This past month our squad had our Parent Vision Trip where some of the racers’ parents could fly here and do ministry alongside their son/daughter for a week. Since my dad didn’t come, it was an opportunity for me and a few other racers to journey to Bucharest and find our own ministry for the week.
With Romania’s orphanages being quite renowned, personally working with Romanian orphans adopted to the US, and having a deeply rooted passion for healing developmental trauma and showing others their inherent sellf-worth and identity found in Christ, I was adamant about researching and finding Christian orphan care ministries in Bucharest. My curiosity and fascination on the subject feels insatiable. Any perspective, conversation, first-hand peek I can get inside the world of orphan care around the world, I am extremely grateful for.
To my delight and God’s supreme orchestration, the three organizations I reached out to responded and invited me for a meeting and an opportunity to join them for ministry. Yipee!!!
All of the founders/directors are originally from the US and have been working in Romania for 14+ years. They have been through it all and seen all the changes and improvements for the better inside the orphanages. I got multiple opportunities to ask all my burning questions to knowledgeable women who have been working on the field in these orphanages for years. This is a dream come true! An inside look on how they operate, how the children are treated, policies and procedures, what the government provides, ins and out of the children’s arrival and stay within the orphanage. Every question I could conceive I got to ask and receive an answer for. My head was spinning with all the information overload. I couldn’t possibly write about it all here but feel free to ask questions!
As with most things on the World Race, my experience visiting a Romanian orphanage was extremely bittersweet. On the first day my squadmate Shannon and I were able to accompany two missionaries with an organization called Heart to Heart International to a special needs orphanage on the Northern outskirts of Bucharest. With their background in teaching, their ministry looked like coming into the orphanage to work with children in small groups or one on one to teach music, transitional living skills, or reading. All taught in Romanian! Most of the kids are extremely behind and don’t receive the adequate attention or time to learn the skills they need to keep up with the class. We sat in on a few remedial reading classes with groups of 2-4 kids per class. It’s completely optional for the kids to attend, but they regularly do because they receive that positive, encouraging attention, are actually able to understand the material, and also have the opportunity to earn candy. There were two kids who were about to turn 12, but were the size of a 7-8 year olds. The missionary/teacher asked a few times and checked her spreadsheet to ensure that indeed, they were both 11. I was so shocked at their tiny stature and how one of the boys couldn’t identify the letter “r”.
The boy is of Roma background (a highly discriminated minority group within Europe, which is a huge whole other issue I could lament about) and only recently came to the orphanage. Roma families are known for not prioritizing education (generally because there is little money or opportunity to) and not having a lot of money to provide for their kids, which explains the malnourished, small stature and the lack of familiarity with the Romanian alphabet. However, almost all of the kids are behind at this orphanage, so it isn’t a big point of shame or embarrassment to be behind in school.
The teacher had a bright countenance through the whole lesson, encouraged them to try and learn new things, and played fun, connective games to ingrain the material. It was so fun to play along, to hear them chortle and laugh as we tried to pronounce their names and speak our tiny bit of Romanian, and celebrate with them when they won a game or mastered a new concept.
Overall the kids were well kept in clean, nice clothes and seemed to keep up with regular hygiene. I saw lots of smiles and laughter and they were mostly quite well behaved in the classroom. These kids would have every reason to be angry, anxious, disgruntled bundles of chaos, but that truly didn’t seem to be their character. Something I must accredit to God’s grace.
And now for the really sad day and visit.
The next day Shannon and I got the opportunity to visit a ward in a hospital for abandoned babies.
This was the experience I most craved to understand and witness, yet I knew it would be the most utterly heartbreaking. And it was.
Reference my last blog and the scene within the orphanage where the caretaker is responsible for the ten babies in the room. But now imagine that the caretaker has the knowledge and insight of childhood development and fully realizes how adamant physical touch and quality time is for a healthy infant. Imagine it’s you in that room. You can hold all the babies. Hold them, love them, caress them, snuggle them. Those are your only responsibilities for the afternoon. Just to hug, hold and love them. But how do you manage to fulfill all their needs for love and attention?
This is where I found myself. In a room with 3-6 metal cribs with sleepy infants inside. Three of the rooms had glass windows on the top half of the wall into the next room with 3-6 infants inside. So standing in any of the three rooms, you could partly see into the other two rooms.
It was a very surreal experience, the whole thing. In the US mothers are incredibly protective of their infants. There is a very real hierarchy of family and close friends who are allowed to hold or touch the baby depending on the amount of months old the baby is. There’s also a strict series of questions related to your wellness before you’re bestowed this precious opportunity: are you sick right now? Are you up to date on your vaccinations? Have you washed your hands? Can you please not kiss my baby? Maybe you should sit down? It’s very serious business, baby holding in the US. Everyone wants to but only the select few are given the privilege.
Here in Romania, in this baby hospital. It’s the exact opposite problem. Not enough hands or time to hold the babies.
I think back to most of my experiences holding babies in the US or Western countries. They are squirmy and don’t particularly want to be held. If they do, they want to be held by mom. They might writhe or jerk around in your arms unless you’re a very familiar person or they’re particularly sleepy.
Again, not here in Romania in this baby hospital. These babies are starved and desperate for any physical touch, eye contact, or quality interaction. Once I got over the fact that I could pretty much just pick up and hold any baby, I did. I picked up a probably 8-month old girl who had such sass and personality. She was cooing and making flirty eye-contact in her crib. It was easy to interact, play peek-a-boo, and mirror all her smiles and giggles. Any big, cheerful facial expression I offered, she found hilarious and fascinating. Her name was Sereneda and she was the most darling baby girl. It must be that she has some pretty severe health problems that keep her from being fostered by a family. (In Romania only children over the age of three can be sent to an orphanage. Babies under three must be in foster care or remain in the care of the hospital.) Again God’s grace, despite her terrible coughs and I know a difficult medical condition (I just don’t know what), she was the most happy, cheerful baby.
Next I went into a room with three small sleeping infants. One of them was exactly one month old. One month!!! She was absolutely tiny lying there in this huge metal crib. Think about it, how often can you picture seeing a one-month-old lying in a crib? My guess is not much. That tiny baby is always in someone’s arms or maybe a carseat. But this baby had grown accustomed to laying alone, sprawled on the firm mattress of her crib. The two other babies were roughly 5 months old. I picked up a very strong, healthy looking baby boy named Ricardo. He had a big round face with chubby cheeks and bright eyes. I expected him to squirm or be upset, but no such thing. He simply melted into my arms. No matter whether he was vertical or horizontal or how he was positioned. So content. Just wanted to be held and loved. Eager to make eye contact, to connect, to learn more about this new world he was born into. And let me tell you this kid is a fighter! He is going to make it. He demands to have his needs met. A few seconds after I would lay him down to go hold another baby, he would begin to discontentedly cry.
But there was another baby girl in the room who I felt needed to be held. Nicoleta was born on Christmas day and had literally the longest eyelashes I have ever seen. She was small for her age. When I gently picked her up she was very warm from both the afternoon sun shining in and I believe a mild fever. She had the grouchiest little face, big bushy eyebrows, and those eyelashes!!! By our society’s standards she had a harsh face and features that deem her less attractive. I prayed that surely this was not the reason her mother decided she was unable to care for her. She was also eager to be held, melting into my arms. I could tell she was feverish and not feeling well. Relishing the comfort of another person to feel consoled and secure. It was more of a challenge for her to maintain eye contact and trust me. I guessed she has had less opportunities to connect in a caregiver’s arms. After a few minutes of holding her she scrunched up her face and let out a soft cry, clearly uncomfortable with something. She needed a diaper change and I could tell just didn’t feel well. She was still very warm and felt a little sweaty. (The room had no air conditioning and was a quite warm though). I changed her diaper but she was still a little fussy.
Shannon came in and discovered the one month old, Alexandra. Obviously moved by the tiny size and how small and lonely she looked in the crib, she went to hold her. Both of us are quietly cooing and gently speaking to the babies in our arms as we incredulously look at each other. So in awe of how surreal this experience is. It’s overwhelming.
Shannon tells me about twins in another room that each have these red, itchy rashes all over their body, similar to eczema. You wouldn’t guess when seeing them in their onesies. When she went to change a diaper, she gasped when she saw how red and raw their skin was. How painful and terrible for these tiny babies to endure!
Suddenly Ricardo’s mild protests of discontent escalate to a full cry. There is just something about hearing a baby’s cry that cannot be ignored. But we already have these babies in our arms who are so craving this time and attention. And there are all the other babies in the other rooms. Ricardo, you’ve already been held. But it just hurts to hear his desperate pleas for attention. So Shannon puts down Alexandra and moves to retrieve Ricardo. But now Alexandra is upset. And my baby, Nicoleta, is still uncomfortable and now needs another diaper change and continues to softly protest and fuss.
It’s crazy overwhelming. Tears flood my eyes. It’s hard enough to try to look these babies in the eyes knowing they receive that time so sparingly. It’s hard to pray over them and beg God to extend His mercy and grace and ensure they know they are so worthwhile and loved because those are not the most frequent experiences for them. But now every time I am choosing to hold one baby, I am saying no to another baby.
Shannon and I look at each other and just lament. Both are eyes are brimming with tears. God, this is so painful, so difficult. I don’t have enough arms. I can’t hold them all. Every single one of these babies needs this time, but Shannon and I simply are unable to provide this time to all of them. My heart feels so big in my chest and it just aches. I feel so helpless. I don’t know what to do.
We rotate through the three babies, gently holding each and soothing them until they lay contentedly snuggled in the crooks of our arms. But as soon as you return them to their cribs, they begin crying again. It was horrifically painful to walk away from them.
But I kept remembering another boy who was in the same room as Sereneda. He was definitely no longer an infant. He was much larger and his long legs would stick through the bars if he was laying sprawled out. He clearly had a number of medical issues. With a tube taped to his nose connected to a vial of fluid, he laid on his stomach slightly drooling onto the bed with his brown eyes staring off in the distance. I learned his name was Valentin and he was three years old. When I approached him and tried to interact, he would jerk his arms, smack his lips and continue staring into the distance and not make eye contact. It was clear he was lacking a certain level of cognitive abilities.
When I first arrived at the hospital after initialing meeting Sereneda, I saw him lying there and was drawn to him. A much older and larger kid than the tiny infants, yet he had such minimal movement and signs of life. The tube in the nose was alarming and seemed difficult to maneuver. When I asked if I was able to hold him, the Romanian lady said sometimes, but it’s difficult with the tube. I moved on to the other babies, but the more I thought about him, I couldn’t get Valentin out of my head. As an older child with such a severe medical problem and that intimidating tube, how many hospital workers or the few volunteers that come here are deterred by those obstacles? How much physical contact is this child actually getting? I would not be deterred.
I asked Corni, the Romanian woman who had brought us here, if I could please hold him. She said yes, of course, and helped lift him and maneuver the tube as I sat in a chair next to an open crib, ready to receive him. Wow, it’s amazing the difference in weight between a 3-year-old and an infant. He laid vertically on his back in my arms and I rested his head on the crib mattress next to my chair. He leaned his head back to where I couldn’t really even see his face and he made small spastic movements when I would move and adjust him. After a few moments without me adjusting him in my arms, he lay still and content.
We sat there for several minutes, but I was not content. I wanted him to have a real connective moment and see if it was possible for him to make eye contact. A couple moments of my repositioning, his head rested in the crook of my arm, I could finally see his full face now. He jerked and twitched, but he soon became still. I could look into his eyes now. They were such a bright, beautiful brown with long eyelashes. Such a sweet face. Honestly, he had the bone structure and facial charm to be a child actor. I adjusted the loose tape on the tube in his nose. I continued to search his face and his eyes. I sang all the children’s songs I knew. Jesus Loves You, Jesus Loves the Little Children of the World, You are My Sunshine, etc. And there he was! His eyes connected. He wasn’t staring off into space anymore, but they locked to mine. Not forever, but they connected. He was there. I was overjoyed! I leaned in and kissed his forehead. (I wasn’t fully sure I was allowed to, but I did anyway). His eyes brightened and his mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. Again I’m not sure of his cognitive level, but he seemed to have a positive reaction to being kissed. So I kissed his forehead time and time again.
Valentin reminded me of Karin, my Swedish child I nannied for years ago with Angelman’s Syndrome. She lacked a lot of cognitive ability but loved to be held, kissed, or for air to be blown onto her face. I thought of all the positive love and interaction Karin received from me and everyone in her family. I thought of the private school for the developmentally disabled she got to attend and the private caretaker who spent time with her in the afternoons and took her home from school. If you’re born with a disability, life looks very different depending on what country and social system you’re born into. Had Valentin been born into a Swedish or American family, he would not be laying alone on this bed day in and day out.
The tears came again. They welled and burned. Who knew the lyrics of You are My Sunshine could inspire such painful chokes of tears? “You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.” Who thinks that about this child? Who tells or communicates to him how valuable and cherished he is? I prayed for him, his future, for grace and mercy from the Lord, that against the odds, he would know he is loved and worthwhile. But man, my heart. How can I feel so much joy that I get this opportunity to love him, yet my heart feels like it’s going to shatter? What is going to happen to him? I wanted to know the answer, but I wasn’t sure if I could stomach it.
Corni walked in to check on me and offered a huge smile at the sight of us lying there. I asked the dreaded question. What is going to happen to him? Well, he is three and won’t be able to stay here much longer. He will be going to an institution for kids with developmental disabilities like him.
My brain jumped to hearing about a similar institution for kids with developmental disabilities in Thailand. A large facility lacking anything close to the appropriate ratio of caregiver to child. So I asked, “Are there enough caregivers there? Will he ever get held?” The bluntness of Eastern Europe culture. “No, there is just enough to take care of their physical needs. That’s all they have time for.”
I knew that answer was coming. I knew his future was grim. But hearing it still broke my heart. Absolutely heart-wrenching. Ouch. It hurt so badly. I couldn’t stop the tears and I still can’t now even as I write this. I held Valentin for about an hour before I gently placed him back in the crib he had almost completely outgrown. I went back to the room with the crying trio of infants and went back to soothing one of the three babes starving for that attention and affection.
Such a surreal experience. How was this real life? How could I be holding these precious children who were thought to be “unwanted”? How can society get so self-focused and distracted that these precious babies lie here unnoticed, forgotten, and lacking the loving home they so desperately need?
I still cry when I think about it or have to retell the story of my experience. It makes me angry! I don’t understand and I don’t see much hope for these children. I generally pride myself on being able to see God’s goodness even in really difficult, awful circumstances. I’ve seen time and time again firsthand how He is able to work all things together for good. But I’m just struggling to see God’s goodness here. Especially in the life of someone like Valentin, who doesn’t have the skills or ability to advocate for his needs. I just cannot see much semblance of hope for Valentin and I cannot help but worry about what will happen to him.
God has heard my desperate pleas, my enraged questioning, my hopeless laments. I can’t stop thinking about these babies and I’m distraught for them. Day after day I fight the heavy heart and the tears. Because there is no happy outcome I can forsee. But I know that I know, I serve a good God. I know that He is steadfast, He cares, He is trustworthy, and that He loves those kids more than I can even imagine. Even though I can’t visually see or imagine His goodness in this heartbreaking situation, I know He wants justice for these kids more than I do. And I know that He is working on their behalf. They are not forgotten. They are not unseen.
God clearly came me these verses the morning after I went to the baby hospital. Psalm 72: 12-14 “For he delivers the needy when he calls, the poor and him who has no helper. He has pity on the weak and the needy, and saves the lives of the needy. From oppression and violence he redeems their life, and precious is their blood in His sight.”
Phew, God knew exactly what I needed. I don’t see those words ringing true in their lives right now, but I also recognize I only got to spend 4-5 hours there. I remind myself I walk by faith not by sight. I trust that He will bring justice to them and that He is with them.
I’m still wrestling with God on this issue and regularly remind Him of the promises written for the orphans in His word. I’m still processing the experience and asking what God wants me to do now. My passion is ignited even brighter for these kids. How is He calling me to be an advocate for them? What are my next steps in doing something about this? How am I being called to action?
Please keep me in your prayers, but mostly these kids. Pray for the children, the caregivers, the orphanages, the government in Romania, and the ministries currently working there. I appreciate it!
