Every season I would go to Ukraine for 2-3 weeks, taking aid in suitcases, until I figured out how to navigate shipping boxes of aid overseas.  Each time I would go to Ukraine, more and more orphan facilities would seek me out and ask to be a part of our humanitarian aid program.  When we started in 1998, we served approximately 400 orphans in 2 facilities, and by the beginning of 2014, we were serving in 28 orphan facilities with over 5300 orphan children.   Over 5 million dollars in aid was shipped in to a variety of hospitals and orphan facilities to be given away to their residents.  Our policy is, and always has been that we do not provide funding, but we provide tangible aid to be given to those in need.  Despite all the hassles of shipping such large quantities to a foreign country, there is a level of accountability that a charity must have to be credible, so that donors know what you are doing with their funds, thus, when I would travel to Ukraine, items were purchased and taken to the facility, but money never given to any director or worker at any facility.   I have even had directors tell me, ‘please give me the aid when there are other people present, as I want people to see, I’m not taking this for myself.’  This type of accountability is important, especially in a country where people are selling used clothing and shoes at the open market, directors and workers could easily take aid designed for children, and sell it at the local market. 

Throughout the years we continued to help people in Ukraine, and assist with many, many adoptions of orphans, who would have never had a forever family. During those 16 years serving thousands of children, afforded me the opportunity to meet hundreds of people in Ukraine; orphanage directors, workers, pastors, mayors, chief of police, hospital administrators, political influencers, business executives, principals, teachers, and many more.  Lovely people, and wonderful relationships that would be the ‘glue’ that would bind us together when times got tough.  And did they get tough, and always in the back of our minds, was the knowledge that the Lord sent us to Ukraine, for the sake of 1….

Chapter 4

I returned to the US with intense fervor to find a home for this little girl.  I had a friend who was a publisher of the local newspaper, so I asked if he would do a story about her.  Choosing our local university’s homecoming weekend, when thousands would be in town for the big game, he ran the story of Alla, and her situation of needing a home.  We had 6 people contact us, one couple said they were very interested.  A few weeks went by, and the orphanage director and I were in touch, she was reminding me that Alla would soon turn 4, and she would be forced to move her to… Toraz… just the mere thought of that, made me sick to my stomach.  But if she was moved, the likelihood that she would be adopted from there was slim to none, as the Dr. there was against adoption, he would rather children die on their homeland, then be given any quality of life in another country.  We actually gave him the nickname, Dr. Death, for his complete emotionless demeander concerning the welfare of the ‘patients’ at his facility. 

After a few days, the couple called me, explaining that they felt Alla’s medical condition was too much for them to take on, and they were declining to move forward.  I can remember, assuring her that God had someone in mind to adoption this girl, and I would not give up; though after getting off the phone I silently wept for this child, praying God would reveal the special couple to adopt her. 

After months without success, the director tearfully told us she would be forced to move her to Toraz.  Since we had been there, and it was a horrid place, where children are left in their ‘waste’, fed terrible food, and are not able to ever leave, we decided to talk as a family about the situation.  Our other 4 children knew her, and as a family we prayed over this little girls future.  But this time, God pressed upon our hearts to adopt her,  making the family decision to move forward with the adoption.  We called the orphanage director and giving her the news, she was elated, sharing, she would do her best to ‘hide’ Alla from the inspector, until we could get there.  We quickly put our dossier together in 3 weeks, getting all approvals, leaving for Ukraine the 3^rd week of December.  Upon arriving, we  boarded the 15 hours train to the city of Donetsk, in Eastern Ukraine.  Arriving on the 24^th, we visited with our (hope to be) daughter.  Since Alla understood adoption, other families had come to ‘see’ her, we asked to visit with her in the office of the director instead of the ‘playroom’, which adoptive parents would go to visit with a child to see if they thought the child would be a good fit for their family.  For many children that room is a place of rejection, and we didn’t want that for Alla.  The director granted our request, and we met with Alla in her office.  Talking with her, she was hesitant to say much, but we specifically asked HER if she wanted a ‘mom and dad…and a big family?’, staring at us, as though she was ‘sizing us up.’ She replied, ‘yes, I want a family,’  and said, ‘I’m ready to go.’  Thinking that we were leaving right then.  We explained that we could not go ‘yet’, as there was paperwork.  She had heard that before, as 6 previous families came to meet her (in the play room), but ‘never returned’ for her.  Despite the remainder of the visit going very well, when we prepared to depart, her face was sullen as she walked off with the caregiver, deflated.   

The next day, was Christmas (2002), and we arrived to the facility mid-morning.  We anxiously waited in the visitation room, and as our daughter rounded the corner her face broke out the biggest smile, and she came running into our arms screaming, “my mama is here, my papa is here!!!”  Then proceeded to tell everyone in the room, over and over that ‘we were her family, and we came for HER.’  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room, and it was the best Christmas gift!

Chapter 3

It was a long 2.5 hours to Toraz, a trip filled with anticipation, hope (that things weren’t as bad as described), and lots of prayer, that God would give me the discernment and wisdom to do and say what He would want. When we arrived our vehicle was surrounded by what appeared to be teens and adults, who I could immediately see had some mental and physical challenges.  The staff quickly came out and ‘shooed’ them away, shuttling us to the director Alexander’s office where we were kindly greeted, and handed off to Larissa, the assistant director, who would take us on the tour of the enormous facility.  She was ‘open’ to receiving aid, and shared that most of the ‘residents’ would not ‘understand how to use the items we would offer, toothbrushes/paste, soap, shampoo, conditioner, lotion; and some of the people don’t or won’t wear clothing’; and it was best to leave with he and the other staff.  I kept  all this in mind, as we went from room to room, visiting hundreds of children and adults.  The smell was overwhelming to say the very least.  It was something equivalent to an open latrine.  Bedridden children and adults, I noticed were, thin, frail, many in trace like states, motionless,  lying in their own ‘waste’, interestingly the staff didn’t seem phased or disturbed by any of this.  ‘Patients’ were drooling, and many lay naked in beds with thread barren sheets stained with …well, not sure what… just stained.  Some were thrilled to see us, wanting a touch, a caress, but others were terrified of us, as though they had never seen others then the staff.  The staff stood in the back of the rooms watching us, most mortified that we were hugging the people. There were index cards taped to each bed with birthdates, and the date they arrived to the facility.  At each bed, I was doing quick math in my head trying to figure out their age, since so many looked very young, but all were older then 4, though not even close as I would calculate with the birthdates.  Calculations would be that a person was 19 or 22, and they looked to be 6 or 7 or maybe 10. We entered a room, where all were lying in beds.  I could see some of the people, but others were just a heap of blankets.  Carefully I walked down each aisle touching each person, saying a kind word, a blessing, a prayer.  When I came to the heap of blankets, staff discouraged me from looking, but I refused, and carefully lifted the blanket, out from the dark abyss peered 2 eyes…very empty eyes, scared eyes, eyes that were confused, completely alone.  I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, a very urine saturated bed, caressing the head of a child, though the card would say they were 17…their eyes studying me, they were very calm, clammy…I could smell death. This is what these 2 rooms smelled like, death. I never knew that smell before, though I had been with my father-in-law when he passed away, he was in a sterile hospital; this place was far from sterile, or even clean. I tried really hard not to cry, this boy had kind eyes, but I could see, he was dying, probably from malnutrition, though the staff all insisted he had palsy, and would die. I desperately tried in vain to explain that one doesn’t die from Cerebral Palsy, it is not curable, but people live long, productive lives with this diagnosis. They didn’t believe me. I had never seen anything like this in my life, inside I was weeping, but on the outside, I had to smile, try and show little concern, as if I showed on my face how this is criminal care for these people, I may be escorted to the door.  I could not even begin to fathom the amount of help this place would need, but my question would be, ‘what are they doing with the funds that they do receive….and how is this place called a hospital?’  Care was minimal, harsh, and inhuman to say the very least.  I saw little interaction with staff and patient, but what I see see was extremely harsh to the helpless patient.  There was even a room where children were naked, tied to beds.  All I could think about was the children I had already seen at other facilities that would end up here, and for those presently living in this house of horrors.  They told me I was the ‘first American’ to ever cross the threshold of the facility and they were thrilled I had arrived.  That scared me, if they were proud of the care that they gave these folks, it was just heartbreaking to say the very least.   

After getting through the 2 rooms of people bedridden, we slowly moved from room to room greeting children, young adults, and adults.  Many were in just underwear and flimsy t-shirts; most wanted to touch me, and I tried my best to touch them all, placing a blessing on them, just a touch, but never a tear.  I wanted to cry, but overwhelmed, and knowing that I could not show my true reaction to what I was seeing, I tried my best to be positive.  Some rooms had very cognicent people, they spoke to me clearly, I asked, ‘why do you live here’, (as I could not see anything ‘wrong’ with them), and some of the replies were, ‘I have heart issues, I have asthma, I’m a dwarf, I have palsy…’   It was unfathomable to me that these people would be warehoused for things like this, but then really NO ONE deserved to live like this, and those less able were entirely neglected.  This truly was the epitiome of survival of the fittest.   My mind raced back to the little girl, Alla, with no feet or fingers, and all I could think, is that she would have no way to defend herself from the older boys here.  Her mind was fine, it was her body that had challenges.   I had to find this child a home, she could not come here.  NO ONE should come here, I must find homes for as many children in those orphan facilities that aren’t 4…but how, how Lord, please help me.

As we ended our tour, we headed for the yard where there were groups of naked, or barely clothed women on the back varanda just sitting in the sun.  I greeted them, some tried to cover themselves, realizing that they shouldn’t be naked, but having nothing to cover themselves.  Slowly we moved to the side yard where there were 25 or so children probably 7-15 yrs. old.  They all just sat there in the grass in their t-shirts and naked from the waist down.  I asked ‘why’, and Larissa replied that ‘this gives them the opportunity go to the bathroom and they don’t waste diapers’.  I didn’t have a reply for that, just seeing the indignity on their faces was enough of a shock.  The staff almost seemed proud that they had come up with this solution for not needing to use diapers, or even the most basic solution, teaching them to use the restroom properly,  rather then just leaving them in the yard to use the toilet.    

We were invited back to the Director’s office where he was thrilled to have an American in his office.  I was speechless to give comment on ‘this facility’.  He literally wanted me to ‘stroke’ his ego and say how great it was; but I could not and would not do that.  I was polite, but questioned him in such a way that wasn’t offensive, but more like an inquisitive American that just didn’t ‘know’ the ways of Ukraine, and how children are cared for; when it was all but the opposite, my questions were such that it seemed he was in control, but really he was not; I was gleaning information that later would be helpful to help the people there. He called the facility a hospital, but no one was ‘getting better’, and leaving the facility….they proudly showed me a menu, yet basically all occupants were starving…he was proud of their medical supplies, yet I could clearly see medically neglected children and adults, and questioned him as such.  He was put off by my questioning, but I persisted.  We also discussed his ‘needs’ for the facility, and I asked if we could send clothing for the patients.  He agreed, and we began shipping aid to the facility, as the first US based charity to ship humanitarian aid to the facility.  We set up feeding programs that food would be delivered to the facility for the most underfed, bed bound patients.  We unfortunately had to go in that direction, as we found out later that staff took the other food, whereas the cereal that was fed to the bed-ridden was not something most would eat.  It was all very sad, but it was a bit of help.  The drive back to Dzerzhinsk was a quiet one.  I was emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted.  We all needed to slowly digest what we had experienced, seen, smelled; it was all quite overwhelming.  The years ahead brought MANY more visits to that place, the website is full of photos and videos. 

Update on Toraz –  Fast-forward to 2019 – The vision continues to haunt me, even after so many years, and over 40 visits to that place.  Seeing what no person should ever experience, knowing that it continues today, pushes me to strive for even more justice for the voiceless in Ukraine.  This visit to this house of horrors was additional confirmation that I was to work in Ukraine, to be the voice for the orphan, the poor, the invalid, the neglected and the invisible; an advocate for their God-given rights as humans.  Seeing first hand the injustices to children at this facility, and after years of trying to help them from mere thousands of lbs. of clothing, diapers, vitamins, shoes, blankets, personal hygiene products, refrigerators, to bringing physical therapists from the U.S. to train staff to work with their patients; all falling on deaf ears, I reported as such in our charity newsletter, to be contacted by the London Times to do an undercover investigative story on the facility; I agreed to take a team to the facility to expose to the worked the inhumanities and virtual genocide that was occurring.  Risking my life to expose the conditions and lack of care, the story ran on the front page of the Times, Feb. 6, 2011 and millions in the UK and around the world were shocked by what they read and saw.   The facility was never closed, and as far as I know conditions didn’t change much.  2015 –  Approximately 10 children Toraz bound never made it, as we were able to find families to adopt them prior to their 4 yrs. old transfer, others had different outcomes: many of the children I met there have their wings now, and are out of pain; and some who were able to run away vanished  when the territory was invaded, others perished when the shelling began.  The facility sits in Russian occupied territory, though it continues to be on Ukrainian soil. We can not go to Toraz to check on any of our friends, all we can do is pray for their safety.

Every season that I would go to Ukraine, more orphan facilities would invite me to come and visit, and expressed a desire to be placed on our distributon list.  One requirement of this, was that I was able to tour the entire facility, visiably see all the children.  This requirement was for 2 reasons, I wanted to see what they were doing with the resources they were already receiving, and I wanted to see what I would define as needs, and what the staff/director defined as needs.  I knew just from my own experience with adopting our son, that the children would be much smaller than what I was used to seeing in the U.S.   It was always very interesting to walk into a room full of children that looked to be 18 months, and told they were 4 or 5.  The hardest to see where children with special needs.  Time and time again, I would see children with Downs Syndrome, cerebral palsy, dwarfism, missing limbs, blind, deaf, burns, all sorts of issues.  I would ask the director, ‘what will happen to these children?’ The response was about 90% the same, ‘they will be sent to Toraz hospital for invalid children.’  I heard this over and over when I asked about such children, and it was when I made a visit to a facility called, “Our Children”, who was asking for assistance, that I met a little girl named, Alla.

I was on the usual tour of the facility, and we entered a room where children were waiting their turn for the restroom.  A bench was lined with children, and at the end was a little girl sitting on the floor.  I asked why she was on the floor, when there was space on the bench.  The director pulled me aside and said that the girl had ‘poor balance’ and could not sit on the bench.  It was then she stood up, and I could see she had no feet, at all.   She carefully ‘walked’ on her stumps, across the floor to the restroom.  I could not fathom the pain she must be in, walking on those bones, then I noticed her hands, and she had no fingers.  I almost started to cry, but decided ‘what good would that do.’ Turning to the director, I asked, ‘how old is this girl, and what will happen to her.’   The director, clarifying her age with the staff, said she was 3, and that at 4 she would be transferred to Toraz’.  That name again, I thought, I must go there, I must see what this place is.  The director and I were standing with another staff member, when I said, ‘I want to go to this place, Toraz…can you give my translator the contact information.’  Both the staff member and the director, looked at me, horrified, and said, ‘oh, no, you can’t go there, it is like a nightmare…it is the worst place…you will not sleep for days.’  Well, that sealed that, I was definitely going, if this child will only missing limbs would be sent to this Toraz place…I would find this place, and I would go. 

It was a few days later, that we would contact this Toraz facility, and make arrangements to visit.  We loaded up the transport van with clothing, shoes, blankets, and some medical equipment, and left on our journey early in the morning.  It was 2.5 hours away, and the facility was said to have around 400 residents, and I wanted to see as many as possible, though I really had no idea what I was walking into. 

Chapter 2:  

In 1998, after years of helping not only those in need locally, but  missionaries around the world, I was able to take a first trip to a country we had been helping, Ukraine.  Through our pastor, I met a woman who lived in eastern Ukraine.  She had been our pastor’s translator on a trip to Ukraine, and their village was quite poor, so we started to support this village in 1994, and provide clothing to them.  They had invited me many times to come for a visit, but I was never able, having small children, and many family responsibilities.  But in 1998, my kids finally old enough to be left with my father-in-law and Rich, I embarked on a month long journey to Russia and Ukraine.  Sights, sounds, smells, people, culture, language; it was much to take in.   It was great to finally put names and faces to the people I had heard so much about.  They welcomed me graciously to their humble homes, and presented me with tea and cookies.  It was an amazing trip, and it was then that I made my first promise to the people there, ‘I will return, with help.’   Additionally, on this maiden voyage, we not only visited hospitals, but orphanages, where I was able interact with hundreds of orphans.  God had placed on our hearts the desire to adopt, specifically a boy…someone that maybe had no siblings, no one to care for him. Rich and I had already discussed this possibility with the other kids, and they were on-board, with an equal desire to give a child a forever family. There just so happened to be a orphan shelter in the town that we had been serving with clothing for 4 years. After making a trip to that facility, I met several boys that needed families, so we were sure that God would place on our hearts the ‘correct’ child to fit in our family. Thus after I returned home, we pressed onward with paperwork, with all 5 of us traveling back to Ukraine with plans to adopt a boy. The process took some time in country, and we unfortunately were not able to adopt from the facility in the town I visited, but we were able to adopt a boy, who was completely alone in this world, had no siblings, and is a ‘gypsy’ by Ukrainian definition, (not ours), who had been left in an open market when he was just 14 months old. He lived at the orphan facility, and was now 4 and a few months. The kids all agreed that this would be their brother, and our son. He seemed like he wanted to go with us, and the orphanage was very happy to have him gone. Seems that gypsy’s aren’t so well liked in Ukraine, and they were even confused as to why we would adopt him. He was very small for his age, wearing just size 18 months clothing at age 4.5 yrs. old. I stayed in Ukraine for the complete process, while Rich returned home with the 3 other children to resume ‘life’ in the U.S. I think my first sign that we were to have issues with our son, was that he set the side table on fire in the hotel room, when he and I returned to Kyiv to complete the paperwork process. I had a plug in ‘boiler’ on the table (though it was unplugged), decided to take a very quick shower, and while in the shower, he plugged it in, as it lay on the well shellacked table. As I exited the shower, he was standing at the door with very ‘big eyes’, staring in the direction of the table, and I could see a strange light, which were the flames. I was able to beat the fire out, but that would be the first of MANY fires with our son…more on that later. James ‘Artur’ became our son in March of 1999. 

We continue to return to Ukraine 4x a year for 3 weeks at a time to take aid back to the poor village, that I made the promise ‘to return…with help.’   I continued to ‘make good’ on that promise.  My vision for the community was much bigger than anyone expected, or anticipated…it was way more then shoes and clothing, but to find a place to either purchase or to build a Christian community center for children and teens in the local community.  What I saw when I went to Ukraine in 1998, was a depressed city, with little for kids and teens to do, and without something to ‘do’, then they will ‘find’ something to do, which resulted in drinking alcohol, and making poor choices.  My vision was to provide a place for kids to ‘hang out’, play games, watch movies, have a bon fire, play volleyball; but most importantly, hear the word of God and have opportunity to respond to it; and it would all be free.  It was a big task, but since we serve a big God, we had full confidence that God would provide.  He would also open and close doors as He would guide our footsteps in the future.

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore GO and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and o the Holy Spirit.” Matt. 28:18, 19

I’m not anyone important, just a person that heard a calling from God to   ‘GO’ to a foreign land, a land of the lost, and take something very important to them.  Something foreign to them, but potentially life changing, to those who grasp and receive the message. Something so powerful that regardless of their life circumstances, the hope in the message could alter their future.   It is not a calling I took lightly, and it is a calling that came with great sacrifice.  I will never know the life that ‘might have been’, had I not answered the still, small whisper of God to, ‘GO’…but what I do know is that it not only molded me into the person I am today, but molded my family into who they are today.  My decision to step out in faith and going to a foreign land, was not a simple task, nor a task taken lightly.  It is not a vacation, it is not glamorous or popular, as some may think; and the sacrifices to your personal life and family, always come with ‘a cost’.  God never said ‘going’ would be easy, what He does tell us, is that He is always with us, and will never leave us.’  I find great comfort in that promise, even more so in the last 4 years. 

This work afforded me the opportunity to help families in many situations; divorce, abandonment and adoption, all types of abuse, financial crisis, unemployment, homelessness, to helping young mothers, to something as simple as assisting with child care needs.  This was all done via my employment along with my volunteer work to provide tangible assistance to families in need.  Work was 9-5, but volunteering went into the after hours and weekends of my family time.  I drew upon our church family for assistance when needed, but generally speaking, it was my husband and myself quietly, and subversively helping hundreds of people and families annually.  It was not for attention, as this is what we are called to do.  “Help the orphan and widow, and those in need.” (James 1:27)  So for us, this was just obedience to the word of God; helping others was a way of life, not a chore or something done for attention.  In time, we started a family, and had a son and 2 girls.  We were a happy family, working, serving God, and loving each other.  Weekends were consumed with family fun, boating, beaching, visiting family, sports events and friends.  Our kids were very active, and having 3 kids in 4 years, they were close in age and relationship.  Our close-knit family was happy, and had a strong bond….and then ‘life’ happened.  Sadly, in May 1997 Rich’s mother unexpectedly passed away, leaving a huge gapping hole in our family.  No one expected that curve ball God threw us.  We didn’t see anything good in that, just pain and sorrow.  We were all numb, going through the motions of life.  My father-in-law was in shock, Rich was devastated.  I was left to try and pick up the pieces, care for our children who had just lost their precious grandmother and work.  I fully supported Rich taking care of his father, as that was what was a priority and necessary.  He spent weeks away trying to help his grieving father.  I spent many lonely nights grieving myself, as I had known my mother-in-law longer than I even knew my husband; she was a sweet friend and mother-in-law to me, and a loving mother to Rich, and amazing grandmother to the kids.   It was a difficult time of leaning on each other and God.  After  a year my father-in-law decided to sell the ‘family home’ and move to our town, residing just ½ a mile from us.  Frequent visits to our home and his, and all the love in the world from us and his grandchildren, could never mend his heart.  It was broken, as well as Rich’s. 

After graduating from High School, I moved from my parents home to an apartment, working 3 jobs to support myself through college.  It was a difficult time, but once I set out to accomplish this goal of ‘doing it on my own’, I wasn’t about to admit defeat, or ask for help.  The motto ‘no one is going to it for you’ from my mom was seared in my brain.  Many days I went from job to college, to job, home, sleep, college, job, sleep…days drifted to years, and soon my time in college was over.   I graduated in 1982 continuing to work 3 jobs.  One of my jobs was at an Insurance company.  Back when I was 5, living in that rental house, the people across the street allowed my sisters and I to fish from their dock.  After we moved to the house my mother built, they continued to allow us to fish, and as we got older, my sister started babysitting for them, then myself.  They had 2 sweet girls, and I loved working for them.  As I got older, the husband invited me to work ‘in the real world’ and come to his office to work as the receptionist.  I still think that he created that job, as they didn’t have much ‘walk in’ business, but just the same, it afforded me being with other people, and taught me some office skills.  And it was there, in that office, with those people, that I intersected with my future husband. 

The business in which I worked, was a family business, so family worked there.  It was ‘the boss’, who was the man who allowed us to fish from his dock, his sister and her husband working as underwriters.  They were a lovely family, and to me, in many ways, they treated me like family.  Frequently, the son of the sister would call, and as the receptionist, I would speak to him, then pass the call along to his mother.  Living 4 hours away from each other, it was only by an unfortunate death in my family that we met on Thanksgiving Day 1982.  Due to this death, I had no place to go for the holiday, and the ‘ office family’ invited me to dinner, which is where our lives collided.  Just 10 days after meeting Rich, I broke up with my ‘boyfriend’, as I could see, that wasn’t going to work out, as I definitely had feelings for someone else.  Not knowing ‘where’ those feelings would go, I just knew, that I could not stay in the relationship.  My boyfriend was totally blind-sided, but I too had been blind-sided by the ‘connection Rich and I clearly had at our first meeting.  Christmas came, and the office family invited me over to celebrate the holiday with them, after my own family festivities.  It was great to see Rich again, talking for hours about our lives and how our paths crossed.  From us living across the street from his aunt and uncle, fishing off the dock, then later babysitting their children (his cousins), the death in my family, that connection with that family, all those events eventually brought us to that point in time.   Reflecting on this today, and though God never wants bad things to happen to us, He does use situations for His purpose; I see how my father leaving us, and mom making the decisions she made, took me on a journey down a path that molded me in to the person I was evolving into; and brought me to where I am today; that if any of those events had not occurred, life would have been on a different path. 

After these couple of meetings, Rich and I could both see we were destined to be together.  Meeting for the first time in November of 82’, we married just after I graduated in 1983.  The first years of marriage were a time for fun and games, nothing overly serious, though I was working in the field of social work, where that in itself, is serious and taxing on a person mentally.  Being able to juggle the stress of hearing about life’s difficulties for others, was something that would be a real benefit to me, in the situations that I would face later.  That, and remembering my mom’s motto, ‘ya just gotta put one foot in front of the other, and keep doing the right thing…no one is going to do it for you.’, would be something I clung to. Life can be overwhelming, little did I know what the future held, and how each incident in my life would be a page or chapter in my life book. 

Lesson learned: you can not stay where you are and answer the call of God…you must move, physically, mentally, especially spiritually, God’s path will take you to place you least expect.

Chapter 1:

As a simple housewife from a relatively small town in the panhandle of Florida; never did I think my life would go in the direction it has. Traveling around the globe, landing in Eastern Ukraine, the path that God has taken me on, has been more like a roll-a-coaster, but isn’t that the way it usually is, a road filled with sharp unexpected curves, pot holes, steep hills, and abrupt stops and starts. Stepping out of the confines of the boat on to the water, has been the hardest call of my life, but one that I knew I had to make, because without faith, there is no pleasing God.

As a small child, from a very small town (population 700), my sisters and mom would frolic at the beach on the weekends, ride bikes with friends, and have picnics in the park… we didn’t have a care in the world.  Making tree forts, riding my pink bike with the ‘banana seat’, roller skating, fishing at the local docks and playing with friends was my circle of existence.   Life had few cares, and not many surprises.  I watched my mother struggle to take care of us 3 girls.  Dad had left us when I was just 4; and basically ‘never’ looked back.  It was unheard of in the early 1960’s to just divorce your spouse, let alone, leave 3 young children.  Mom didn’t see it coming, and had to make some hard and fast decisions.  We had one week to pack and leave our home, where upon, we moved in with my grandparents.  In those days, employment opportunities were slim without any training, so mom went to secretarial school, while grandma and grandpa watched us.  For me, as a child, not understanding the impact of the situation, it was great.  We drove around the neighborhood in grandpa’s golf cart, and enjoyed the tree swing in the back yard.  After 6 months of training, mom was able to ascertain a job at a local sheet metal company, where she was the only female, doing everything from receptionist, to bookkeeping, and receiving.  We moved to a rental house, where for another 6 months, she worked to save money to purchase a house for us.  An amazing role model of hard work, she was a display of her Welch/German heritage.  Mom was up by 5 a.m. to exercise, then prepare breakfast for us, see us off to school, work all day and then prepare dinner, tend to the yard, laundry, house chores; she was my role model for a very sound ‘work ethic’.  Day in and day out I saw this example, heard her say, ‘ya just gotta put one foot in front of the other, and keep doing the right thing…no one is going to do it for you.’  Though I didn’t realize it, we were living just that…my father walked out on us, and mom was doing just what she said.  She didn’t expect anyone to ‘fix’ our situation but she, herself.  And in 6 months, we did move to that house, and I subsequently lived there for the next 13 years, moving out to go to college, when I turned 18.

Because, I was raised by a strong single mother, that work ethic and sense of duty, integrity, honestly, and loyalty was instilled at a young age, and has stayed with me to today.  When I say, I will ‘do something’, unless I’m dead, pretty much, it will happen.  I’m like a golden retriever, they are loyal to no end to their masters.  Though I appreciate all those qualities, those attributes resonated in the back of my mind, prompting me to never give up on anything, regardless of the consequences.  Good or bad, I wanted to see something through to the finish.  But, you see, not all things you commit to have a positive result. 

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.”  Ambrose Redman

How it all began…

What would have happened if she didn’t answer the call to step out of her comfortable life, and go to Ukraine… had turned a deaf ear to God, quenched and grieved the Holy Spirit speaking to her…what would have happened to a boy named Zhenya? The boy she would see everyday as she drove by his house going and from the Children’s Center, just fingers clinched over the top of a cold concrete fence, and a ruffled stocking had nearly hiding a set of lonely eyes peeking out, yearning to see and experience the outside world, the world beyond the concrete fence.

Day after day she would see him as she went about her busy days serving the people of Dzerzhinsk, a small coal town in Eastern Ukraine, bringing food, medicine, clothing, the Gospel, and operating a Children’s activity center, just steps from the boy behind the concrete fence. Everyday the shouts of joy, playful screams, games, songs, kids coming and going by his house, drew his attention.

Finally, she could take it no more. She stopped the van and rang the gate bell at the boy’s house….slowly a woman, Galina opened the gate holding back a snarling dog and a inquisitive young man…she recognized Teresa, she was the American woman who owned the center down the street, everyone knew who the American was, she was a celebrity, a saint and she was at her gate! Teresa introduced herself and began to explain to ‘mom’ about the Center. How we are open to the neighborhood kids so they can have a place, a place to be loved, given attention, to play with each other, be fed, taught the Bible, play on the playground with sports equipment and participate in organized activities…Galina kindly listened, then said, ‘but Zhenya has issues, he is retarded (her words, not ours), has a bit of cerebral palsy, a large hump on his back, he doesn’t speak except for a few grunts and odd whistles and he isn’t a boy, he is 18 yrs. old.’ Teresa replied, ‘I understand all of his issues, but we still welcome him to come, I will personally stay with him throughout the day, if he wants to leave, I will bring him home, if he wants to stay, I will love him, and treat him and respect him, the same as any other boy. Just give us a chance, we can change his world, his quality of life.’ Galina said she would consider it.

His first day he was shy and timid, choosing to watch the activities, the arts and crafts time, during Bible study time he listened intently, during outdoor playtime he watched the kids play basketball and volleyball, playing on the monkey bars, chasing each other around just enjoying having a safe, secure place to play in a dangerous, dark place. But the transformation was nothing short of AMAZING. Zhenya was fascinated with balls, but did not know how to catch or throw a ball. At first it started just bouncing a ball by himself, slowly, then slowly he with a Center worker played ‘catch’ for hours at a time, bounce and catch, bounce and catch, for hours. He was totally content to bounce and catch, if you stopped he would whistle, grunt till you started again. After months of bounce and catch, he started to throw towards the basketball goal…come early, and stay late, he would throw the ball at the basket for hours. When he would make a basket, he screamed with joy.

At snack time he was quiet during prayer, then ate his cookies, and drank tea…a perfect Center kid. In a place where people with special needs are warehoused, locked away in desolate places to die, they are invisible to most, Zhenya had found a place, a place for him, a place that people accepted him. Now 10 years later he still comes almost everyday to the Center. He has never had a negative report from the staff or been a discipline problem. His hand-eye coordination has progressed to now he plays a great game of pingpong, and loves a good puzzle. He loves movie night and popcorn, cooking class and the subsequent meal, sits quietly through devotionals although we are not sure how much he understands, every birthday he gets a cake and party, just like all the other kids, goes swimming, love to ride in Teresa’s van; she makes him feel so loved and special, he cries when she leaves to go back to the states. When she rang that bell…it changed his life for the better, forever, finally like the other kids, he belongs, he has a place to do life.

We began this piece asking what would have happened to Zhenya and the thousands of other children touched by Teresa and her charity His Kids Too!, if she had not answered the call of God to step out of her comfort zone and go to E. Ukraine. In an interview with CNN recently, Teresa was asked why she continues to labor in such a dangerous place, a raging bloody war at her footstep, an out of control virus complicated by obsolete medical care and overwhelming poverty. Why, she said, ‘each person has value and worth to God, every person is important…’ one precious soul, one struggling single mom with hungry kids, one starving babushka, one orphan child that needs parents, for the one with AIDS that no one will touch, one physically disabled with no crutches, one coatless freezing homeless man…and one lonely boy on the other side of the concrete fence…she does it for so many, but it is really for the sake of one.