Three hours ago I had everything that I wanted to say planned out for this blog post (which is long overdue... sorry). But unfortunately something happened that shook me up a little. So just a quick disclaimer - this post might be both unorganized and schizophrenic.
There have been moments here this week that I'll never forget and are changing my life. They didn't occur outside a beautiful monastery or while roaming a piața or even during some crazy Romanian beer festival. They happened sitting inside a humble room painted with pastel colors and full of the beds of sweet, little children, outside in a backyard playground with uncut grass and swings getting rusty, and in hot, muggy, small hospital rooms. It has been in the small and simple moments I've spent with these little children that I'm beginning to understand myself and Heavenly Father's plan a little better. I wish that there was some way I could transform the feelings and impressions from these moments into words in order to express what I've learned and felt. But part of what I'm learning here is that words actually account for so little, and seeing as I'm a barely adequate writer, this is sure to be a poor record of what's actually happened. But I'll try.
It was about two or three days after I started working in my assigned room in the orphanage, about last Thursday or Friday. Every day the workers and kids would go outside for the first hour and a half or two hours to play. I loved to chase the kids around and push them on the swings and try to get to know them each better. Because of the individual conditions of each child, sometimes it's hard to know what sorts of activities to do and it makes it hard for some of the kids to get along well. I was beginning to notice that sometimes a few kids in the wheelchairs would be outside one day and the next day I wouldn't see them. I wondered where they were during the time we spent outside. I think it was Thursday that I asked a worker if I could go play with the kids who weren't outside but still apart of my group. She told me I could if I wanted to and told me they were upstairs. I walked upstairs to my room and found no one in the main room. However, off to the side, in a connecting room with some beds, I saw a boy who looked so fragile I was afraid to touch him. I went to go sit by him. I ran my hand over his hair and tried to get a reaction to my Romanian, "Hello, how are you doing? What's your name?" After exhausting almost my entire Romanian vocabulary and gesturing skills, I still hadn't gotten him to look at me or do much other than stare at the spot on the wall he was gazing at. I started to feel useless and, regrettably, I got up to go to the other room.
I am sad that I gave up so quickly on trying to interact with that boy that morning. But later that night, I decided that I wasn't going to give up completely. I read about him from write-ups written by past interns and learned what sorts of things he liked to do and what his background and diagnosis was. I said a prayer in my heart that I could make some difference to this little boy who sat in the same spot everyday, all day, staring at the wall and ceiling. The next day I was anxious to stay inside and try to connect with this special kid. Again, I sat and spoke to him for a couple of minutes, holding his hand, trying to gauge his mood and reactions. I started to get scared and feel useless again, but I knew I couldn't just walk out on him again without trying something new. I said another little prayer in my mind and almost immediately I remembered reading that he loved to be flipped on his stomach and have his back massaged. But like I said before, this boy looks quite fragile and I wasn't sure how to pick him up and put him on his stomach. It took a couple of minutes to work up the courage and confidence to just do it, but as soon as I did so, this boy's face lit up. I hadn't seen even a flicker of emotion from him previously, so the contrast was huge. I started to massage his back and he flipped his head to look at me and gave me a wide grin. It totally melted my heart. Until then I hadn't considered how sore he must be from laying in the same position all day. It was such a simple, easy thing for me to do, but it made such a difference for him. After a couple minutes, I figured that he probably got sick of being horizontal all day, so I tried to prop him up against me so that he was sitting upright. It was like having his back rubbed was him being sad in comparison to being able to sit up. He wouldn't stop grinning and gave a little shout of joy. I can honestly say that I hadn't felt quite so humble in a long time. Here was this boy who found sheer and utter joy at being able to sit up. I felt so priveledged to be the one to facilitate and witness and share in his elation. It honestly could've been anyone. It took no special talent or skill to do what I did. I think that is what was so humbling. I really felt like I was the middle man or tool to show this boy Heavenly Father's love for him. Everyday that I go in to play with this boy, he just loves to get his back rubbed and to sit up and explore the world from a new view. He's teaching me to find the joy in the seemingly smallest blessings and the greatness of God's love for each person.
Another tender moment that I had was outside on the playground. One of the boys in my room loves to take my hand and pull me around to every different area and go up and down the slide and on and off the swings over and over again. He doesn't talk but understands a lot of what is said to him. His grunts and shouts in reply to my questions and actions remind me that he has the same wants as any normal little boy. After a long time of him pulling me all around the playground area, I had him go by himself so that I could help another kid. He didn't like this, but digressed after awhile. About 5 minutes later, I was sitting at a table talking to a worker, and this little boy comes up to me and looks both sad and tired. I ask him what's wrong and in reply he sits down next to me and plops his head in my lap. He wraps his arms around my legs and starts to hum a little. It was the sweetest thing. Normally very active and up running around, this kid just wanted to rest and came to me. He ended up sitting on my lap wrapping his arms around my neck, with his face against my shoulder. Ever since then, he will be running around somewhere but randomly stops to give me hugs. It is the cutest thing and I don't know what I did to elucite such expressions of fondness from him, or if he even really likes me. All I know is that I thought I was going to be showing all these kids that they are loved, but instead, everyday when I get a hug from this little boy, I feel like the most special and loved person. Funny how that happens, huh?
The last little moment I want to share actually happened today (although there are so many little moments that I could share). This one happened at the hospital. I was in the ICU and the nurses directed me to a room with two babies who didn't have mothers. One of them, who we have nicknamed Yoda Baby because of her wrinkly skin, I had already seen and held before. The other baby I had never seen before though. After spending awhile with our little Yoda, I walked over to hold and change the other baby. It took me about half a second to get nervous. I always want to hold and rock each baby in the hospital, but sometimes it is scary when they are very sick or fragile. This little girl seemed to be in so much pain and her breathing was labored, sick from mucus and crap that was stuck in her system. She was crying so I had her hold onto my finger with her tiny hand as I stroked her dark hair. When she had calmed down, I decided that I would try to hold her so she could get that human contact that is so important at an early age. I can't describe the fear and sadness and helplessness I felt as she struggled to breathe in my arms. Holding her calmed her down, but her struggle to breathe was magnified to me as I felt her lungs and ribs expand and contract. I had a couple moments of panic as she stopped breathing for a couple of seconds. I have never been nearer to someone who seems so close to dying before. I felt the fragility of life in those minutes that I held her in my arms. I'm not sure how to describe how I felt, but I know I was filled with an immediate and rich love for that little girl who had done nothing wrong in her life, but was in so much pain. I learned today that "it's not about your scars, it's all about your heart." Even though this little girl had no parents, no one to take care of her, and poor health, I knew that God loved her so much and plans on giving her every possible opportunity and blessing as anyone else despite her present situation. We all have bodies, but we aren't just our bodies. I will never forget the love I was filled with as I held that precious little girl.
I could go on forever about the small things that have happened that have made great impacts on me. There have been so many incredible moments. I am truly learning so much and I am continually amazed at how much these little humans have to teach me. I know this isn't too exciting, but know that I am loving my experience. My days are tough, rewarding, exhausting, inspiring, eye-opening, and funny. I try to take it all with a grain of salt and laugh at anything that could potentially be offensive or embarrassing (aka I get laughed at in Romanian 98% of the time and the other 2% in English). I love this life that I have and all the people that make it worth living!
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| And yes... I did duel with a small child. Yes, it was the highlight of my life. |
