt is a gypsy who grew up in the Uzhgorod orphanage (western border) where we run our camp each year. He was ‘adopted’ by German missionaries when he was too old to live at the orphanage anymore. Zholt was taking a break in Kyiv and decided to join us.

Talking to Zholt is fun because we don’t share a common language, but several uncommon ones. His mother tongue is Transcarpathian and mine is English. But we both can speak various amounts of German, Russian, and Ukrainian. (I can count all my Ukrainian words on my digits without removing my shoes and socks) So a simple sentence with Zholt may be a blending of two languages, sometimes three. The grammar would best be expressed as “Tarzan-like.” But we can still talk about ministry, music, family, social customs. When the words aren’t clear, we switch to another language, and switch again until we’re pretty sure the other person understood. And if you think that’s a weird dynamic, you should’ve seen us lead worship together.

Our team that days was Zholt, another American named Bill, and myself. Normally we just feed people. But on the way, Zholt stopped at the pharmacy to get some medical stuff. He replenished a supply of rubber gloves, gauze wrap, the mysterious green stuff (it’s a Ukrainian version of iodine? Hydrogen peroxide? Miracle Whip?) Bill carried the food, and tea supplies. I carried the dispenser of hot tea.

It’s important to have a good Russian speaker when feeding the hungry of Kyiv. That was Zholt this time. My normal interactions are “Hochesh chi?” (Do you want tea?) “Chorni? Zeloni? ili Frukti?” (black, green, or fruit?) “Saxar, skolko?” (sugar? How many?) I know food vocabulary, for survival purposes. But I’m a “supporter” in this ministry, not a leader. I do try to understand the conversation I can.

Along with food, Zholt began tending the wounds of the homeless. After he changed the one man’s dressing, a crowd of street people began to develop. They were more interested in treatment than food. Without getting graphic, I’ll just say that some of these guys (they were all men) were heading well into infections. They’re bodies and wounds were filthy. But Zholt was happily cleaning their arms, inside and outside, while sharing in Russian, the message of God’s love.

In the background, I quietly turned to Bill, “Man, I can see how God put different gifts in different people. I’m getting sick just watching what Zholt is doing. I’d take the orphanage on the worst day rathen than that.” It was too much for me, on a gross out level, so I busied myself handing out tea and sammiches. The hospital is troubling sometimes. But at least there’s really no blood and gore in my work.

At the end of the day, Zholt smiled good-naturedly and said, “Oh, this. This almost make me sick. (he pantomimed a little hurl to explain what he meant) It was very difficult to me.” Then I realized that Zholt and I were of the same mind. The only difference between us was that he actually put on the gloves and did the work. It wasn’t a case of “I enjoy this,” or “I’m gifted in this.” It was because these guys needed care, and he did it.

Nobody told Zholt to “fix up” the homeless guys. “Normal” is just bringing food. But Zholt, he’s pretty special. Me, I’ve still got a long way to go.

I am the Pirate King...

2007-09-06T07:30:00.000-04:00

Here is where I attempted to light the cannon using the power of pantomime. And it might work, as the cannonballs are merely gray balloons stacked in a cannonball-like fashion.

Lost Boys

2007-09-06T07:28:00.000-04:00

These boys enjoyed the descent into madness that we called Pirate Night. I was told by one girl, "My brother isn't normally allowed to play with guns. But tonight... it's okay."

Dreamboat

2007-09-06T07:25:00.000-04:00

Laura made this yummy pirate cake. Notice the little YWAM symbol in the front. This proves that it's the good guys' ship. The photographer apparently didn't notice that the captain has fallen over. Probably overwhelmed by the chocolatey goodness.

2007-09-06T07:23:00.000-04:00

The Black Sea Pirates invade our ship to get the Treasure of Venetsia. They look too nice to be evil.

Davey Jones' Locker

2007-09-06T07:20:00.000-04:00

The end of the night leaves the dastardly Black Sea Pirates swimming in the canal.

Pirate Invasion

2007-09-06T05:36:00.000-04:00

September 19th is “International Talk Like a Pirate Day.” I thought I’d remind you because it doesn’t get the publicity of Valentine’s Day and Halloween but it’s equally or more important.
We did our part to spread the joy of piracy here because I was asked to lead a Back to School party for the missionary kids here in YWAM Kyiv. I decided immediately on a Pirate Night. Here’s why.

Our base is actually a boat on the river. (Before we took possession it was kind of a restaurant/hotel of ill repute.) It’s pretty cool, ‘cuz when the big boats go by, we can feel the Venetsia move with the waves. So I had this idea. What if during the Back to School Party, our boat was actually invaded by pirates? The kids would never forget that.

The night was based on the verse, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:21) We had a treasure chest full of school supplies and chocolate coins for the kids who came. I announced that Pirate Night was a dress up event, so we were asking that the adults come dressed like pirates.

We went all out for the evening. We made a bunch of paper mache props, a cannon, ship’s helm, octopus, an anchor. But what made the evening really great, was nearly everyone dressed up for the occasion. There may have been fifty adults and children in pirate attire. Even the people not normally involved in kids ministry got into the fun.

Then at some point, a rowboat full of pirates came with the intention of taking our treasure away. We explained (Tonya the interpreter and I) that we should keep our treasure in heaven, where thieves can’t steal it and rust can’t destroy it. I offered to let them have a share if they learned the memory verse.

The pirates hated to read or study (it was a Back to School party after all) and decided they wouldn’t learn the verse, but take the treasure, just the same. So the kids bravely fought them off with their balloon swords and we threw the bad ole pirates overboard. I wasn’t sure who had more fun, the kids or the adults.

At the end, we ate piratey food. Hot dog octopi and baked potato boats. Laura even made a pirate cake (ship-shape).

One of the mom’s came to me afterwards in appreciation. In mostly Russian she told me that her son Nikita kept talking about what a fun, exciting night it was. Another mom told me that her daughter said it was the best family night ever because the kids and adults were all having fun together. The kids on the boat were playing pirates for several days afterwards. This kind of feedback that makes all the work worth it.

Many of the missionaries here go to churches without a Sunday School or children’s program. So kids ministry for the missionaries is really important to our base. It’s important that we don’t just bring the gospel to the world, but that our own kids have a strong foundation in the Word of God. It bears repeating. Where our treasure is, our heart will be also. So we need to invest our greatest treasure into our children.

The Mayonnaise Fish

2007-08-14T04:34:00.000-04:00

This was not at Dan and Ivanka's wedding, it was at one in Rivne. But there he is in his carrot flower glory. Don't know what the food product in the foreground is though...

Wedding Stuff

2007-08-14T04:31:00.000-04:00

The Best Man. Yep, that’s what they called me. The Best Man. I was also the lord of the rings. But that’s the title I gave myself. (I put “lord” in lower case lest someone think I’m comparing myself to the Lord of Lords. Don’t you read Tolkien?)
I was in a wedding on Saturday. This was my third roommate to get married since I came to Ukraine, less than two years ago. I have two possible explanations for why so many of my roommates get married. Either..

A) I’m just the love doctor, and I just have the gift for helping guys find and keep that special someone. Or..

B) Guys who room with me say, “I can’t handle another roommate experience like that. I’m getting married.

I can see all my family and friends right now saying, “What about you, Markus? It sounds like it’s your turn.” (See, just saved you an email)
Rather than open that can of tuna, I’ll share what’s different about Ukrainian weddings I’ve been to, compared to American weddings. (Keep in mind, I’ve only been to three)

A) Lots more flowers. At the end of the ceremony, people greet the bride and groom, still on the platform. Some gifts are given here, but mainly the bride is inundated with bouquets of flowers. I think Ivanka (the bride on Saturday) may have had thirty bouquets. It was my job to stack them on the piano at the time and later load them in the car when they left. So I’d consider myself the expert on the sheer number of flowers.

B) Extended Play Variety Show at the Reception. Now I’ve only been to Christian weddings in Ukraine, and more of the Conservative Baptist variety. No dancing here, but dramas, songs, presentations, marital advice, funny stories, and it goes on and on. While the program’s a bit long for me, I must admit, that you really get to know the bride and groom through that time.

C) Suits, not tuxes. What a brilliant tradition! Instead of wasting good money on a tux you’ll never wear again, the groom and groomsmen get matching suits. Mine cost just $35, cool. I dare Americans to challenge our silly social norms and go this route. I know I will.. er would do that, if I were getting married… er yeah.

D) “Mayonnaise Fish.” Most Ukrainian weddings I’ve been to have on the table a large fish, head still attached, mouth gaping. (with or without the eyes. One wedding had black olives with mayonnaise pupils instead of the original eyes) Anyway the top of the fish is decorated a bit with mayo. (see pics above) Now, when I go to the reception, the first guest I l look for is Mr Mayonnaise Fish. Dan didn’t have one in his this Saturday, but it was half Ukrainian, half American wedding.

So that’s my quick course on Ukrainian weddings. Until next time.

Krokodili in Uzhgorod too?

2007-08-09T15:28:00.000-04:00

The Krokodili Team in Uzhgorod and their beautiful shield.

A Moment of Silence, for Your Tooth

2007-08-09T15:20:00.000-04:00

We were joined at camp this year by the Dental Ministry. Believe it or not, the kids really loved them. Many of the orphans have horrible teeth and have been going for months with pain or infection. When they found out the dentists provided pain killers (they usually don't here, especially for orphans who can't pay for it) they were practically beating down the door to have work done.

Where's Waldo... I mean Markus

2007-08-09T15:04:00.001-04:00

Somewhere you can find me among these kids. Okay, it's not very difficult. I knew you could find me.

Holy Smokes

2007-07-20T08:24:00.000-04:00

Did I ever tell you about smoked prunes? No kidding. For some reason, in Ukraine they smoke prunes like one would smoke meat. They’re quite dreadful, most Ukrainians I know don’t like them. I’ve found them in cookies, yogurt, and other desserts. They even ruin… I mean flavor… ice cream with it.
This week at camp, we experienced the ‘creme de la crème’ of said food product in the form of smoked prune juice. Some of the other camp staff compared it to tobacco tea, or drinking a cigarette. Anyone who knows me, knows I can eat anything. I eat food I don’t like, because I just eat well. But I just couldn’t down the smoked prune juice.
I had this experience because this week we stayed at the sanatorium where we’re ran a camp for around 200 orphan kids. For the record, I know that to Americans, the word “sanatorium” stirs up visions of padded rooms and straitjackets. But in Ukraine, a sanatorium is a place to relax or rest. I’ve seen several, but this was the first time I stayed at one. We didn’t share rooms with the kids, but we stayed in the same building. And either sanatorium definition could apply.
In the midst of that, I came to experience the orphans’ world. We ate the same food, heard the same techno music blasted to wake them in the morning (cruel), smelled the same smells. I even did calisthenics with them a couple times in their morning rituals. (not as a leader, but as a participant)
Smoked prune juice was just part of the regrettable foods that were served to us. We ate gretchka (stinky hot cereal made of buckwheat), sausages that wanted to be hotdogs but couldn’t make the cut, little cold silver fish with the heads removed, and mushy variations of staple cheap foods, (pasta, potatoes, oatmeal) mixed with various ingredients. We had salt and fruit brought in because neither was available.
It wasn’t all bad. Actually one morning they served a Cream of Wheat clone with jam, and it was quite good. But the goal in food prep was clearly economical, not taste. I was grateful that Ukrainians believe in bread at every meal. When in doubt, you can always fill up on bread. Mom will be proud to know that, excluding the smoked prune juice, I ate everything I was served, even cleaned my plate.
I think the food was the most difficult part of camp to (ahem) swallow. But because the kids at our camp are so needy in so many ways, it’s also emotionally draining. They don’t spend time with you as much as they cling to you. I’m a very hands-on, physically affectionate person. But there are points where you just want everyone to quit touching your hands, hair, face. Especially at the end of the week, since the kids are allowed one shower and change of clothes a week. You can imagine those kids were quite “ripe unto harvest,” to misuse the phrase. I’m critical of orphanage staff being cold and mean, but I can appreciate more how they could just be tired.
Somewhere in the week I had a bit of a revelation. Jesus put aside his “God-ness” to come to earth and become a weak, tempted, and sometimes stinky human being. The Creator of the Universe now needed to eat people-food to survive. The God so holy that even looking at him would kill you, was now subject sickness, pain, and torture to death.
He came to die for our sins, above all. But the Bible also says he wanted to “sympathize with our weaknesses.” From his Almighty position, He could understand and recognize, but He took it a step further and walked among us. And going from God to man is a much lower downgrade then for me to “become an orphan.”
This update is dedicated to the fine cooks at Bethel Park, my alma mater camp, where the food was always made with care, and smoked prunes were never on the menu. Bless you ladies, I remembered you many times!

The Road through Solomka

2007-06-29T06:30:00.000-04:00

Standing outside the car once we got to Solomka. Note the cow to the left. A herd of cows walked through while we were talking to Uncle John's cousins.

The Stork

2007-06-29T06:26:00.000-04:00

You can see the massive stork nest on the road to or from Solomka. The telephone pole it's built on gives you an idea on how big it really is. Like a haystack on top of a pole. Sounds crazy, no? But not as crazy as a fiddler on the roof. (song cue here)

Church in Solomka

2007-06-29T06:21:00.000-04:00

Here is the church in Solomka. I'm (in the front) next to Uncle Zhenya (to my left) and Aunt Anya is directly behind me, and behind the kids. She's wearing a green dress and head thingy. Family members, if you want a better picture, email me.

Virtual Realty

2007-06-29T06:14:00.000-04:00

This is the entrance to the Bettig House. Yes, my Oma Kosachuk grew up here. Uncle John says that the original house burned, but they rebuilt it the exact same way using the same type of building materials. So it's virtually the same house.

Note the blue windows. I couldn't help but notice that nearly every house in the village and on the way had the same blue colored windows. Just another Ukrainian mystery. (Houses with new windows aren't blue though, interesting, huh?)

Back of the House

2007-06-29T06:11:00.000-04:00

This is the back of the Bettig house. There's a field and a barn where I'm standing to take this shot.

Homeland

2007-06-29T05:28:00.000-04:00

My mom’s family comes from a tiny village in northwestern Ukraine called Solomka. I finally had the opportunity to visit there. The road to Solomka is terrible. It’s cobblestone, in theory, but rougher than any cobblestones I’ve driven. The car rattles so much that you feel like you’ll lose your teeth. I think it was a 45 minute journey but it’s just a guess. Ironically, I took a nap in all that ridiculous shaking, much to the amazement of my fellow travelers. Some people are just gifted.

It’s not all bumps though. The countryside is beautiful, very old world. We saw herds of cows walking home together. With no human leader, each knew which gateway and barn was theirs and left the herd accordingly. Storks were high in their huge nests on top of telephone poles. Intrigued, we stopped sometimes to take pictures of them. People hanging up laundry or sitting on front steps would watch us drive by. Folks don’t drive this way often.

I spent about five days with my Great Uncle John and his team from CIS, a ministry that equips and supports national missionaries. They build and encourage churches, and teach in schools. Uncle John is great to travel with, always laughing and telling amazing stories. They’re mostly amazing because they’re true and he experienced them himself.

Solomka. There are only 25 houses in the village and one church, a church that Uncle John and company helped build, even provided a sound system. The villagers treated me like the lost son they never knew. I explained in Tarzan-like Russian to a barrage of babushkas that my grandmother grew up there. In Ukrainian they tried to explain their relationship to her. I only hope they understood me better than I understood them.

I noticed three kinds of people there, the elderly, farmers, and young children. I understand most people when they come of age, leave the village and seek a better life in the city. Many young children go back to the village to live with their grandparents during the summer. It’s a Ukrainian thing.

Growing up, I’ve heard many exciting and sometimes gruesome war stories about how God supernaturally protected our family and led us to America. I told the Solomkan villagers at church that afternoon, that those stories led me to a faith and a true love for Jesus as young as I can remember.

I’ve always been captivated by God as the Supreme Strategist. He wants to restore relationship with each person, and uses people, circumstances, seemingly chance meetings to fulfill His Purpose. Not everyone regards God, some deliberately disobey him, and yet He weaves every move and countermove into his Master Plan.

I can only see a small piece of God’s plan in my own life from one vantage point. I easily could have been born in the Soviet Union. But in His Sovereignty, God allowed me to be born in America, where I was educated, taught the Word, learned how to teach, play music, work with children. And now, three generations later, I’m back as an Ambassador, a son of God. And not a victim of Joseph Stalin.

But after this trip, I’m struck by the idea that the Master Plan for some was to stay in the Soviet Union. They were robbed and beaten, lived their faith in hiding, prayed for deliverance. Like Narnia, it was 70 years of always winter, and never Christmas. I’m certainly no better than they. Why was this chess piece moved to Michigan, and that piece left behind?

In Solomka, I met a close relative who, at age seventeen, was sent to Siberia for ten years for being caught with a Bible in his possession. God kept some of his children here, because he needed believers to do his work on the Inside. They ultimately preserved the church and the nation until His enemies were scattered. They are ordinary people with failings, but they are true heroes.

And now that I’ve met them, eaten with them, kissed them, I realize that part of my purpose is to help bring healing to the spiritual wounds of those who grew up under that empire.
My family in Solomka is quite insistent that I return soon. Our visit was short, but I live close. I pray that God would give me something to bring them when I come again. I’m not sure what that looks like yet. But I sense a certain responsibility now, to tend the roots of the family tree.

Camp in Zhitomer

2007-06-27T14:17:00.000-04:00

Waiting at the trampoline are a handful of kids. Most of them are social orphans. Some of them are rowdy. All of them are cool.

My team in Zhitomer

2007-06-27T14:15:00.000-04:00

Well, these are the ones we could get to sit still long enough to take the picture. My group was third and fourth graders, 15 of them all together.

Lena and Company

2007-06-27T14:08:00.000-04:00

I spent some time with the younglings at this orphanage. Lena (age 8, to the left) helped me with poses. Lena has been there for the same time I've been here in Kyiv (since age 6). They're all so loveable I would love to give them all homes.

Krokodili

2007-06-27T14:01:00.000-04:00

This intimidating bunch are the Krokodili (Russian for Crocodiles). Sure, I don't remember ever winning a game, but we cheered so loudly, I don't think the kids knew we lost.

Egg Drop

2007-06-27T13:51:00.000-04:00

One game we played was the "Egg Drop." Using the items given to us we built a contraption to protect an egg from breaking when dropped from the second story. Unfortunately it didn't work and the result was egg drop soup.

A Week in Zhitomer

2007-06-21T16:10:00.000-04:00

It’s not summer without Kids Kamp. This summer I’ll do three weeks of camp. And one youth festival, where we're literally camping in tents. If I feel the need, I can also work in Lugansk in August at another kids camp with friends of mine, but I’ve made no promises. Just don’t know how tired I’ll be.

I just came home from Zhitomer, a city about two hours from Kyiv. We were invited to help another ministry with their orphanage camp. In the last 12 years of my life, nearly all pretty the camps I’ve been involved with are those I’ve directed. I wanted to see something outside of the Markus Wolf model of Kids Kamps. I think it’s necessary for health and growth to see different perspectives and methods. Besides, it’s good not to be in charge, but to just serve once in a while.

But beyond cool was the involvement of the local church. The church is the key to reaching orphans in Ukraine. If local churches would embrace their local orphanages, the nation would be full of spiritual families that orphans could be a part of. There would be people to teach them, to hire them, to help them find their purpose, and embrace them when they screw up in life. That’s what the local church has been to me.

Our camp staff was a combination of foreigners (Americans and one Moldovan) and local Ukrainians from three of Zhitomer’s churches. They all gathered to use their gifts and resources to minister to the needs of orphans. A Baptist church, a Pentecostal church, and one I think was independent.

Sunday, after camp, in that same city I went to a church called Loving Community. The same worship band that played at church, played at camp that previous week. The counselors who wore jean shorts and t-shirts in camp were dressed a bit nicer for Sunday morning. So it was a welcome, familiar environment for the 12 to 15 orphans that joined the congregation that Sunday morning. The pastor welcomed the orphans and allowed them to be kids and to act like kids.

Whatexcites me is that the work we did for a week will be continued at a deeper level. Remember this is just one of the three churches involved. What a great model for Ukraine. I love this country.

I was thinking about what we accomplish at camp. We try to meet physical, emotional, spiritual needs. Ultimately, the best thing you can do for an orphan is adopt him. While that’s not possible for every family and every orphan, the next best thing is for him is to have a spiritual family. Certainly not all kids would receive a church family, but all kids deserve the chance to make that choice.

Everyone needs a tangible spiritual family, even us non-orphans. Christians are all part of the “universal body of Christ,” but that word leaves a fuzzy abstract picture. What’s real to me are the people who will hug you when you lose a loved one. People who will applaud your victories, and put a hand on your shoulder when they pray for you. Visit you when you’re sick. And if it’s true for me, it’s doubly true for orphans who haven’t got their fair share of goodnight kisses or backrubs.

July 1st begins another two weeks of camp for me. We’re expecting 200 kids this time, and I’m a bit leery with the sheer number of it. But if I can move closer to the model I’ve seen, I’ll be a truly happy camper.

Here is the church, there is the steeple.

2007-06-08T04:20:00.000-04:00

A nice little picture of a church in Herrnhut. It's not the Moravian one, but I like it.

Arch before Herrnhut Cemetery

2007-06-08T04:07:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty sure the inscription means "Christ is the Redeemer of the Dead." Correct me German family if I'm wrong.

Herrnhut

2007-06-08T04:03:00.000-04:00

I’ve been reading a lot of missionary stories lately. I’m challenged by people who’d given up position and reputation to bring the gospel to unreached peoples. Some people had good reason to be unreached. Would you bring the Bible to an island nation who would sooner eat you? What would be your strategy for reaching cannibals? I lay down at night thinking about these things. You can imagine my dreams have been quite vivid as of late.

Recently, I was in Herrnhut, Germany for the “Festival of the Nations.” This is a conference for all of YWAM Europe that everyone at our base was to attend. (if they could get visas) The purpose of this conference was for vision building, teaching, networking with other missionaries, etc. A neat little perk was being able to take a tour of historical Herrnhut.

In the 1700’s, Herrnhut was a town full of religious refugees. Count Zinzendorf, a wealthy Christian landowner, allowed a group of Moravians to settle on his property. They’d been persecuted by the Catholic church. Zinzendorf felt the Holy Spirit wanted him to open the city to all Christian refugees, and in five years Herrnhut was filled with Lutherans, Anabaptists, Reformed, and even persecuted Catholics.

Soon all these little groups were fighting each other about communion, liturgies, pastoral oversight, and other things. Zinzendorf, an amazing leader, managed to visit each family and bring them into unity. Every household signed an agreement to “stand in unceasing love with all children of God in all Churches.”

And then God was able to do something great in Herrnhut. They had communion together. Forgiveness and foot washing was normal between the groups. They organized a 24 hour a day prayer schedule that lasted around 100 years. Herrnhut began sending missionaries around the world, to islanders in the Caribbean, Eskimos in Greenland, colonists and natives in America, and literally all over the globe.

They were fearless in their commitment. At one point, word came back to the church that 12 missionaries sent to the Caribbean had died since their sending. Before church got out, 14 people stood and asked to replace their fallen brothers. I read this and shake my head. I’m so far from this.

Months ago, I had a conversation with a missions student. He wanted to talk to me about showing his absolute commitment to God. Maybe he could dedicate himself to stay single for the rest of his life, like the Apostle Paul. (Hmm, I wonder now if he thought I’d made such a commitment, since I’m single at my age)

I told him, “Well first, I think that you like girls way too much to make that kind of vow.”
He laughed because we both knew the truth of that statement. But the conversation continued.

“There’s something in all of us that wants to do spectacular things for God. That’s great, but it starts with our faithfulness in the little things. Are you really committed to Him? Show him in your daily quiet time. How are you doing with ‘loving your neighbor?’ Do the basic stuff with your whole heart, then maybe when God calls you to big stuff you’ll be able to obey Him.”

God has a way of bringing my own words back to me, when my faith wavers, and I’m not on the Top Ten Obedient Children list. Still, I love and lean with the guy in the Bible who said, “I do believe… help me with my unbelief.”

Liza wants the camera...

2007-05-14T16:19:00.000-04:00

Liza (pronounced LEE-zah) is a 3 year old orphan at the hospital. I'm telling you, if you met her face to face, you'd want to take her home. So gentle and has a sweet whisper voice. Undoubtable. This is why I think she might not be adoptable, because if you only met her, you'd say, "She's mine!"

The Birthday Cake

2007-05-14T15:18:00.000-04:00

What’s your most memorable birthday experience? Mine was the time I wiped out on my mini-bike running into the woodpile. I wasn’t hurt, but decided to attract attention from the party goers by pretending I was knocked unconscious. The secret is to just lay still for just a little longer than people are comfortable with. Considering the kind of child I was, I turned out all right. Right mom? Mom?

Birthdays are special for some people. On Monday, we learned that one of the girls from the orphanage would have a milestone birthday the next day. Sveta would be turning 13. Since we would be back on Tuesday for English Club, Katya thought it’d be nice to get her a little cake for the occasion. However she couldn’t make it that day, so it was just us Americans.

That following day, we tracked down Sveta* before we left the orphanage. The girls gave her the cake and sang the Happy Birthday song to her. I watched amused as they attempted the song in Russian. We all laughed when they messed up the grammar. Then standing there singing began to grow awkward, because of Sveta’s response.

Sveta didn’t smile or laugh. She didn’t say “Thank you,” or go all bashful on us. She didn’t hug the girls or try to hide out of embarrassment. She just stared back at the girls waiting for them to finish. What? Was she ungrateful? I could see no emotions in her eyes, just staring and waiting.

I think I have a pretty good idea why she didn’t respond. Sveta never had anything special done for her birthday before. Rosen, who was adopted at age 12, said that his orphanage barely acknowledged a birthday, if at all. He never had a party until adopted, in America, and his parents had to explain what a birthday party was.

I gather Sveta didn’t know how to respond to the birthday song. She had no birthday experience. She’d never been to one or seen any. Nobody celebrates her birthday. Why would they? There are forty kids there. Perhaps the whole thing was a puzzle to her.
What’s the big deal about birthdays? I guess I never thought about it before. By celebrating, you’re recognizing a child as being important to you. “We celebrate today with you because you mean a lot to us.” They might not believe it at first. But if we keep saying it, and demonstrate it, it might just stick.

I think kids lack a sense of individuality in the orphanage. Everything you do is in a group. It’s interesting, because you don’t have your own toys. You don’t have your own clothes. Everything belongs to everybody. And being treated special just one day a year could really be healthy for a kid.

It wouldn’t be that difficult for an orphanage to make a little hype about a kid’s birthday. I realize that they don’t have budgets for big parties. But singing “Happy Birthday” doesn’t cost anything.

I know the God who says we’re “fearfully and wonderfully made,” celebrates the birth of every child. Even the ones with questionable pasts. Even the ones with questionable futures. And hopefully, Sveta understood a little bit more that she’s worth celebrating.

*I changed her name, because I don’t know if she’d like being identified. 13 is a funny age.

How Little Are You?

2007-04-29T16:57:00.000-04:00

Here's a totally non-related to the story photo. What a nice baby.

Bearing Burdens

2007-04-29T16:51:00.000-04:00

First time with us, before joining the team, Katya befriended many children and one large bear.

Teaming with Life

2007-04-29T16:46:00.000-04:00

How do you fit 10 people in a van that seats six? This is a happy problems of leading Key of Hope. It feels good when we have so many who want to work with kids, you need to develop creative seating. Sometimes you go home from the orphanage frustrated because the kids weren’t listening or things went sour. But there are weeks like this, where everyone’s excited about going and still happy coming home.

We’re in the Health and Hygiene unit of our life skills curriculum. The central message was the importance of washing your hands. I know it sound simplistic but it’s really necessary.

I’m finding that my role is more and more equipping and empowering team mates than being the front man. It’s okay, I still get to be there with a kid plopped on my lap or on my back or sometimes tied to my leg. (Three-legged race). I’m finding that I really like helping people find their niche, letting them experiment, make mistakes and guiding with a few suggestions.

Leadership is a lot like Christmas time. You have all these people with all these gifts, and your job is to open them up to see what’s inside. Some people are bold and almost want to take over, others need to be coaxed and encouraged. Some have developed skills for years and some have gifts inside that they don’t even know about.

Our newest team member is also our team translator. Katya is from Moldova. Before she went through her Discipleship Training School, she had never worked with kids before. She was an “only child,” and became a Christian as a teenager. But during her DTS outreach, she was thrown into work at an orphanage. In her mid-twenties, she discovered for the very first time that she not only CAN she work with kids, but she likes it and is good at it. This week she learned two new games never seen before. “Capture the Flag” and “Ultimate Frisbee.”

Katya started out for us as a translator. Most people in Key of Hope are only learning Russian and Ukrainian (or English). It was a regular pain calling around for somebody to translate for us. So right off the bat, Katya was a major gift from God for the team. Now, she’s volunteered to lead the next lesson.

Pray for me. I really love my team and want to encourage growth and discipleship. The normal and easy thing is for me to do as much by myself as possible and let others support me in the background. But why leaves workers frustrated and stifled with unreached potential? My continuing prayer is to help my team to keep growing, to be spiritually healthy and equipped to be the strongest team possible. Not just while in YWAM but in their churches and nations when their time with us is complete.

Doin' the Tiger Dance

2007-04-20T13:27:00.000-04:00

A liger is pretty much my favorite animal. But this is my favorite nephew doin' a little dance. Really he's my favorite reason for coming home.

Should I Be Scared?

2007-04-20T13:19:00.000-04:00

Another favorite Moldova photo features my firewood chopping partner Tanya, making idle threats.

Going Public

2007-04-19T17:05:00.000-04:00

Hi Friends and Family,

Nothing “update worthy” has happened since I’ve arrived in Ukraine a few days ago, but I want to share about some unique experiences I had in Michigan.

As I prepared to go home, the students at Hollywood Elementary School (in Stevensville) gathered A LOT of stuff for the orphans here in Ukraine. In fact, 280 pounds of blankets, hats and gloves, underwear, toys, deodorant, and other things. We filled four boxes, each to the 70 pound limit. It’s coming by boat through http://www.meest.net/. (For those who later ask for the cheapest way to ship to Ukraine)

The school allowed me to speak to nearly all the students at Hollywood in a series of mini-assemblies. It’s an interesting challenge to talk to kids in public school about your job as a missionary because you can’t speak freely about God.

I wouldn’t violate the law or school rules and I want to honor those who allowed me to speak, and those who collected clothing for “my” kids. But I also wanted to say something valuable to the kids, something they could “take away” after the project was complete. So I took out the “God vocab” and said things like this…

“…I really love my job. I feel like my purpose on the earth is to reach out and help orphans, and bring them hope…”

“…Every kid is special and important, whether they have a family or not, regardless of skin or hair color, or if they have physical or mental difficulties…”

“…If you’re really smart, or good at sports, or popular, or have more than other kids, those are gifts. You don’t have those gifts just for yourself, or so that you can brag about your math score being higher than another kid’s. You have those gifts to help others. If you’re the toughest, strongest kid in your class, it’s not so that you can push smaller kids around. But you should use that gift to protect the weaker ones…”

On driving home, I thought about those words. These values are shared by many people, Christian or not. Nobody will call the school board in opposition to anything I said. But there are some God fingerprints on those concepts.

If the universe and all forms of life are here by blind chance than nobody really has a purpose. Valuing human life is false, contrived, even delusional. Everything and everyone is just here by natural selection - which means genetically and locationally “lucky.” (locationally is not a real word)

But all kids are important and special. This value is not always embraced here in Ukraine. In the atheistic Soviet Union, children with disabilities were looked upon as defective and inferior. Residue of that worldview is still in Ukraine, and we fight that mentality continually. Special needs kids are not given the care and time they could have, and it’s not just about finances. It’s a case of which lives are considered valuable

And the idea of strong children protecting the weak violates that principle of the “survival of the fittest.” Getting rid of the weak and the poor and the mentally ill will mean a better gene pool for future generations. This is ideology in the writings of many social Darwinists.

And that’s what makes our God so great. How many times does the Bible express God’s love for widows and orphans? Most people working here in Ukraine have a share of that love in their heart. Our belief, our love for God, shapes the decisions we make and the things we do.

Babushka with an Axe

2007-03-06T17:23:00.000-04:00

On the right is the Babushka from the story below. No, not all the way on the right, that's Vicka. I mean the Babushka next to Vicka. You're such a jokester.

Moldova Retrospective

2007-03-06T17:21:00.001-04:00

First, some news. I’m coming home March 15th for visa renewal, but I’m taking care of taxes, my house, and a special Veggie birthday party. I return to Kyiv April 12. Hope to see many while I’m home.

Did you ever want to live among the Amish, just for a while, to see what it was like? I’ve been impressed with the simplicity, their self sufficiency. Understand, I love electricity. I love hot water more. I like technology, except of course cell phones.

My recent trip to Moldova leaned a bit Amishward. A good percentage of the water I used, I cranked out of the well myself. Electricity was never promised. More bathrooms were outdoor than indoor. I even saw a milkman with his horse and cart with those big metal canisters of milk you see in the movies. Yeah, he knew I was a foreigner.

The main purpose of this outreach was to set stage for a school starting this fall. YWAM is starting their first Discipleship Training School (DTS) in Moldova’s history, to train more missionaries to do the kinda stuff I do. We worked with area social workers (I’m told there are 6 social workers for 40 thousand people), making contacts for ministry opportunities for those future students. Meanwhile, I taught English to several groups. We visited and prayed with ladies in a nursing home, and visited special needs kids.

And I did something I surprisingly loved. I chopped wood for Babushkas. (grandmas) I kinda hate to bring this story up, but one day, while three of us men were working, a babushka came out to give instruction. I’d say she was around eighty, but one ought not ever to ask.

She said, “Malchik, malchik, nyet nyet. Smauhtri.” (“Hey, boy, not like that. Watch me.”) With that she lifted the axe high in the air and quickly hacked through a log. Completely put us to shame, mere amateurs in her sight. How could this woman hoist such an axe and bring it down with that kind of force? They sure make ‘em sturdier in Eastern Europe.

There’s something that feels wholesome when you’re helping people like this, hauling a bucket of water for a widow or playing soccer with a lonely kid. It’s not like preaching to a crowd or going to yet another meeting. You’re helping a person with a simple, obvious need. The sermon isn’t necessary.

The Bible doesn’t record this, but remember that time Jesus fed the 5000? I bet that evening, he stunk like fish. He’d been handling the stuff for hours maybe. Why wouldn’t he smell? But that’s a righteous smell, an honorable smell. He was gettin’ dirty for the people he loved. Mixing the spiritual and the practical.

At the end of the woodcutter day, you say, “I’m tired. I could use a shower… oh yeah, no water.” But it’s fine, because the widow will stay warm for half a month at least. Why do I love this so much? Silly Markus, it’s written all over in the Royal Book. Helping widows and orphans is a major ingredient in “pure religion.” (See James 1:27) I like it mainly because the God I serve is looking at me, smiling.

It's a dog

2007-03-06T15:44:00.000-04:00

We visited special needs kids with the help of social workers. This little guy was quite amazed by the balloon animal.

Riding the Marshutka

2007-03-06T15:40:00.000-04:00

Two of the students I went to Moldova with. Isn't that a great picture of Sveta?

Land of Moldova

2007-02-05T14:53:00.000-04:00

You might not hear from me for a little while. I’ll be spending the next month in Moldova and I don’t know about internet access. Does this require a geography lesson? Just wedged in between Ukraine and its southern neighbor Romania, is a former Soviet Republic called Moldova. Click here for a little map.

I won’t lie to you. Before I came to Ukraine, I’m sure I’d heard of Moldova before, but didn’t pay attention. So I’ve been learning about Moldova on the internet. (There’s an obvious lack of English books on the subject here, maybe everywhere) Let me share a little of what I’ve learned. Moldova was part of Romania until it was swallowed up by the Soviet Union. Today it’s the poorest country in Europe. Though it became independent in 1991, it was the first former Soviet country to actually elect a Communist as its president (in 2001). Eighty percent of the men are unemployed and sixty percent are alcoholics.

Not very encouraging. Still, I’m the eternal optimist. I know that the glass is just a little more than half full no matter what the little lines on the side say. So I began searching websites that included “I love Moldova” and “Moldova is great” to get the other perspective.
Moldova is very green and very beautiful. They’ve preserved much of the forests that have all but disappeared in much of Europe. The people are laid back, and I’ve read that there “are few places on earth where people who don't know you, will slaughter five animals in honor of your arrival and invite the whole neighborhood to drink…” I won’t continue there because he goes on to tell what they’re drinking. :O)

Even the websites based on “I love Moldova” were usually formatted like this. “I love Moldova because it’s my homeland, but the problem is…” Funny that the more I read about how bad Moldova is, the more excited I am about going. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But hearing “don’t go there, it has nothing to offer,” makes me want to prove people wrong. I want to go to the places people call hopeless because I know I have hope to offer. Poverty and alcoholism won’t disappear because of our trip there, but I’m convinced it will evaporate for someone.
I’ll be working with a team from our base (the Discipleship Training School) who are on the outreach phase of their school. Someone has also arranged for me to go to a local church where I’ll be conducting five seminars on how to reach at-risk kids.

So keep me in your prayers. I’ll be traveling by train this week. I’ve still got seminars to prepare for and things to do before I leave, but it’s going to be a great time.

Oleg Grabs It

2007-02-05T14:23:00.000-04:00

This picture proves how Oleg is developing. He is now grabbing toys when we hold them out to him. Thanks to Pam and Madi for mailing the package of baby toys. More pics coming soon.

Upside Down Oleg

2007-02-05T14:10:00.000-04:00

Oleg giggles like a madman when you turn him upside down. You see the magic marker on his pajamas? That's deliberately there so that the pajamas will stay in this particular hospital wing. This picture is posted for the girl I met on Sunday who confessed she was an Oleg fan. You know who you are. The fever is growing...

Apartment Hunt Part 2: Fine Dining

2007-01-28T02:23:00.001-04:00

This is Part Two from the apartment story I told last week. I grew up with the value that you eat everything off your plate, no wasting. This idea was challenged through some unusual food experiences.

While I was finding a new apartment, my friends the Colkers made arrangements for me to stay at a house with some Ukrainian grandparents. The downside was that I had to cut an hour at the beginning and end of every day for travel time. But it made for some unique dining experiences.

Mama Vera enjoys cooking. She's from the village, what I'd like to call the Acts 10:13 School of Cuisine. "Rise Peter, kill and eat." She didn't like my quick banana or yogurt breakfasts. Food needs to be hot and there needs to be lots of it. One morning as I was walking out the door, she called down the stairs, "Markoos, nuzhna kooschit." (Markus, you need to eat) In her hand was a plate with three eggs and five sausages. On the table, tea and bread was laid out. How could I leave it when she already made all that preparation? I had been worried about being late, but Mama Vera guaranteed it.

Some meals weren't part of the normal American diet. In her family you can expect soup at every meal, breakfast included. To Mama Vera's delight, I ate what I was served. The weirdest breakfast she served me pasta with "chicken belly buttons." (chicken livers???) I think I impressed the family that I ate it... Is impressed the right word?

But the ultimate Mama Vera meal was on Christmas Day. She set before me what looked like a bowl of ice with like pieces of meat in it. Frozen soup? "Yazik..." she said, and looked at me. "Yazik" means "language," and at first I thought she wanted the english word for this dish.

"Ya nye znayoo" (I don't know) I told her and then remembered: "Yazik" also means "tongue." She wasn’t asking me a question. She was serving me tongue! Upon closer inspection, it wasn't frozen water but clear jello.

For the geeks among you, (I know I'm one) here's the science, when you boil bone or cartilage, the end result is this gelatinous substance. It's true, this is how jello is made. Of course ours is mixed with sugar and other things.

Next to the bowl o' tongue, was a beautiful white cake decorated with madarins and kiwis. Three year old Bianca was sitting next to me. She pointed and indicated what she wanted. Not the cake, but the tongue. That can only be a cultural phenomenon. (She ate my portion)

And so God prepared for me not just a temporary place to live, but a never ending supply of exotic foods during my stay. That means yet another chapter.

Mmm, fish

2007-01-28T02:18:00.000-04:00

This isn't terrible Ukrainian cuisine. I just wanted a picture of me eating something gross to supplement the story. (Didn't take pictures of the Tongue) This is actually hideous fish that my roommate from Nepal eats.

An Amazing Compote

2007-01-28T02:14:00.000-04:00

This is pretty neat. It's called Compote and you're looking at a canning jar with fruit and juice. She even has branches and leaves from the fruit bushes. I love this stuff.

Apartment Wars Part I

2007-01-15T15:40:00.000-04:00

Here’s something else you can pray for in Ukraine. Business Ethics. It’s a big problem here. I have friends whose entire ministry is teaching godly business principles. It’s a big need because it’s a problem even in the church.
Today’s adventure tells of my most dramatic foray to date against sketchy business practices in Ukraine. My landlord wanted us to pay an additional $180 rent. I told her that even if I loved the apartment, I couldn’t afford that kind of rent. This is a longer story, so I'll tell it in two parts.
It was just a bad apartment. Exhibit A: A Pull Chain Toilet. The principle works like a water tower. When you pull the chain, gravity pulls down the water and flushes the toilet. Kind of cool in a science class kind of way, but it’s bulky and monstrous and technology you only (should) find in the villages now.
Exhibit B: The Radio. There is a monster radio on the wall. Wish I’d taken a picture of it now. The funny feature about the radio is that it had volume control but no way to change the channel. Know why? It’s left over from the Soviet Union era when they didn’t want you to have access to any information except the Communist Propaganda.
Exhibit C: Winter Air Conditioning. I’m not kidding. Last winter, the place was so drafty, we used the kitchen as a walk in freezer. The fridge/freezer broke but it didn’t matter. I just put the stuff on the window sill and kept it frozen there. I had to move my mattress to the center room, close the doors at night, to keep the one room warm with a space heater.
Exhibit D: The phone. Didn’t work for four months. Four months?!?! We finally had it fixed ourselves.
When I told the landlady I wasn’t interested in the apartment at the price she wanted, she said we had about three weeks to get out. I made arrangements to stay in another friends’ apartment from that day until the end of the year.
The next morning she called to say we had until next week to leave. Then that afternoon she called and said we had to leave by Saturday. It was Tuesday.
What was I supposed to do? I was leaving in two days to the orphanage in Komarnikva with the dental truck ministry. Then I’d be home one day to then leave for Uzhgorod for Christmas with the orphans there on another trip. That would give me two and a half interrupted days to pack up my belongings, and find a place to stay. I told her that she originally gave me until the end of the month and I would get out as soon as I could. But with my schedule, it was impossible.
She told us that if we weren’t out on Saturday, she would call the police on us. There was nothing we could do since our contract had expired. I checked and it was true. I had never been threatened with police action before. Merry Christmas.
I was so angry with her. Three times within twenty four hours she changed on us and could do it again. We had been good renters, always paid on time. We were patient when the phone didn’t work and paid to fix it ourselves. But when we wouldn’t give the inflated rent she wanted, she turned into somebody else.
I don’t have any reason to believe the lady was a Christian. I don’t know her heart. I saw fruit of another lifestyle. But as followers of Jesus, we have a responsibility. We teach and believe in integrity and honesty and righteousness. But does that come through at work, when we do our taxes, when we wait in traffic?
In this country, there’s continuous pressure to pay bribes to get things done. One orphanage wanted “under the table” money for us to keep working with the kids there. A traffic ticket can be avoided with a little bonus for the police.
No matter where you live, sometimes it’s convenient to “supplement” a little of the truth to avoid conflict or to improve a story. We’re tempted to take office supplies that wouldn’t be noticed at work. But for the convenience, we surrender a piece of our conscience. We give a piece of ourselves for postage stamps.
Genuine faith washes over into our wallets and our relationships and our conversations. The truth we believe must be the truth that we live because there’s no price for going to bed with a clear conscience.
I'm not homeless, but the next part of the story is fun enough to save for next time. Check back soon for Part 2.

Oleg's New Bed Spread

2007-01-13T08:48:00.000-04:00

This one goes up for Calyn, one of the many Oleg fans! This picture's from November when someone important came to visit the hospital. You can always tell when television cameras or politicians are visiting, because suddenly everything in the hospital gets pretty and the orphan children wear their finest. Sometimes some of the the decorum stays, but eventually it's back to white sheets and holey pjs. So keep them officials coming!

Gingerbread Church

2007-01-06T17:44:00.000-04:00

This just in. My first gingerbread creation. It's a gingerbread church. Story is below somewhere. I didn't do it alone, but I did design it and make the pattern.

Oleg Reaches Out

2007-01-06T05:31:00.000-04:00

Go ahead and pour yourself a cup of coffee. It’s time for another Oleg story. To recap, Oleg is a boy in the hospital who’s been diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy and Microcephaly. (I remain skeptical about the Microcephaly) He’s about two years old and has lived his entire life in the hospital.
I’ve can honestly say I’ve spent more individual time with Oleg than any other child in Ukraine. We see each other twice a week. I’ll see him today. He’s way behind developmentally, partly because of his physical problems, but also because of the lack of stimulation.
We work on several areas. Oleg can’t sit up on his own. He doesn’t really roll, but can move about when he’s on his stomach. He’s experimented with solid food, but doesn’t really care for bananas. I’m even working on trying to get him to speak.
Normally, you can use a toy as motivation for babies, especially in teaching them to crawl or walk. They need a reason to leave their comfortable position. When they see and want the toy, they pursue it, and that moves them along the developmental path.
Oleg doesn’t seem respond to those kind of things. Oh, he’ll laugh and smile and likes to be tickled. He’s happy to look at whatever I present him, a bear, a spoon, or a mirror. Sure beats watching the ceiling all day. But he just doesn’t try to take the toy. It’s almost like he approaches life like watching TV. He’s easily entertained by it, but only as a spectator, not a participant.
That is, until this week. Because we didn’t have many children at the hospital, I was able to focus almost exclusively on Oleg. We have a regimen. Stretch and massage his legs and arms. Move the legs and hips in a way that encourage him to roll around. We practice sitting. I even make little noises for him to imitate, trying to get him to “talk.” All kinds of stuff.
But that big goal is still to get him to reach for things instead of watch them. I placed Oleg on his back. I shook a toy that’s part rattle, hour glass, teething ring, and squeaker. I moved it back and forth and he tracked it with his eyes and head. I brought it close to his face and far away.
“Go ahead, Oleg. Grab it. You can have it if you grab it.” It’s the same thing I’ve done for months and months. I touched his hands with it first and then moved it away. I did my best to advertise it as the coolest toy ever, shaking it, rattling it, turning it.
Then surprisingly, Oleg started shaking for a second. Not like he was convulsing, but like he was trying to work himself up to do something, like a boxer moves as he enters the ring to face his rival. All at once he reached and grabbed the toy! “Hooray! Good job Oleg. Maladyets! (“good job” in Russian.)
Again, I took the toy and coaxed him on. “Go ahead and take it. It’s yours if you want it. Listen to that noise. See how it moves? You want it? You want it?” And again he shook as if trying to wake up his arms and grabbed the toy again.
One more time. “Here it is. It’s over your head. It’s to the right. To the left. Can you get it? Do you really want it?” Like Gulliver escaping from the Lilliputians, he pulls up slowly and whacks at it. And there was rejoicing throughout the hospital room.
Clearly my “Epic Adventures” aren’t about parachuting or white water rafting. I’m not eating bugs or dodging poisoned spears. But I’ve seen Oleg take another major step after days and weeks and months of trying. And I saw him fight to do it. You know what this means? The fight is in him. His body might not cooperate yet, or maybe he doesn’t know how to make it cooperate. But I saw the desire, and if you have the desire, you keep going forward.
I hope you too have the desire and keep moving forward.

Blue Santa?

2006-12-29T09:11:00.000-04:00

No, you don't have to adjust the color levels on your computer. Det Moros, (Grandfather Frost) the Ukrainian Santa, sometimes comes in Blue instead of Red.

I'll Have a Blue Santa without You

2006-12-29T09:01:00.000-04:00

People often ask me how Christmas is, or what Christmas is like here in Kyiv. I’ve been trying to describe in my head what the emotional feeling is about spending the best holiday of the year in Eastern Europe, and I think I’ve come up with a satisfactory answer. Christmas is like… well it’s a lot like Tuesday.
I can’t really put a finger on it. I’ve tried to make Christmas feel like Christmas. I’ve bent over backwards making the season as Christmasy as possible. I have 211 Christmas songs on my computer in mp3 format that have played over and over. I had a multitude of Christmas parties. I played Santa Claus (aka “Det Moros” twice), once in an orphanage and once in a hospital. I watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “The Year Without a Santa Claus” (starring Heat Miser and Snow Miser. You remember them?) I’m surrounded by people I love and who love me. We’ve exchanged gifts. Steven and I performed a puppet show with the obligatory “true meaning of Christmas” message. But there’s that missing element…
I made my first gingerbread house this year, well, not exactly a house. My friend from Finland invited some of us to come over and take part of this construction project. We were supposed to bring decorations, like mints and gumdrops. But in my quest, I saw the Kinder eggs.
Kinder eggs are hollow chocolate eggs with a plastic yellow yolk inside. The yolk always contains some sort of toy. (they’re cooler in Germany) The eggs usually have little figures in them. So I decided to buy two eggs so that we had someone to live in the house.
Since we hadn’t made a decision on what to build, we decided to design the house around whoever came out of the egg. So I opened the first egg and out came… a robot. The second one was a little mouse praying. So we decided to build a space ship for the robot and a church for the mouse. So altogether it looks like the robot has come from outer space to discover the true meaning of Christmas, where he meets the mouse.
My computer says that the Christmas song I’ve listened to the most is “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” the song recorded by Bing Crosby. I can honestly say the highlight of my Christmas was the 45 minutes I spent on the phone with my sister and the family. We didn’t talk about profound things, I mainly remember Barb Ratter’s sandwich cookies and lots of discussion from Isaiah about his new Buzz Lightyear stuff.
So I guess the missing element of my Christmas can be expressed in three words: Bing, Barb and Buzz. It’s fun to say anyway. Merry Christmas! Bing, Barb, and Buzz!

Look at all these Bears!

2006-12-17T09:48:00.000-04:00

All the happy Goodie Bag makers prove that it really is more blessed to give then receive.

What I Always Wanted

2006-12-17T09:43:00.000-04:00

Too young for deodorant, Popovich was just as happy with his new bear (and a bag of Whoppers to boot).

Sonya Claus

2006-12-17T09:40:00.000-04:00

Despite a great audition and an attractive beard, Sonya did not receive the role of Det Moros (Father Frost) this year.

Christmas Deodorant

2006-12-16T12:43:00.000-04:00

Until this week, I’ve never seen someone get excited about the gift of deodorant. I mean, at my house, it was one of those practical things that mom gave you in your stocking. For Christmas at the gypsy orphanage, we gave away toys and music, fruit and candy. But deodorant seemed to be the surprise hit in Uzhgorod this Christmas.
I just returned from a 16 hour excursion by railway from Kyiv to Uzhgorod. Unlike last year, I was in charge of this year’s trip. There were eleven of us altogether, representing four different nations; Denmark, Finland, Ukraine, and the United States.
We spent three days at the orphanage, coming after the kids were done with school. The first day, we played games outside. Winter 2005 was record cold for Ukraine. This year is crazy mild. We saw snow in October and it hasn’t really appeared much since. These are the same children we had summer camp with in July, so Day 1 was a time to reacquaint with old friends and make new ones.
Our second day was almost all on stage in the orphanage mini-auditorium. We presented the Christmas story (acted out by the children) and sang Christmas songs. We sang Silent Night in all of our native languages, (and German too, since I could…) I also had it printed in the Klingon dialect just in case, but there were no actual Klingons on the team this year.
The last day I wore a shabby St Nick costume and we gave 93 goodie bags to all the kiddos in the orphanage. (The kids range from maybe 7 to 18) When I was home in America this last time, I returned to Kyiv with two suitcases of teddy bears and stuffed animals. These went to the smaller children and the girls. We tried to make “manly” gift bags for the older boys this year, which is why the deodorant was included. When we handed out gifts in the “big kids” classrooms, the students pulled out the deodorant sticks to see what they smell like. They were happy and it was quite a big deal.
In discussing this afterwards with Ukrainians, I learned that deodorant is really considered a luxury item, and in the villages, almost nobody wears it. Certainly orphans don’t get any. It costs about the same price here as it does in the states, around $2 a stick. That doesn’t seem like much unless you consider that at the best of times, I can buy all my groceries for a week for around $14 equivalent. (Disclaimer: I am considered frugal for an American.)
People are continually asking me about donations for the orphans here. I’ve now got a couple more ideas. Deodorant is a wonderful gift, and if you find it at a great price, we could use lots of it. I’ll certainly give out more at camp this summer. Another idea is teenage oriented Christian music. They listen to a lot of garbage here. I’m ashamed to be an American sometimes when I look at the entertainment we export. For some reason, it seemed these guys gravitate toward boy bands and rap music.
So a big part of my Christmas is behind me. Thanks for helping me celebrate it through your support and prayers.

High Pumpkin Pie in the Sky Hopes

2006-11-27T11:51:00.000-04:00

Last Thanksgiving, I missed pumpkin pie twice. That is, I missed it (it was something that I really wanted) and missed it (it was at a party but I couldn’t attend). This year I had it three times. How’s that for making up for lost time (and weight)?
I actually had Thanksgiving a week early this year. I was invited by some friends to go to Zhitomer for a holiday celebration with some American missionaries I didn’t know. Good ole Liz was being visited by her mom. Her mom had brought all the actual stuff from America so that no detail would be overlooked. We did have pumpkin pie and turkey and green bean casserole (with the crunchies on it) as well as the cardboard decorations of pilgrims and such. Everything about a proper Thanksgiving for me, except that my family wasn’t there. It was kind of funny in that way. It felt like I came to America for Thanksgiving, but that I showed up at the wrong house.
But here’s how God used this for me. I’ve gone on and on with people who will listen to me about how the local church is the key to reaching the orphans in Ukraine. Orphans, if they don’t have a “regular family,” need a spiritual home, not nice weekly spiritual visitors (missionaries). Even if they don’t have natural parents, they can find spiritual parents of all kinds in a church. People that will show them how to cook, and study the Bible, and balance a checkbook. Three things I’ve found that kids are really missing when they’re raised without parents: a sense that they’re valuable, ability to discern people’s character, and the ability to make decisions beyond their impulses. These are things the church is, or should be, really skilled in. I’m willing to invest in a church that’s willing to invest in its orphans.
In sharing this vision, I’ve been told by others that Ukrainian churches don’t have a heart for missions. Ukrainian missionaries (I mean born in Ukraine) struggle to find support from their church if they feel called to do ministry outside of the church building. This is a truth for YWAM Kyiv that I’ve seen first hand. So I think people tend to me skeptical about my vision for local churches.
Ah, but the church in Zhitomer has changed everything for me. It turns out the missionaries I visited for Thanksgiving work with a local Baptist church. This church has been increasingly involved in the orphanage there for years. I don’t know all the info, but I can now say “Here’s a model that what I’m talking about can work.” I thought it only existed in my imagination, but they’ve been doing it long before I imagined it. So meeting the folks there is on my list of things to do. I already have an email address and people connections so I can investigate.
I think the “so you see Billy” conclusion is that you can’t let the well intentioned skeptics in your life stifle your vision. Don’t get me wrong, my vision is in its pre-formative, early-early stages. But I think it was Doc Sumrall who warned us to, “Watch out for the dream stealers.” It’s very easy to say, “It’ll never work,” because of a failure and a disappointment and because someone made you a promise but you got burned. But if it’s from God, hold that dream tight.
Whether you enter your Promised Land or not, is wholly dependent on who you choose to listen to.

Newest Team Member Yulia, giving a Haircut at the Orphanage

2006-11-27T11:48:00.000-04:00

New Pal Misha

2006-11-27T11:46:00.000-04:00

Oz and Ends

2006-11-13T01:36:00.000-04:00

Remember when the Lion in the Wizard of Oz sang, “If I were King of the Forest”? That song has come into my mind when I’ve faced situations that I was unable to do anything about. Often that comes with cultural issues or decisions I wouldn’t have made. But as of this week, I have a bit more forest to run. Or at least three trees and a clearing.
So here’s the big news. I’ve been asked to take on the role of ministry leader for Key of Hope. As far as I understand, this means that I’ll be in charge of the direction of the ministry and decisions on how we do things. I’ll be leading the week by week vision. I’m also working on ways to disciple the staff, making sure everyone is growing spiritually and exercising their gifts and vision.
I’ve agreed to take on this position for a year and then see what happens. In other jobs, promotion means bigger salary. In my world, promotion simply means more responsibilities. The reward is being able to steer the ship. That’s fine for me. I work for Jesus anyway. Corporate America is so far from where I live. Unless you count McDonald’s down the street which is affectionately known as the other American Embassy.
I hope in reading this, you don’t think, “Wow, in charge of all of Key of Hope ministry. That’s huge!” But there is, as of today, around eight and a half people on our team. (The half person because they’re with us part time, silly) As well, two of the staff are out of the country and two will be leaving for a while in December. So it’s not a very large kingdom, but then I’m only comfortable with a tiny one.
That leads me to another parallel between YWAM and Oz. Somewhere in the movie version, Dorothy said, “My! People come and go so quickly here!” Hmm, Dorothy said that just before leaving Munchkin land herself. Rascally ole Dorothy. There is a natural revolving door to training centers, where students are equipped to be sent out. That comes as no surprise.
I want to see more stability among staff. I’m praying for a long haul mentality for the Key of Hope team where possible. I think if you have a strong support structure and people feel good about what they’re accomplishing, they’re less likely to look for something else. People need… well, I need to feel like I’m making a difference. And we need to feel like we’re growing spiritually.
So the simple time when I was just carving a little ministry schedule for myself is now over. I sometimes walk by myself at night and say, “God, I just want to change the world. Is that too much to ask?” And of course it is, I know that. So pray for me. If I’m going to follow this road, I’ll need courage, love, and brains.

A Tale of Two Cellphones

2006-10-31T16:51:00.000-04:00

Alas, but today’s update is a tale of woe. It was the worst of times, the age of foolishness, the epoch of incredulity, the season of Darkness. Dare I say, even the winter of despair, with nothing before us, and we were all going direct the other way. This paragraph was written for the literate among you.
Why all the overstated drama? I have taken the first major step toward true Borg assimilation. I am now the owner… gasp… of a cell phone. I can see my would-be friends around the world wringing their hands and cackling at my disconsolation. “Finally, he’s become one of us...”
My cousin Fred told me, “Wait as long as you possibly can to get a cell phone.” It isn’t my fault, Fred, really. It’s the Kyivian phone system. They forced my hand. I haven’t had a working phone line in four months. How can a world class city of 2.5 million people not have a cooperative phone company? But it’s true. I told people they could contact me through email or through skype. But to no avail.
You may not have experienced my unbridled hatred for cell phones (it’s okay for Christians to hate cell phones, just not the people who use them). It stems back to a distaste for regular phones. I remember hearing about the first car phones and thinking aloud, “What gives? The car is supposed to be a place you can escape the phone.” Then, like cancer, cell phones began appearing everywhere. First with drug dealers and divorce lawyers, then to day traders. Finally it invaded the lives of regular folk.
On our missions base, our prayer times and services continually pastiched with the telltale chirps of self phones*. Just this morning, after worship I stopped playing the piano and the first sound was not a prayer, not an amen, but the electronic ditty of a mobile that I’m sure was an emergency. (sarcastic italics not available in all email formats) It happens in church on Sundays and in restaurants on Saturdays and every day in between. These are people I love who love God too but can’t give Him priority over their ringers.
I’ve been reluctant to join in this sort of cacophony. So after I gave up on our line being repaired, I relented aloud that I needed to buy one. Tim, a good friend, told me, “I have an old self phone you can have. It’s not reliable and shuts off sometimes when you walk around with it in your pocket, but you’re welcome to it.”
Free phone? Beats throwing money away for something I didn’t want. I accepted the offer. My roommates were delighted that I brought the beast home. But the phone didn’t work at all.
“No, this is perfect.” I told them, somewhat relieved. “I can honestly tell people I have a self phone without being bothered day by day by the noise of it.” And I dropped it in my coat pocket.
Later I was walking home one of the girls (don’t get goofy ideas. We live in the city and I walk home all the girls) and pulled out the gizmo. She told me, “Oh I have a self phone just like that, except the back keeps sliding off so I bought a new one. You can have the old one if you want, it really does work.”
So now I had not one but two cell phones. I took the back off of Tim’s phone and put it on Krista’s phone and it stays fine. And while Krista’s phone worked but she couldn’t find the charger, Tim had a charger but no working phone. So I created one working self phone from the two cast offs, a virtual Franken-Selfphone.
And so I’m making the best of a necessary evil. All the same, I feel like I’ve violated some sort high principle. What if this is the first step toward spiraling down some moral abyss, where next I’ll start drinking coffee, then start eating tofu, then at the very bottom, I’ll buy a Macintosh computer. Just keep me in your prayers.

* “Self phone” is a brilliant spelling variant of “cell phone” that I recently saw on a memo written by a non-English speaker.

Watching the Balloon Lady

2006-10-30T10:51:00.000-04:00

2006-10-30T10:42:00.000-04:00

Girls at the orphanage

A Year in Kyiv

2006-10-21T08:06:00.000-04:00

This past Wednesday marked my first year as a full time missionary in Kyiv. This causes me to wax nostalgic a bit, so I think I’ll do a first year retrospective. You know those lame tv show episodes that consist almost entirely of clips from previous shows? That’s just the work of lazy writers and low budgets. I won’t do that.
When I first arrived here, I had only met a few people by email, and knew very little about what I would do. Don’t get me wrong, I did all the research I could. But there are some things you just can’t know about.
Soon after I arrived, I met a guy from Norway who’d been here for a short time. I had the stars in my eyes of an Indiana Jones wannabe on a new adventure. He warned me, “It’s fun here at first, but trust me, three weeks from now, you’ll want to go home.”
Extended missions trips always have that kind of a honeymoon phase, and then when the newness wears off and the frustration of trying to live in an unfamiliar culture hits you, then many people go into a dark “I hate this place and I just wanna go home” period. Then that normalizes as you get accustomed to the foreign culture and you take the joys and frustrations as they come. Budding missionaries take note. This is normal and to be expected.
So I understood what Mr Norway meant by three weeks. I know when I was in an outreach in China for a month, I loved it and I really loved the people I was with. But I was happy to come back to the universe I understood. Just trying to understand Chinese people who were trying to speak English was mind numbingly tiring after a while.
But I never hit that dark time here in Ukraine. In fact, by the time three weeks had gone by, I really felt like I had found my place here. I had plenty of great friends and was leading worship already. There were frustrations here and there, but I really came to recognize that at least for an extended season, this is where I belong. I wanted to tell my Norwegian friend that it was all cool, but he’d already gone home. Poor fella.
Just for fun, here’s the quick list of the worst things that’s happened to me in Ukraine in the last year. Bit by a dog, slipped down a metro shaft, got pick-pocketed, ran out of peanut butter, got really really cold a bunch of times. Worst, after four months of no phone service, I’m forced to get one of those how you say, “self-phone” things to communicate. But despite all of this, my scars healed, my sweaters came in the mail, my wallet was recovered, and most importantly, my peanut butter was replenished. I still have all my limbs and most of my sanity. God is good. In fact, the worst experience, when my dad passed away, happened while I was home in safe ole America. Even that shows me how good God was to let me be home when it all happened.
So this is for you dreamers who think God’s calling you to something bigger, but you’re not sure about leaving the safety of your known world. He’s there, always, and He understands the language. He’s figured out the science. He’s already preparing you for the new job. He knows the ending of the book. He knows where the money will come from. It’ll be okay. Just watch your step when you get off the metro...

Wreck Room

2006-10-21T08:00:00.000-04:00

Big Ugly Bus

2006-10-21T07:50:00.000-04:00

Public transportation is a wonderful cheap way to get around. But this photo doesn't do justice just how ugly and smelly and smokey this bus was. Truly an amazing vehicle.

A Year's Worth of Bananas

2006-10-02T17:13:00.000-04:00

     In the baby hospital, they normally serve the orphan kids a baby bottle of (I hope) liquefied oatmeal.  It’s been called other names.  “Swill” comes to mind.  I guess that’s okay when the child is an infant.  But if the baby is over a year old and has teeth and all, they really need something more.
     Last time I was home, I confessed that on occasion, we sneak bananas to the hospital kids.  One of my supporters (I’ll respect their anonymity) has a soft spot for Oleg.  Before I left, she gave me some money specifically to buy bananas for him.
     “Holy Cow,” I laughed, “With this, I could buy him a banana every day for a year.”
     “Well okay,” she said, “You can get the other kids bananas too.”
     So it’s becoming my habit to always buy a bunch of bananas on the way to the hospital.  Side note:  I don’t have a clue where the little grandmas (babushkas) are getting bananas.  Roadside venders in America sell things they grow in their gardens.  But bananas in Kyiv?  It’s a mystery.
I’d been talking to Inge about my concern for Oleg.  I don’t seem him developing like I should.  He’s getting bigger, but he just lays there in the crib.  He’s a year and a half now, and while these babies are always behind for various reasons, he’s not even crawling.  I personally give him a lot of attention when I’m there.
     The time came for me to give Oleg his first banana.  As soon as I walked up to his crib, his face lit up and he laughed.  That’s always a good sign.  I picked him up and told him (in English) “Oleg, I have a special treat for you.  This is called a banana.”
     I propped him in my arm, and peeled a banana, putting it in front of his face.  He looked at it and turned back at me smiling.  New toy?  I even put it up to his lips with no response.  Just smiled at me.  Fun game.  He was saying.  We’re pals.
     “Okay kid, this is not a microphone.”  Then I realized, living in a hospital room, he’s probably never seen solid food before and never seen it eaten.  So I broke off the top half of the banana (already touched his lips) and set it aside.  I had him watch me eat the rest of the banana.
     Understand that I wanted him to see EXACTLY what I was doing.  You know how mommy teaches you not to chew with your mouth open?  I couldn’t do that.  Making as much performance as possible, I had Oleg watch me bite the banana.  He watched as I chewed the banana to shreds.  He heard my continuous color commentary about its scrumptious banana goodness.  In psychobabble, we call this “modeling.”  Later someone will have to model for him “proper table etiquette.”  With that show, I got no credibility.
     It worked.  He took several hesitant bites and I watched the funny expressions on his face.  Oh, that I had pictures.  But they’re in my head.  After playing for a bit, I set Oleg on his belly in the crib.
     You know what he did next?  He propped himself up on his arms to look outside the bed.  He has weak neck muscles and was wavering back and forth, but he was definitely holding himself up.  He even skidded himself forward.  I couldn’t believe it.  I called Inge over.  “Look at this kid!”  And there was great rejoicing throughout the room.
     It’s such a privilege to be there with a child when they hit landmark moments like “first solid food” or “first tentative step” or “first projectile vomiting.”  No, scratch that last one.  Definitely not a privilege.   Working with orphans and abandoned babies, you see so much buried treasure.  And there’s more below the surface.  They’re wonderful, precious kids and yet they’re forgotten, even discarded.  Nobody’s keeping their baby books and photo albums, first haircut samples.  Only guys like me get to be in on these life celebrations, and only when we’re there at the right time.
Thanks to all of you who support me and pray for me and provide bananas for me.  I don’t want to be all sappy, but God really made me a big old saphead.  It’s so fulfilling to help unlock the world to these little guys.  Days like this, I really, really love my job.  If only they’d let me take him home for a while…

And for all of you Oleg fans...

2006-09-26T10:20:00.000-04:00

You asked for it, you get even more Oleg photos.

2006-09-26T10:02:00.000-04:00

Nirmal enjoys the state of the art washing machine, the only new thing in our bathroom, save that tube of Colgate on toothpaste row.

All Washed Up

2006-09-24T12:33:00.000-04:00

The washing machine story.  Been saving this one.  I’ve been sitting in lectures all week about life skills training for orphans.  Not an interesting read.  So instead I’ll share a recent testimony about laundry.  No seriously, it’s a decent story.
When I first arrived in Kyiv, my roommate wanted to split the cost of buying a washing machine.  I turned him down, first because I didn’t know if I’d be here long enough to necessitate buying major appliances.  Second, I just didn’t want to spend the money.  I hadn’t figured out my budget yet.  So, for the first couple of months, I hand washed all my clothes.  Not fun, but going Amish was probably good for me.
Of course, that got old quick.  Then a Ukrainian friend made a funny suggestion.  Her friends at another base had washed their clothes in a crazy way.  Imagine how a washing machine agitator works, except make me the agitator.  (This actually would not be a new role for me)  Hmm, it’s easier to explain this step by step:

Fill bathtub with water for wash cycle.

Add laundry detergent

Put dirty clothes in tub. Note: Don’t exceed the clothesline limit

Take off socks and climb in bathtub

Slosh through dirty clothes for 10 to 15 minutes then drain dirty water.

Pour new clean water into tub for rinse cycle.

Slosh around washed clothes for another 5 minutes.

Drain tub, wring out clothes and hang on line.

Note: Not for use with delicates. Ha! Delicates? No such thing in my wardrobe.

First time I did this, I laughed myself silly.  “Markus,” I said, “You are such a hillbilly.”  And I was.  But outside of wringing out the clothes, laundry was really quite fun.  During future loads, I started up the Media Monkey on my computer so I could splash around to my favorite tunes.
Being the wise little financial planner I am, (thanks Larry Ameling) every time I did laundry, I put a little money in an envelope for the day that I grew tired of the Grape Stomp Laundry Method. (© 2005, pat pending)  This way, I would lessen the economic pain when I made the purchase.
Finally one day in July I decided that I wouldn’t want to GSL anymore come November.  I would buy a real washing machine in the fall.  To say my apartment gets cold in the winter is a bit like saying Fruity Pebbles cereal is bad for you.  It’s technically an accurate statement but the adjective doesn’t touch the magnitude of it all.  I had a good nest egg (two-thirds of my share) set aside for a machine and told my roommate I was nearly ready to make the plunge. (pun intended)
But within a couple days, I got a message from Nurlan.  Would we like a washing machine?  They had one in an apartment that they’re no longer renting, and have no place to put it.  God blessed me with a free washing machine.  I never even prayed for one!
I lugged our “new” machine up to our apartment the day before I left for the states.  Didn’t even have time to hook it up.  Now, of course I use it all the time.  I’m told by some female that the only downside is that I’m no longer getting my feet exfoliated.  I don’t even know what that means.  Girls are weird.

2006-09-11T11:18:00.000-04:00

Oleg was a little droopy today. But he was happy to see me after a month of absence.

2006-09-11T11:15:00.000-04:00

We celebrated this little guy's third birthday with a new pair of shoes. Orange and Blue fight, fight!

2006-09-11T11:08:00.000-04:00

A little balancing act from the girls at the orphanage.

The Game of Life Skills

2006-09-11T10:35:00.000-04:00

Life skills.  You learned them and didn’t even know it.  Sharing.  Vacuuming the floor.  Making scrambled eggs.  Doing laundry.  Maybe you discovered the ones you didn’t have when you went to college.  Maybe your wife still says you still don’t have some of them down.

That’s one of the roles of parents in equipping their children for the “world out there.”.  In Key of Hope, we are trying to teach some of these skills in fun and creative ways to the orphans in our charge.  Next week, in fact, I’m going to a life skills training course, sponsored partially by CBN, the Christian Broadcasting Network.

We do have another plan that’s forming.  Many of the basic skills that I mentioned above are difficult to do in the confines of the orphanage, due to health laws in the kitchen, or maybe child labor laws.  These are things I hear.

So we’re looking into renting an apartment for a month in Makariv, (home of the orphanage) and bringing the children there for life skills stuff.  One possible scenario would be renting it through the Christmas season, and preparing for a Christmas celebration.  But that may be too soon.  The ducks aren’t quite lined up.

I think it will be fun for kids to leave the orphanage and hang out in our little apartment.  Like a field trip.  Yippee!  In their village, rent isn’t expensive.  I’m told around $150 a month.

Anyway, it’s my job to make a proposal and/or presentation for the orphanage director, to see if we can get permission to do all this.  In fact, no matter how good our ideas are, the director (who’s quite nice) controls the shots.  So keep me in your prayers.

One week, I’d like to devote to making pancakes.  Or actually the better Ukrainian version, which is called bliny.  They’re more like crepes.  In that week, we could introduce kids to measuring cups and spatulas and frying pans.  They can learn how to break eggs.  Plus teach the hygiene in washing your hands before, as well as washing dishes WITH SOAP at the end.  Sorry, the caps reveal a deep seated issue in my heart.

So here’s a nifty opportunity to make this communiqué a little more interactive.  I’m looking for suggestions on what life skills, and how to present it.  If you’ve got a clever idea, you can email me at captaincrouton@hotmail.com or post it as a reply on my blog  at www.markuswolf.blogspot.com

Reflections on Playing Rough

2006-07-26T16:00:00.000-04:00

     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!

Water Balloon Volleyball

2006-07-16T02:30:00.000-04:00

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

Steven Meets the President

2006-07-16T02:29:00.000-04:00

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

Sweat Equity

2006-07-15T10:56:00.000-04:00

     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.

Market Research

2006-06-27T11:44:00.000-04:00

Well I’m in my last days before leaving for camp in Uzhgorod.  You ought to know that I’ll be a little internet inaccessible.  I’ve been shopping for materials and supplies, and it makes me long for Walmart.  Was it Faith who quoted to me, “If you can’t find it at Walmart, you probably don’t need it.”  They have a store here called, “Metro” and it’s as close to Walmart as I’m going to get in Kyiv.
So I wasn’t able to find plastic baseball bats, but I bought some toy samurai swords instead.  I could find watercolor paints, but no brushes.  That should make for an interesting craft project.
Of course this means I’ll need to shop instead in the open market.  I was just hoping for finding everything at one place.  But I really love the open market system. (The Russian word is “REE-nok”)   As a pretty strict rule, unless I’m at Best Buy, I hate shopping.  You know the feeling (if you’re a guy) when you’ve been in a store for almost an entire hour, you feel like if you don’t get out soon, your head will implode or something.
It’s different in the open market.  There are no slick ad campaigns and giant pictures of super models daring you to be different, just like everyone else.  You’re not force fed the latest hits from the artists of today.
The outdoor market consists of individual kiosks, where people sell their stuff.  In the open market, you’re a human being pit against other human beings in a quest for that singular toilet plunger or box of matches.  In the O.M. you’re buying regular things from regular people.  If you don’t like the price, you look for another stall where they’re selling it cheaper.  Or, if you’re a haggler (I’m not), you can try to talk the price down.
Prices are better for food in the open market, and your produce and bread will be fresher to boot.  I’m not sure about other stuff, but I imagine it’s cheaper in the Metro.  Still, when I buy that cheese grater, I’ll get it in the O.M.  The thing about shopping the market, is that you’re helping “the little guy.”  Often the saleslady is a “babushka” trying to supplement her meager pension.  For an American to buy a half kilo of her homemade carrot salad helps us both out on different levels.  And you can’t beat the price at sixty cents a pound.
Of course there are certain things I wouldn’t buy in the open market.  Meat for example, or fish fresh off the stack.  I wouldn’t buy a laptop off the street, though I could  get DVDs that way, new movies in two languages for $5.  Oh but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

Rianne and Rachel Singin' in the Band

2006-06-18T17:41:00.000-04:00

Okay, this isn't their normal expressions. But I like Silly. Rianne and her husband went back to Amsterdam this weekend. I'll miss them.

Oleg's Full Body Shot (Okay Kip?)

2006-06-18T17:38:00.000-04:00

Here's Oleg all scrunchied up chewin on his thumb. We'll take good care of you, young man.

A Massage Message

2006-06-18T17:35:00.000-04:00

     Sadly, my digital camera has ceased to function.  But I’ve still got lots of pictures to show.  Hopefully this issue will be resolved soon.
     Dorothy said of Oz, “People are always coming and going around here.”  Same goes for YWAM Kyiv.  One by one, the YWAM schools are finishing up their classes.  Four schools are all finishing within a couple of weeks: the communication school, counseling school, discipleship training school, and School of Biblical Studies.  I’ve made significant friendships in each school and I’m continually saying goodbye.  Not fun.
     But some people in my life here aren’t going anywhere very soon.  Like these babies.  It’s been exciting working with the little fellas this week with all the new things we learned from the American nurses last weekend.  Let me tell you about little Oleg.  (pictured above… oh and below too)
     Oleg has a pretty bad case of asthma.  I’m not sure what other reasons he might be in the hospital, but I often hear him heaving, trying to breathe.  Off the top of my head I’d place Oleg around a year and a half, but I didn’t really pay attention.  He’s a pretty big boy and it’s hard to tell with orphans.  They don’t usually get the nutrition they need and tend to be undersized.  But not always.
     Oleg has been in the hospital for about two months.  And funny things happen to your body when you lay in a hospital bed for extended amounts of time.  In Oleg’s case, he tends to keep his arms at his side, not stretching them out.  No reason to.  But muscles that aren’t used are muscles that shrink, and he was losing mobility.
     My first mission in arriving at the hospital is to get Oleg to stretch those arms without hurting him.  It doesn’t take much and it’s better all the time.  You just rub his arms down from the shoulder while gradually pushing his arm down into a straightened position.  It’s just a case of relaxing some muscles and stretching others.
     The other thing with Oleg is his breathing.  I’ll prop him up against me, cup my hand slightly, and gently thud on his back to loosen up the stuff in his lungs.  He’s a great little kid and really ticklish.  So if I barely squeeze his little thigh or rub his neck, he’ll squeal and coo.  Moochie Moochie.  He loves all the personal attention and I turn it into a game instead of a “medical treatment.”
     Last Friday I was happy to see that he was reaching out for me to pick him up.  His arms were almost fully stretched out and a big smile was on his face.  The daily Mother’s Care visits are really paying off.
     And before I forget, some people were interested in knowing how they could help Marina, that little girl I mentioned last week.  If you’d like to help out with her medical costs, you could send the check to:

Mothers Care
PO Box 513,
Crystal River, FL 34423

The check should be made out to "Mother's Care" and is tax deductible.  (501c3 in America) Email Rebecca at  mothers_care@hotmail.com and tell her that you gave specifically for Marina’s medical expenses.

I guess I’ve talked plenty so I’ll close it off for the day.  Thanks for your continued prayer.

Bouncin Baby Boy

2006-06-13T03:42:00.000-04:00

Tolek (Short for Anatoly, I think) is a Ukrainian Jumping Bean. He is always excited to see you and is perpetually in need of a Kleenex.

Tell Me About Your Dreams

2006-06-13T03:40:00.000-04:00

Daniel is a pretty no nonsense child. He almost always looks serious, like he's trying to work through quadratic equations or something. He does think it's pretty funny when he tries to walk though.

Whatever Happened to Marina?

2006-06-13T00:30:00.000-04:00

At three years old, Marina has had a lifetime of health problems. She’s dealt with a cleft palette, gangrene, multiple amputations, blood problems, skin disease and some conditions I don’t even know the names of. I wrote a little article back in December about masks and this frail little girl.

It’s been six months since that time, and she’s actually a bit of a pioneer in the Mother’s Care ministry. She’s now the first child under our custody. After two years of wrestling with paperwork, government and hospital administration, she is now under our custody. Sonya, a Ukrainian on our team, is her official guardian.

What makes this situation unique for me, is that my nephew at home is a week younger than she is, and their lives are so vastly different. Marina has spent her entire life on a hospital bed and it’s evident by her health and development. Isaiah can speak clear conversations, run like crazy, and beat rhythms on his drums. Marina doesn’t even have the mechanics to do any of this at the moment.

She just had surgery this past Thursday, and when Marina’s recovered well enough for travel, she and Sonya will be flying to the United States where there are doctors ready to help her. Most importantly, she’ll be out of the orphanage system and with people who will give her the time and care that a little girl needs.

Ultimately, Mother’s Care wants to set up a home to minister to more children like Marina. Imagine a place where all children can feel loved and valued, no matter what their situation is. That will soon become a reality as the funds are raised to set up such a home.

In other news, we’ve had some visitors from the states this past weekend. A few nurses from Pennsylvania stopped by for a weekend to teach us. They specialize in physical therapy specifically for helping children develop. Babies in the hospitals are left in their cribs nearly all day. Because of this, they don’t get the exercise and the movement that they need, which causes other health and growth issues. We were taught techniques for helping our little guys loosen their stiff muscles and lend a hand in developing their motor and language skills.

The weekend was very beneficial for us and for the children we work with. I look forward, this week, to applying some of the things we’ve learned. God is good and is really equipping us to help His kids.

Da Boys from Uzhgorod

2006-06-04T11:42:00.000-04:00

This is just a handful of the ninety kids who will be part of our summer camp in July. Good boys.

Ski Shoes for the Summer

2006-06-04T11:41:00.000-04:00

I was surprised to see one of the orphans wearing ski shoes like the rest of us wear sneakers. Those are his real shoes that he wears every day. Gotta take what you get.

Camp Challenges

2006-06-03T17:41:00.000-04:00

I started writing this update on a train from Uzhgorod back to Kyiv. It’s a sixteen hour ride. Yippee! Long train rides are really fun with the right people and the right location. I can’t even express the beauty of the Ukrainian countryside with the rich dark soil and the hints of the Carpathian mountains. You can see old fairy tale style thatched roofs in some places. It feels like we’re like a small part of God’s train set.

We’ve been doing groundwork for a weeklong camp for orphans. Uzhgorod is in the southwest corner of Ukraine, just on this side of the Hungarian border. An interesting feature about our camp, is that our campers will be almost exclusively gypsy children. According to an article in the BBC, it is believed that gypsies are the most hated race in Europe. Many campgrounds won’t even let us rent the facilities when they find out the kids are gypsies.

It grows more interesting though. There are many more needs with orphans than the “churchling” kids or unchurched kids I’ve worked with in the past. Here’s a few challenges I’m facing.

We expected forty kids and we’ll be getting ninety instead. The age range is between 6 and 16. The camp will go from Monday to Friday, the first week of July.
Orphans need and desire more adult attention. One thing that challenges workers in the past is a sort of clinginess from the kids. My team has made it a goal in the past to have as many staff as kids, but this will be impossible with this amount of campers.
These children haven’t been taught about hygiene as a lifestyle. In fact, they take a shower and are given a change of clothes once a week in the orphanage. Good hygiene will be a focus point at our camp, and the kids will make t-shirts midway through the week.
Due to situations beyond our control, we’ll be having the camp at a former military base. There is no playground there, no swimming facilities, or any child friendly equipment. We need to import the fun.
We need staff who can speak Ukrainian, Russian, or Carpathian. They’re mostly westerners who come to help. Not as many local workers.

I’ll be the camp director this year. Even though I have the least experience with orphan camps, I have the most experience directing camps. We also have a church team coming from the Faroe Islands to help.

I sincerely ask for your prayers as we plan for this really important activity in the lives of these orphans. This is a major event for them, in ways that kids from nuclear families cannot fathom. God needs to be revealed to these kids as their Father. This is a tough lesson if your earthly father has been abusive, has dropped you off at an orphanage, or is completely absent from your life. As far as I know, that’s the normal situation for all of these kids.

Baby Oleg

2006-05-27T23:17:00.000-04:00

Just cuz he's so loveable, here's a picture of baby Oleg. He has a bad case of asthma, but he's quite ticklish too. Hey, you could adopt this baby. Why don't you look into it?

Mother Gooseland

2006-05-27T23:15:00.000-04:00

Shrinking the picture sorta ruins it, but it is so beautiful in southern Ukraine. Notice the thatched roof in the background.

Going South

2006-05-27T06:12:00.000-04:00

A week an a half ago, I was walking my pal Rachel home one night.  (Don’t read anything into that, it’s a safety thing)  The conversation turned to “Ultimate Vision.”  You know, the whole “I’m doing this right now, but what I really want to do is this,” conversation.
     I told her that I loved working with orphans, but what we can do as missionaries is so limited.  Ultimately, I want to speak to churches about embracing the orphanages of their communities.  I would love to invest into the kid’s ministries of churches, who are willing to invest in their orphanages.
That’s the only way we could reach all of them.  The Bible says, “I will build my church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it.”  He never said, “I will build my missions organization…”  God’s plan is to use the church.  The main need of orphans is a home, not a foreign visitor.  Local churches can provide for the kids in their village a spiritual home, if orphans choose to receive it.
     God is amazing.  Within a week of this conversation, Sergey approached me and said, “How would you like to come with me.  I’m speaking to about forty Baptist pastors about the AIDS problem and the orphan system in Ukraine, and maybe you could speak for a little while and do a presentation.”
     God is so cool.  The very thing that was on my heart quickly turned into an open door.  I found myself traveling four hours southward, through beautiful Ukrainian country side to a little country church where there was an annual meeting of area Baptist pastors.  And the pastors were very open.
      There are exciting things happening for orphans in Ukraine.  The government would like to end the orphanage system in favor of a foster care system.  This would take children out of the institution and into family settings.  But it requires finding people who will care for children.  And the government is willing to pay families to do so.
     This is a great opportunity for the church.  There are 100 thousand orphans in the system with very bad statistics in the horizon.  What if even a quarter of these were raised by loving, Christian families?  That would be 25 thousand lives eternally changed, and equipped to face life’s challenges.  This could change the tide of suicide, prostitution, crime and alcoholism on a much grander scale.  But it’s in the hands of Ukrainians, not Americans.  As it really should be.
     Pray for me, that as God opens these doors to speak to churches and pastors, God will open eyes and hearts to His plan.  Orphans and adoption are at the heart of the gospel.  If only we would listen.

2006-05-17T13:24:00.000-04:00

These are my friends Torben, Jeannette, and their traveling duck. Sorry I forgot his name. Believe it or not, I know more than one couple who have a traveling duck. I think it's a secret movement.

2006-05-17T13:14:00.000-04:00

There was a happy reunion of puppets old and new on the couch. Here the gorilla is retelling the airport story below. In his version, he's somehow always the hero.