Thursday, August 01, 2013
A Report to My Congregation on My Church Mission Trip to a Russian Orphanage in the Summer of 2013
A Reflection on My Experiences
While on My Church Mission Trip to a Russian Orphanage in the Summer of 2013
-- by Art Peekel
My experiences at
the orphanage for special needs children near St. Petersburg were extraordinarily memorable
and meaningful in many respects: the place, the program and, most important, the
people.
There were the
administrators, the care givers and, most important, the children.
The highlight for
me, as you can well imagine, was the children.
One in particular
touched me deeply. His name is Artem.
Artem is 18 years
old.
When he was born his
brain was damaged.
He cannot hear or
speak. Mentally he is about 4-5 years
old. He cannot read or write.
Artem’s mother
abandoned him at birth.
We met soon after I
arrived on my 11-day visit.
As he approaches
people he grins broadly and thrusts his open hand toward you.
He wants to shake
your hand. And he does so vigorously and methodically
Before you realize
what’s happening, he has pulled your wrist up to his face and he’s looking at
your watch. Artem is fascinated with
watches.
I had been told to
bring with me any old watches. Didn’t
make any difference if they worked or not.
So I gave him one. It didn’t work.
Well, it did make a
difference to Artem.
He pointed out to me
that the one I was wearing did work. And
the one I had given him didn’t.
Yes, he was happy
with the watch. But he continually
reminded me that it didn’t work.
So, later in my stay
I managed to take the watch to have the old battery replaced with a new one.
Artem was ecstatic
when I gave it back to him.
He eagerly showed
everyone his watch with the hand that wonderfully ticked off the seconds..
In return he proudly
gave me this plastic blue wrist band that I am wearing.
It had been given to
him by a volunteer from another program.
And for the
remainder of my stay he repeatedly reminded me of our exchange of gifts.
There are many other
episodes to share about the times Artem and I spent together.
I taught him how to
make a paper airplane. And we flew
it. We also thumb wrestled.
Played tick-tac-toe.
Rock, paper, scissors. The game of “War” with a deck of cards.
Near the end of our
stay the group of us on the mission trip each took a child on a walk to an ice
cream parlor in the nearby town. Like
the others, Artem and I walked hand in hand.
I soon realized that he was leading me there. His joy was obvious and contagious.
On the way he picked
me a bouquet of wild flowers.
On the way back to
the orphanage he put a large weed in the button hole of my shirt.
Then, with a boyish
grin, he grabbed a hand full of cockleburs and stuck them on my pants.
In closing I want to
share with you a lasting memory of my final day at the orphanage.
In preparation for
our departure, the men had folded our sheets, pillow cases and blankets and
stacked them on our mattresses. Our
suitcases were packed and stood by our beds ready to go.
Artem appeared at
our dormitory door and, per usual, announced himself with the only sound he
could make—a guttural noise which we all readily recognized.
I looked his way. But
he was looking at our beds and suitcases.
He stood still. Then he became silent. Artem was trying to calculate what this all
meant.
He looked back at
me. Placed his palms together and put them to the side of his face.
He tilted his head. His questioning eyes met mine.
He pointed at me and
then at my bed. Again he put his palms
together aside his tilted head.
The gesture was
repeated. I felt his need to
communicate, to understand and to be understood.
Quickly I walked to
him. We stepped out of the room, down
the hall and into the garden where we had spent time together every day of my
visit. Along the way he put his arm
around me.
There in the
sunlight Artem extended his hand. His
handshakes were always firm. But this one
seemed especially so, as if to reassure himself and me. He dropped my hand and pointed to me. To the
watch I had given him. Then to himself. His
charade carried a deeper meaning.
Artem paused
momentarily then continued by taking a hold of my right wrist with his left
hand. With his right hand he pointed to
the wrist band he had given me. Then to
himself. And lastly to me. He went through the whole routine several
times. His body language was speaking to
me.
I would not have
understood him if he could have spoken to me in Russian. He would not have heard me if I could have
spoken to him in Russian. He could not
talk or hear, yet we had learned to communicate. During our short time together we had gotten
to know each other.
There was an understanding
between us. We had bonded. And now we were parting.
I gestured that I
was leaving soon—that I had to go. He
realized that I would not be back to sleep at the orphanage. Without hesitation Artem hugged me tightly.
As we parted a sad smile spread across his face. I fought back the tears as we turned and
walked our separate ways.
My experiences there
at the orphanage were bitter sweet.
They were heart
warming and heart breaking.
But I am comforted
by the belief that our mission was blessed by the Love of God.
We touched the lives
of those children. And they touched
ours.
God’s Love was on
the children’s faces. God’s Love was in
our hearts.
************************
# posted by Art Peekel @ 7:56 PM
