After buzzing for the third time, a sweet Kenyan sister finally cracked open the gate for us to enter. Greeted by an orange grove and well tended garden, we passed through the peaceful courtyard of an orphanage where Catholic nuns run a holy haven for the unwanted of Albania.
Our friend Tanja explained how the international staff, six “sisters”, have taken a vow of poverty and live solely off of donations from the Catholic church. They care for thirty to forty children at any given time throughout the year–the higher numbers in winter when families leave their children knowing they will receive better care than the parents are able to give.
Chiara, a sweet down syndrome baby, stole my heart immediately. They needed more hands in the toddler room where I entered snuggle heaven with Delfina. Her mother died in childbirth. She was born deaf and became blind as her father left her lying in the sun all day before bringing her to be cared for at the orphanage. I was able to love Delfina with every inch of myself as my heart broke for her.
The little things God aligns perfectly never cease to baffle me–literally the night before, I had come across one of my grad school papers written on sensory deprivation which included research on institutionalization, isolation, and delayed child development as a result of neglect and absence of attachment. There was information on touch and massage therapy, and I was so glad to have been refreshed on this knowledge.
Delfina cooed and was very happy when I rubbed a soft stuffed bunny on her face. I used the therapy brush on her skin to increase circulation to her limbs, rubbed her tiny feet and held her fragile hands. The sisters told me they were glad Delfina finally had someone to give her attention–without mobility, she falls low on the priority list and mostly lies on the floor alone. I held her tight to me and kissed her sweet face so much. We practiced standing and did as much physical therapy as I could improvise working on resistance, straightening snd bending legs, rotating wrists, sitting, clapping, and holding her head up.
When lunch time arrived, I helped feed Aviori, a sweet Down syndrome baby boy. Never has spoon feeding mashed up peas been more delightful. He would bite down on the spoon so hard and just grin with his three teeth or spit the food out at me. And he was infatuated with Chiara in the high chair to his right. Half of meal time was wasted making eyes at her–such a flirt. They were too adorable to handle!
Nap time arrived, and I sat on the floor holding a four month old with a head full of the longest black hair that may have ever existed on a child that age. We sang Jesus Loves Me a whole bunch of times, and her big brown eyes were locked on mine, both of us smiling away.
Right before leaving, I fed a bottle to a ten day old tiny little nugget. To hold something so fragile and precious in your hands knowing she is without a loving home or real place of belonging will confuse all of your emotions. I could not decide whether to put her in my pocket and steal her or just cry about reality, but I settled on thanking God for the sisters and the care they are able to offer. No matter how subpar the attention each child deserves, they all have beds and food and are raised hearing the name of Jesus.
You can join me in praying for one-and-a-half year old Miriam who is in the adoption process currently. We were able to meet her adoptive parents at an English worship night and hear their story–looking through adoption websites, seeing Miriam, and having the immediate knowing “That is my baby”. The six week process requires the parents to leave their other three youngsters at home in the states with grandparents and visit Miriam at the orphanage everyday to form attachment. Very sacrificial on their part and very discouraging when a baby is teething and everything makes her cry. Prayers for the attachment bond to form quickly and deeply. And prayers that God provides the parents little assurances everyday that this baby will love them and belongs in their family.
…Fast forward one day…
“SPITALI PSIKIATRIK” it said in red above the doors of the whitewashed building. We came bearing fingernail polish, colored beads, and hearts ready to spread joy. The grey sky drizzling rain spoke to the atmosphere of this place. A mental hospital. Another home of the unwanted.
I had zero preconceived notions as to what we would face inside. We followed our ministry host across an open air courtyard, dodging puddles, and came under the scrutiny of a number of male patients taking a morning smoke. They definitely did not look like the audience for our arts and crafts or manicure station. Finally led inside by an English speaking staff member, we learned that the state run facility was a permanent residence to nearly 300 patients.
We set up our stations and the workers called for coffee. The women came filing in from who knows where to receive their European sized cup, strong and black. Noticing new faces, they sat at tables with us and I showed them how to fill heart and star and octagon shaped bases with beads.
We sat together working on our beads, mostly in silence, with their occasional questions in Albanian to which I would reply “good” or “beautiful”, the only Albanian words I knew appropriate for the situation. And of course, giving lots of nods, smiles, and thumbs up. When the ladies finished filling the bases, I ironed the beads to melt together and returned the art to their creators who would smile and begin to make another.
Music drifted in through the doorway leading outside and I peaked my head out to inspect. It was dance time. The patients LOVE to get their boogie on. I had barely stepped foot on the dance floor before my hands were being death gripped by a one toothed wonder who cackled like a hyena and was completely in her own world.
As a psych major, I immediately sort through the filing cabinet of the Diagnostic Statistics Manual in my brain. She had to be in some kind of manic state. You better believe we danced. And she laughed. And I laughed. It was certainly a dance experience unlike any other.
We had eight patients in our circle shaking what their momma gave them and loving life. Meggie had a patient with hallucinations pull her aside every five minutes to have an argument and then hug, smile, and drag her back to the dance floor. Albanian music and toothless grins flooded our souls. Our ministry host had to pull us from the dancing when it was time to go.
We packed our bags, shook some hands, and walked back into the rain. As we drove off, for some reason, the menacing building in our raindrop covered window felt a little less grey.
I hope we made them feel valued. We wanted to be there with them. With the orphans. With the patients. The same way God wants them. The same way God wants all of us. He wants to be with us. He values us.
