Last week I went to a children's home and the director called me into his office:
-"it's great that you come and play with the kids, but what we really need is money. So when you go home."
-"I'm gonna be here at least for another year."
-"But WHEN you go home, tell your friends about us, have them send money."
-"I'm sorry, that's not me, I work with kids; this is why I'm here. I'm a teacher. I don't touch money."
At this point in the conversation it's probably a good thing I don't know how to cuss freely in Russian, and I just walked out. Thanks for wasting my time and for making me feel like a loser spending my life loving kids. A lot of the locals are always sure to bring a load of candy or some food or something, and it seems like "we give you this as payment to be able to hang with your kids."
There are organizations that scour the world looking for NGOs worthy of dumping money on. And that's the role that people here expect me to play at first. Temporary. Mounds of money. You can work very closely with an organization for years and have no clue about its finances. Even if books were open in this part of the world, there's usually two sets...which one are you looking at? And at the end of the day, if an orphanage wasn't meeting the basic needs of the kids, we wouldn't be there, and the government would probably close them down, unless they were making so much they could pay heavy bribes. At the end of the day, money can't do anything that love can. And it's love that can do all the things that matter.
On Monday we went to two facilities for people with disabilities in a nearby city. The director was much more encouraging, as were the testimonies from the second home; I wish I could tell you the stories freely, but that would be unwise. There was one man, he came up and shook our hands: "Vitya," pointing at himself, and then pointing at us, indicating that we should give our names. He went on to do it five more times. He liked me playing the guitar so much that every time I stopped, he motioned vigorously to play. Sasha (one of the girls from our group who was singing with me) meanwhile snuck away from the music to talk with, hug, and pray with some of the less mobile patients who were just lounging about, looking forgotten. Both homes had about 200 residents, and perhaps 15 staff on duty. Most of the residents were capable of taking care of most things, but a few just sat on beds, hardly able to move, some barely clothed. Considering how touchy-feely the residents were, it was a rather overwhelming experience, although not nearly as scary as I thought it might be. These people, some of them unable to string together much more than a sentence, were many of the most joyful, enthusiastic, and grateful people I've met. Blessed people, if I had to describe them; I'd take them over a business lunch any day.
At the second home, the men were more controlled, a little more cynical, and a bit higher functioning. But still priceless when called up to perform in front of the crowd, or eager to answer a question. And they liked our singing also. I talked to one guy for some time, but he seemed cynical about the whole situation, although he understood everything I said, and ended up being more interested in asking for Sasha's digits. *Laugh*
I shook a lot of dirty hands that day. Smiling faces. Dirty hands.
On Wednesdays and Fridays we've been doing English at a children's home/boarding school. We brought Watermelon, and the situation was similar. Lots of sticky handshakes. The boys are enthusiastic, although sometimes skeptical, students.
But you know, there is a joy in dirty handshakes. :) And I'll take those over a Ben Franklin in my hand any day.
On Thursday and Saturdays we've continued with our visits. My students at the 8th District home continue to flake out, (I spent the first hour there collecting puppy drool rather than teaching English) but I continue to connect to more, and I'm starting to get an idea of just what it might take to do a successful evening class. The two girls I had this time were super-stoked to read Green Eggs and Ham.
Last Saturday was hard, and unfortunately I'm not going in with a significantly better plan this week. :/ Lesson planning. Oh lesson planning. So hard to discipline myself for it sometimes. But the boys are great, and we're getting somewhere.
I saw that September was coming; I got scared and decided to take the next chance I could to rest. So I'll be off the grid next week, trying to pray and fast and read and rest. A weeklong sabbath, when in my heart, a sabbath year seems perhaps more apt. At first I thought to find a children's home...somewhere I would be supported and relaxed, distracted enough to have a good rest. But as I realized the thought of being alone terrified me, I realized maybe I need to face that and hear the voice of God.
So pray for me this coming week. I've been trying to prove myself since the moment I've gotten off the plane. Looking for love. Looking for acceptance and friendship. I have most of those things now...but if I have those things and am not walking in the spirit, it's all for nothing. I need to reset my identity. I want to wake up with dirt in/on my hands, rather than a million opinions and things to prove and things to do. I want to be like clay in my father's hands. I'm no diamond ring, and I sure don't feel like a million bucks, but we have this treasure in earthen vessels so that this power is from God, and not from us.
So what's on your hands?
Are you willing to face God alone in the quiet?
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