This journey has been the hardest thing we have ever done. The emotional roller coaster ride of highs and lows is exhausting, and it is so hard to feel level when the mood swings and coping strategies set in with the teens. We want desperately to connect with them, to be their parents.
This morning I helped Tanya shampoo her hair (on her request, to my delight), as she bent over the tub, me massaging the sudsy liquid into her scalp, warm water running down her head and hair. Then, later, as we stood on the balcony overlooking the Dnieper River, me combing her beautiful, thick brown hair with natural highlights, she allowed me to mother her for a moment. I wondered if she had ever had someone mother her like this. I spoke tender words to her, some of which were understood I think, of how good our Jesus is and of my love for her, and on and on. She hugged me tightly, and we stood there holding each other, as the sun made the river sparkle and our hearts connected. Viktor came around the corner, and he could have turned around and gotten out of there, but instead, he came and stood by us, looking out the window at the river, too. I put my arm around him and leaned my head against his strong shoulder, and told him how much I loved him. He didn’t run away. A holy moment indeed.
We realized we needed to head back to Matvivka for some things for the children, so we called our driver and we met him downstairs. We drove in silence, as we looked out the windows and watched the tall, dilapidated apartment buildings, lined up like stern soldiers, pass by. After miles of farms and weeds we arrived at the green gate at Matvivka. Viktor was out of the van in a flash, running to see his friends, and Pastor Nicolai was standing in the courtyard next to the van that would take some of the younger children to camp today. Tanya ran to find Yulia, and Viktor found Yuri, and soon Zhenia and Vova and Katya and Daniel appeared, with hugs for everyone.
We spent about an hour at Matvivka, watching Yulia and Tanya laugh and catch up, and Viktor share his new music with some friends via Scott’s I-pod. Scott lost a few more games of ping-pong with Yuri, and some of the younger boys asked, “Why is everyone getting adopted except me? Can you find a family for me?” Our hearts broke again.
When it was time to go, the mood seemed to shift instantly. In a flash, leaving Matvivka had set off a trigger, and the kids withdrew into their shells during the long van ride to McDonald’s. We tried to imagine their sadness over leaving their friends and their home and their former lives behind. We had dreamed of a happy meal at McDonald’s as a treat that other families have enjoyed with their new adoptive children, but ours was spent with little talk, downcast looks, and earphones in place, their minds and hearts far, far away from us.
We walked back to the apartment, which was a long walk. It was a part of the city we had not yet seen before, and it was a much nicer side of Zaporozhye. Fountains, parks, and interesting architecture and sculptures met us as we meandered past shops and dogs and people. The walk was mostly quiet. Scott and I held each other when we got home, in a rare moment of privacy, and I cried. I looked at the pictures of Mary and Isaac that Jamie had put on facebook, and I missed all 3 of my little ones so badly. I hope this valley means there’s a mountaintop somewhere.
This morning I helped Tanya shampoo her hair (on her request, to my delight), as she bent over the tub, me massaging the sudsy liquid into her scalp, warm water running down her head and hair. Then, later, as we stood on the balcony overlooking the Dnieper River, me combing her beautiful, thick brown hair with natural highlights, she allowed me to mother her for a moment. I wondered if she had ever had someone mother her like this. I spoke tender words to her, some of which were understood I think, of how good our Jesus is and of my love for her, and on and on. She hugged me tightly, and we stood there holding each other, as the sun made the river sparkle and our hearts connected. Viktor came around the corner, and he could have turned around and gotten out of there, but instead, he came and stood by us, looking out the window at the river, too. I put my arm around him and leaned my head against his strong shoulder, and told him how much I loved him. He didn’t run away. A holy moment indeed.
We realized we needed to head back to Matvivka for some things for the children, so we called our driver and we met him downstairs. We drove in silence, as we looked out the windows and watched the tall, dilapidated apartment buildings, lined up like stern soldiers, pass by. After miles of farms and weeds we arrived at the green gate at Matvivka. Viktor was out of the van in a flash, running to see his friends, and Pastor Nicolai was standing in the courtyard next to the van that would take some of the younger children to camp today. Tanya ran to find Yulia, and Viktor found Yuri, and soon Zhenia and Vova and Katya and Daniel appeared, with hugs for everyone.
We spent about an hour at Matvivka, watching Yulia and Tanya laugh and catch up, and Viktor share his new music with some friends via Scott’s I-pod. Scott lost a few more games of ping-pong with Yuri, and some of the younger boys asked, “Why is everyone getting adopted except me? Can you find a family for me?” Our hearts broke again.
When it was time to go, the mood seemed to shift instantly. In a flash, leaving Matvivka had set off a trigger, and the kids withdrew into their shells during the long van ride to McDonald’s. We tried to imagine their sadness over leaving their friends and their home and their former lives behind. We had dreamed of a happy meal at McDonald’s as a treat that other families have enjoyed with their new adoptive children, but ours was spent with little talk, downcast looks, and earphones in place, their minds and hearts far, far away from us.
We walked back to the apartment, which was a long walk. It was a part of the city we had not yet seen before, and it was a much nicer side of Zaporozhye. Fountains, parks, and interesting architecture and sculptures met us as we meandered past shops and dogs and people. The walk was mostly quiet. Scott and I held each other when we got home, in a rare moment of privacy, and I cried. I looked at the pictures of Mary and Isaac that Jamie had put on facebook, and I missed all 3 of my little ones so badly. I hope this valley means there’s a mountaintop somewhere.