We stepped through the gate of the orphanage with anticipation of something new, and saw the kids that were willing to come out and investigate the commotion. As the six of us approached, one of them walked to the front of the step, looked at us and said…
“OH SH*T”
He then proceeded to turn around and yell sh*t throughout the entire home.
I knew. That was my kid.
I’m not sure why, I’m not usually one to pinpoint the kids with such wide and expansive vocabularies, but he was it.
We walked around the big yard and acquainted ourselves with the area, and as I approached the swing set, someone came up beside me.
“Want to see me do this really cool trick?” He said with some sort of ball/stick combo in his hand.
“Sure man, lets see.” I turn toward him and put my hands on my hips. He started some dramatic motion and got the ball to sit on the stick. He looked up at me.
“Good job man!” And I gave him a high five.
We went and played volleyball. He hit the ball, expressed his extremely competitive nature, and we teamed up and dominated Meagan and her new friend. (Actually… I think we lost, but the way you react to things can make kids think anything)
We played Uno and he refused to play with one kid. He took the cards and walked away, and then came back because he still wanted to play.
By two in the afternoon he had started calling me Hannah Banana, and when we left that day he hugged me and said “Goodbye friend.”
His name is David.
He is ten years old and has been at the orphanage for three years. The head of the orphanage told us his short story. He grew up on the streets in Timisoara and would sell flowers his grandma gave him on the street. At seven years old he knew that city inside and out. He had a mother but had been on his own his entire life.
We were not sure if we would be able to come back. The orphanage was not our main ministry and it was a blessing to be able to go at all.
Thankfully, we got to return a few days later.
When we pulled up to the van that would take us the rest of the way, David was leaning on the back. His face lit up and when we got out of the car and he hugged us.
David, Ally, and I walked to the orphanage’s farm down the road; he wanted to show it to us. He dragged us here and there, and eventually other people came as well. He picked cherries up where he probably shouldn’t have and people wandered. There was a moment he got panicked about being left and I reminded him I was right there. I was waiting. I wasn’t going anywhere. He looked at me for a moment and then continued to pick cherries.
Later we sat in the grass and ate the cherries that were cupped in his shirt. We started to spit them, and he taught me how to spit them further than I could have on my own. He sat on my lap, looked at me and asked.
“Hannah, are we real friends?”
“Yes, David, we’re real friends.”
Walking home he chattered and chattered about all sorts of things. Most of them tall tales you would be naïve to believe. Then I asked him about Jesus.
“Hannah, you’re my friend, but Jesus is my BEST friend.” I asked him about what it meant to be Christian, and he needed a little help with that one, but as we strolled home he held my hand and said he would watch out for any horses on the lose.
I laughed with him. He was often concerned about my hydration that day and on one of our trips to the well he said something very serious to me.
“Hannah….”
“Yes, David?”
“When I’m older…. and you’re a widow…I’m going to bring you food.”
I laughed, hard, wondering how old he thought 22 was.
We colored. I pulled out the colored pencils and pens I came prepared with and we sat, sometimes in silence, sometimes he would ask questions. He wrote me notes in that notebook, and asked me my favorite colors.
We did chores. He asked my why I would help him, and I told him we were friends. Then he asked me what it meant to be real friends. I told him I help you because I love you, not because I want you to help me. You’re my friend because you’re special and God thinks so too. He just smiled and whipped tables, as I followed him and dried.
“Here, put this on.” He handed me a baseball glove. I put it on and he ran about 50 ft. away from me. I struggled to fit the glove to my hand, but I tossed him the softball he had dropped at my feet. He missed it most of the time but was determined. Eventually he got frustrated and yelled.
“F*CK”
“David.” He looked at me and I looked back. His tough guy eyes got a little bigger and he covered his mouth and said.
“Fudge. I mean fudge.” And I lobbed him the ball again. This time he caught it and we both did a little victory dance.
We played and chatted and ate together that day, and when it came to a close he hugged my waist and whispered.
“I love you, goodbye friend.” And I hugged him back.
I’m not sure if I’ll get to see David again. I hope to this next week, but there is no guarantee it will work out.
He is a good kid. He’s got his “ish” like every other child there, but all he needed was someone to care, even if it was just for a day or two.
As the days have passed God has continued to set David on my heart and on my thoughts. I don’t know what that means or if there is a way to support him or stay involved in his life after I leave, but we will see.
We only have one short week left here before we head to my squad’s parent vision trip! My parents are coming to Romania! WHOOP WHOOP!
