Do me a favor

It's a simple one, I promise.  Okay, at least the first bit is.  It's a favor that should cost you only a few moments.  Go find a picture - of yourself, your child, someone you love - at around six years old.  That fun age where most of us are in Kindergarten or First Grade, discovering all the new things about the world that we didn't know before.  The picture I have in my mind, though it's not on my computer to share, is myself, on my first day of Kindergarten - okay, a little younger than 6, but close... literally jumping off the bus with my butterfly backpack and denim jumper in such excitement to tell my mommy and daddy about my first day, that I just couldn't stand to wait long enough to walk down those stairs.  That picture makes me smile every time I look at it.

Did you find your picture yet?  No?  What's that?  I wouldn't stop talking?  Okay, well, I'm not going to say anything important for a bit, so you can step away.

Pink elephants.

Three toed sloth.

Opossum.

(Why are some of the world's most amusing things animal-related?)

Glitter.  You know, the kind that won't come off your dining room table no matter how hard you scrub?

Peeps are extremely fun to roast over a campfire.

The strangest thing in my car is 1/3 of a pool noodle.  It's a car seat thing.

Okay, are you ready now?  I think I droned on sufficiently.  Now, to the point of this post.  Keep your picture handy.  Remember what was going on when it was taken.  What 'firsts' happened that day?  What were you or the people you love excited about?  How did you end the day?  What was interesting about that day, that moment?

Here's mine.

We were visiting my great grandmother, already well into her eighties, and she and I were playing with and thoroughly enjoying my new baby brother, who would've been about six months old here.  I was wearing my favorite denim jumper, the one with the blue rose (which you can't quite see) at the neckline.  My mommy brushed my hair that morning.  Later, we had pizza and I fussed over not wanting to eat that particular brand.

Here's one of M  (because I can't pass up an excuse to show these girls off).

This was actually her 7th birthday.  A pink cake with her name on it.  Candles that she got to lick off after she blew them out.  Gifts wrapped in shiny paper.  A song sung all for her.  Look at that smile.  As if this moment was just too good to believe.

And here's one of A.

Such a mess from creating our own graham cracker gingerbread houses (which, when it came down to it, I had no idea how to put roofs on).  But it didn't matter what they looked like, as you can see in the background, the word 'dilapidated' might be used by some... but to us they were perfect... and the smile on that face was why.  You can see M behind her, 10 years old, joining the Christmas fun.  After this was taken, the hands were licked and the carefully built houses, after being photographed, were decimated by a tornado of pre-Christmas sugar craving.



All three of us fell within the range of 'typical' as far as our size.  We weren't giant six year olds or anything.  We all weighed between 40-50 lbs, maybe 4' tall.  In fact, I was the second smallest kid in my Kindergarten class, thank goodness for Robbie O.!  I always considered A super tiny, my little one who took until six to even hit 40 lbs.




Now let's meet some more six year olds.

This is Daniel.

Yes, Daniel is six.  He has hydrocephalus, cerebral palsy and some signs of epilepsy.  For this, he has been abandoned in his home country to the care of the state, where he spent his first five years in a "baby house" and was then transferred to an adult mental institution.  Adult.  You know, with 30-40 year old mentally ill men and women receiving minimal if any care, wandering about.  Because of his conditions, Daniel is confined to a bed.  What a cute shirt he is wearing - except that if the photo you're holding is a six year old boy, can you imagine trying to get him to wear this PINK shirt?  But Daniel doesn't care about that detail... he just cares about who's going to feed him and when, who's going to love him.  Daniel already has $3,000 in his adoption grant, just waiting for the family who says YES to him.  Are you that family?


This is Ekaterina.

You guessed it.  Ekaterina is also six.  A six year old little girl.  This photo is cropped, so that we cannot see the size of the rest of her body, but look at her tiny head and neck, her shaven hair, because Ekaterina, also, has been transferred to a mental institution.  I can only guess at what she weighs, but I'm certain my 'tiny' A's 40 pounds at this age pales in comparison to Ekaterina's malnourished body.  And, get this... the only thing wrong with Ekaterina... is DOWN SYNDROME.  What possible excuse could there be for allowing a precious child, whose only crime is being born with an extra chromesome, to waste away like this?


Now, this is Janna.

Janna is also six.  And she looks pretty close to the size of a six year old, right?  Except that no photo has ever been taken of Janna where she was not lying down.  For those of us in the adoption community this leads to one humbling conclusion:  Janna is in a "lying room"... a room where the children who are considered the "worst of the worst" cases are warehoused, considered unworthy of interaction, food, therapy, that could help them reach THEIR full potential.  Janna has a congenital abnormality of the brain.  Without a full doctor's report, we don't know what this means for her with proper care.  But what we do know, is what this means for her in her home country.  It means transfer to an institution (one which she so luckily has avoided thus far).  It means no blowing out birthday candles, no visits to great grandma, no sticky fingered gingerbread houses.  In fact, Janna may never even hear the words "I love you".


Finally, and I have saved him for last for he is so very special to me, is Sasha.

Sasha is now eight, but I am told this photo is about two years old.  A more recent photo on the Reece's Rainbow website shows that Sasha's growth has progressed very little in two years.  Sasha has Down Syndrome and possibly also Cerebral Palsy.  He has a lot of what they call "orphanage behaviors" - behaviors in which children engage to entertain or sooth themselves when they remain unstimulated for long periods of time.  These include rocking, head banging, chewing on crib bars (yes, many of these six year olds reside in cribs) or on their hands and wrists.  These behaviors are the defense mechanisms of children who never had a mama to teach them to ride a bike, or transform a transformer, or even a colorful book to look at.  Sasha is one of the tiniest, most vulnerable children on Reece's Rainbow, and he is facing the institution soon.  Sasha may only receive redemption through us.  Through the people who have enough to give, enough food to fill our six-year-olds' bellies up to 40 lbs.


To see more children on Reece's Rainbow, please visit http://reecesrainbow.org/.  Click on 'Waiting Children' to see children who are still waiting for their forever families.  For an uplifting story or a heartwarming moment, click on "My Family Found Me" or "Already Home" and visit the blogs of families who have already brought their little ones home.  




Now look back at your picture.  Imagine if the cards had been played differently, if the universe had dealt out a different fate, and you had been born with Down Syndrome or Cerebral Palsy in one of the countries these children call home.  What would have changed about that picture, that day that you remember?

It's scary to think about.  It hurts.  We don't want to make that juxtaposition because it pushes us to action.  But I'll go first.  I'm not afraid.

In April 1989, a little girl was born in a country in Eastern Europe.  In her first hours of life, she was diagnosed with Down Syndrome, and her parents, struggling to support themselves in the post cold-war economy, were told that she would be better off in an institution where she could receive the care she would need.  Through tears, her parents signed the papers relinquishing rights to their daughter, and went home empty-handed.  


The little girl, only fittingly named Katya, went to a different place.  This place was called a "Baby House" (although Katya had no idea what or where it was).  Katya was placed in a crib, on a thin, vinyl mattress.  The woman who had placed her there then walked away.  It was nearing the end of her shift.  The night shift workers would come soon, Katya was their responsibility.  


Twenty children lie in Katya's room, all infants.  For a room full of infants, it was eerily quiet.  Katya silently wondered where the lights, the noise, the hustle and bustle of the hospital had gone.  As the sun went down, a new woman came into the room.  She sat quietly in a corner with a book, not even glancing at the new arrival.  Feeling a strange pang in her stomach, Katya began to wail.  "I need someone to help me", said her cries.  "Something's wrong and I can't fix it", she tried to say.  Katya's crib was pushed into an empty room, so that her cries would not disturb the other infants.  The pang in her stomach never went away.  


After a few days, Katya learned that wailing or sobbing would only get her pushed to the other room, providing no relief for what ailed her.  No one was going to come to sooth Katya's cries.  So she stopped crying.  Like all the other babies, she lay silently in her crib, day in, day out.  


Days, months, years passed.  Katya learned to look in earnest for subtle signs that the bulky, putrid bottle would be shoved at her face.  That made the pain go away for a little bit.  Sometimes as she lie in her crib she realized she was covered in a sticky, yellow liquid.  Katya wanted to tell someone that this was uncomfortable, ask them to help her... but years ago, she had learned that her cries yielded no results.  Katya continued to lie in her crib... day in, day out.  


Katya didn't understand this thing called "time".  She knew that every day, the night workers left, the morning workers came, gave them their bottles, sometimes changed their clothes or diapers, all the while spitting hateful-sounding words at the children... words like "disgusting" and "imbecile."  She knew that after that she had a long stretch of lying in her crib.  Some of the children could sit up and play.  Katya tried to lift her arms, legs, and head, to move around like them, but she was just too weak... so she just lie there.  After what seemed like an eternity, another bottle was thrust at her.  Katya tried not to let any escape her mouth... that mixture that she'd once thought was so putrid, made the pain go away.  Besides, it was icky to lie in when it spilled out of the large hole in the bottle through which she drank onto her clothes and mattress.  


This happened over, and over, and over.  So many times that even if Katya had known how to count, she couldn't have tallied the days up.  Then, one day, something different happened.  Someone took Katya out of her crib!  It was a strange feeling to be picked up, Katya didn't know what to do.  She was hastily dressed in clothes she had never seen before.  She was carried around her waist to a room she had never seen before, with several big people inside.  Lots of words were said that Katya didn't understand.  Then the woman who had dressed her held her up in front of all these people.  The big people muttered, shook their heads, and scribbled on the white squares in front of them.  Then it was over.  Katya was returned to her crib.  This was a relief.  At least she knew what was going to happen here.  


And it did happen, again and again, the same old routine... for a few more days.  Then, with fear, Katya noticed that same woman enter her room and come towards her.  Katya tried to shrink further into the mattress... maybe she could disappear.  But the woman picked Katya up, just the same as last week, and dressed her again in the strange clothes.  Big, fluffy clothes that made it so Katya couldn't even see very much.  The woman carried Katya out of her room again, and then out another door, into a room where it was very, very bright.  This room was noisy, full of sounds Katya had never heard before.  A clunk-clunk-clunk as an old car made its way down the road.  A rustling as the breeze blew through the trees.  A beautiful song-like note as a bird shouted its joy to the world.  Katya was fascinated by this room.  She wanted to see more.  But soon, Katya was rushed into a big metal box.  The woman held her tightly as the metal box started to move, bouncing and clanking over the uneven pavement.  Katya was scared.  Where was her crib, her room?  She wanted to go back.  


After a short time in this box, they came to a stop.  The woman hauled Katya out by her underarm and then put her arm around Katya's waist, hastily carrying her back into that noisy, fascinating room again - but not for long.  Soon they entered another room, one which reminded Katya much of her old room.  But here there was a lot of noise.  Shouting.  Crying.  Banging.  It was scary and Katya wanted to cry.  Then she remembered another time, back in her old room, when she had these miserable spots all over her and felt just terrible... more terrible than usual... more than just the hurt in her belly.  So miserable that Katya had done something she hadn't done in a long time - she began to cry.  The woman in the corner, reading her book, had gotten up and come to Katya's crib.  Katya looked up in hope, that she would make the pain go away.  Instead, the woman had taken her hand and slapped Katya across the face.  She had said, though Katya didn't remember or understand the words, "That'll stop you from crying".  No.  Katya couldn't cry, not even in this strange, scary, new place.  


The woman carrying her came to meet a man.  They said some words and then Katya was hastily handed to the man.  Without a moment's delay, he turned and took her away from the woman, the rough and hasty woman, but the woman Katya had known for years, into another room.  


Katya was stunned at the sight of this room.  It was far bigger than her old room, maybe five or six of her old room.  There were far more cribs.  They were filled with people... some her size, some bigger, some much bigger.  The man carrying her muttered something and then went to a crib.  He pulled off the pants the orphanage worker had so hastily put on Katya, leaving only her soggy diaper.  Then he picked Katya up by the arm to avoid leaning down over the bars and dropped her in.  Finally, he pulled the stiff shirt off Katya, rather roughly, causing Katya to cry out in unexpected pain.  Now in only her sodden diaper, Katya was cold, and the man seemed satisfied.  Then he walked away, leaving Katya to ponder her new surroundings.  


This was a crib with bars like her old one... but they were higher, and harder, and the vinyl mattress was so thin she could feel the wires underneath it.  From her crib, she could see a few others.  A man, almost as big as the ladies in her old room, lie contorted in one crib, moaning and uttering nonsense.  Another girl, only a little bigger than Katya, had learned to sit in her crib and was viciously banging her head against the hard, metal bars.  Katya sat, stunned by this rapid change, missing her old crib and the hastily put-on clothes she used to wear.  She waited and waited and waited for her afternoon bottle, but the room darkened and the children were left alone in the night.  


Last time the lady had taken Katya out of her crib, she'd been taken to another room and then back to her crib.  She was gone longer this time, but surely the nanny was coming back for her.  She'd just have to wait until then.  So Katya waited.  She learned that in this place, getting to wear clothes was only for special times when strange visitors came.  She was fed only once a day, a hot, watery soup that didn't come from a bottle and usually dribbled out of her mouth and down her chin, leaving Katya hungry.  There was no nanny in the corner reading her book.  Her diaper was changed so seldom that it often fell apart, leaving her completely exposed, before someone noticed.  After a while, Katya begun to realize that the nanny wasn't coming back... this was her new home.  Katya was six years old... and what she didn't know, was that she had been condemned earlier in that white room to be with the worst of the worst... the lying room at the adult mental institution... the room with only one way out.


This story, in itself, thankfully, is fiction.  But the horrors described are not.  Many, many children are dealt this fate every single day.  It is only by the grace of God, that I was born Katie in the United States of America, instead of Katya, in Eastern Europe.  But are any of us greater than others in God's eyes?  Does Katie have more value than Katya?  Is she less deserving of a doting great grandmother, a little brother to play with, a birthday cake?

I am Katya.  Katya is me.  Only I was lucky enough to be born healthy in a country that appreciated me as an individual.  If I - someone's daughter - someone's sister - someone's friend - were lying there in that crib, condemned to die, would my loving family not do anything to save me?  If Katya - someone's daughter - someone's sister - no one's friend... were lying there in that crib, condemned to die... would you do anything to save her?

We don't have to let these injustices happen.  We don't have to rush right out and save the world, we don't have to abandon our lives or the things we enjoy, but the very least we can do for a child that by the grace of God could have been OURSELVES, or OUR CHILD... is something.

If you, as I do, feel called to adopt, take some time to do a little research.  Read a few blogs.  Watch a few videos.  Check out Reece's Rainbow.  Then decide if you might be one of those special people called to bring these children home.  And don't ever, ever let a price tag stop you.  Where God makes a will, He makes a way.  I have seen it with my very own eyes.

If you do not feel called, or able, to adopt right now... the first thing I ask is that you keep your heart open to it in the future, in case someday down the road, you are called.  You will be prepared to answer that call.  The second thing I ask, is to find some way, any way, to help now.  Here are just a few ways I am aware of that you can help these children or the families struggling to bring them home.

1. Start an adoption fund.  Not for you, unless you think adoption might be in your future, but for someone.  Print out two photos of a child who feels close to your heart.  Tape one of them to a collection jar.  I used an old vinegar bottle.  Put the other one on your refridgerator, as a reminder to think of that child and pray, every day.  When you find spare change around the house, drop it in your jar.  If you're a family who has a "curse can" or some similar behavior change strategy (ie. drop a quarter in every time you say a bad word), make that collection jar your adoption fund.  If you tithe to the Lord, include the adoption fund in your tithes.  God commands us to help the orphan.  You don't have to give your money to a church to tithe it.  In whatever way works for you, start building a fund.  One person's fund might not do much to bring a child home, but combined, we can make a difference.  I've seen it happen.  
2. PRAY.  If you pray regularly, add these children to your prayers.  If you don't pray regularly but believe in prayer, START!  And start with "God, Bless the orphan."  If you don't believe in prayer, in whatever way you find your spiritual haven, include these children.  Think of them as you meditate.  Think of them as you go about your day.  Don't let them be forgotten.
3. Volunteer.  You'd be surprised how easy it is to find an adoptive family near you who needs your help!  I found families not only in my home town but in my mom's home town who need our help to come home.  You can help by organizing a fundraiser, helping out at one, crafting and selling your crafts on a website like etsy or on a blog of your own and donating the proceeds to adoptive families.  Donate a crafted or purchased item to an adoption auction.  I know so many of you out there who have amazing gifts - with arts and crafts, with writing, with people... whatever it is that you do best, find a way to use your gift to help.  
4. Advocate.  So few people in the world know about the orphan crisis!  I mean, sure, people know that there are starving children in Africa, that there are wars and poverty all over, but when you put faces to those concepts, things change dramatically.  I always considered myself an involved, worldly person... and yet, but for a ten pound little girl from Eastern Europe, I would have never known that in stable countries with governments, prosperity, jobs, food... that children are being warehoused and starved like this!  I would have never known the extent of the crisis.  I have a heart to help.  What a waste it would have been for that heart to never know its calling!  Maybe there's someone in your life who has a heart to help, whose calling might be for these children.  How can they help if they never know there's a problem?  Spread the word.  Since starting this blog I've been considered annoying, a downer, short-sighted, judgmental... and to all that I say - so what?  At least I'm not Katya, abandoned to die in my crib.  Further, I've also been called amazing, inspirational, supportive, special... you can't make everybody happy in life, but if you can move one heart to help, it's worth it.  
5. Simplify.  As I walked up and down the aisles of a store this week, I saw many bright, colorful, fun things and thought, wouldn't this be great to have around the house?  Think of what I could do with this!  Then I stopped and thought - do I really need this?  Can I get by without it?  Do I need this as much as Katya needs a full belly and a fresh diaper?  I'm ashamed to admit I didn't always put it back. Some of these things do serve a purpose in my life that I think will ultimately help me help others.  But many things, I did put back, because I thought... I am only adding to the problem I am trying to eradicate by spending wastefully instead of donating to those who really need it.  And if you want to know where your money goes?  Well, that is one thing I can show you... just ask!

Like I said, these are only a few of the things you can do to help.  The sky is the limit, people!  Katya may not be real, the person behind this blog that you all know in some way or another may not be dying in an institution, but someone is.  Someone's child.  Someone's sister.  Someone.  All I ask, is that you value their lives as highly as you would value mine, or that of the six-year-old in the picture you found earlier.  Do something.  God has commanded us to help the least of these... these children are the least of the least.  We are all equal in His eyes.  Please... this is me begging you, on my knees, as I've heard tell of another death in one of the worst orphanages in the recent weeks... just do something.  PLEASE.