It had its moments. . .
A Reflection upon our time hosting Danya
Into our family
December 16, 2018 – January 17, 2019
By Rev. Peter T. Atkinson
With DeAnna, Coralee, Clara, Susanna
Only a glimpse,
and not until the very end,
He showed us, so
we did get to see into
The towered,
sheltered fortress, where
Battered,
tattered, and pushed to the point
Of extinguish,
snuffed by a sin-filled world,
And walls, built
by disappointment and fear,
In which we each
live and contribute, still
Shines the light, fearfully
and wonderfully
Forged there by
and in his maker’s image. . .
I’m not sure, but I think so much of what we
experienced was tendered by our expectations. I remember the anticipation, in
the waiting at the airport for him to arrive, and the strange waves of emotion
I was feeling. Waiting for the moment when we would see him, he would see us,
and the adventure would begin. The awkward moments would surely follow, when we
wouldn’t know what communication would be like, when we wouldn’t know for sure
anything, and our insecurities would be laid bare.
What was he thinking?
Would he like us?
I hope he doesn’t mind that he would be the only boy in our
all girl world. . .
And then somewhere, also in the back of our heads, is
this even a good thing? Is hosting an orphan, only for a short period of time,
good and lasting, or a cruel temporary show of all he doesn’t have? But those
who have done it sold it well: It is the experience of family you are giving,
not anything material. It is only love you are giving, and so in doing it, you put
all your faith to its test.
Love either has power or
it does not.
Love either has value or
it does not.
Love, even if only given confined
by just a month of time, has the ability to grow infinitely and transform lives
or it does not.
Each moment then is its own mustard seed and burning
bush. . . if such things even exist.
***
At its heart our expectations were that we’d see the tangible
fruits of our actions. In short we’d be opening our family, giving of our time
at a precious time of year, sharing all we have, and in doing, we would expect
to see gratitude, to see a grateful orphan, smiling back at us, blessed and
awed by our generosity.
I think if you asked us we wouldn’t say that is what
we expected. We knew it would be difficult. We knew it might take time. We didn’t
expect rainbows, lollipops, and singing “Together at last” like the final scene
in Annie, but we did expect some gratitude.
On an intellectual level, I have preached, and when I
was a teacher taught, that love is a gift that requires nothing in return. I do
believe that to be true, but sin, doubt, and insecurity, lead us to want
something more – just to see that it all is not in vain.
The love we would need to give would have to be that
pure full old kind. . . for it would need to last in and through a desert
God give us the strength. . . and faith to keep the
course. . . to run the race.
(It was a blessing that no escape options were readily
available!)
So our unspoken insecure expectations were tested. . .
often.
Also, my fatherly natural impulses were tested. Have I
brought someone into the family, who would hurt my daughters? I want them
pushed and tested, but not harmed. . . can I love someone, when I have these
feelings or thoughts about them? He’s calling me Dad, but . . . at this point
he is not them. . . and he knows it. He can see it and it is a boundary he’s
going to test. It’s one reason he’s so captivated by demanding equality.
***
We constantly asked ourselves, trying to get to the
bottom of what we were seeing from him, how much of his behavior was related
to:
·
Him being a 9 year
old boy
Because he was
high energy
And had impulses
to break things
And didn’t want to
play what the girls were playing
·
Him being an
orphan
He had trouble
playing with other children (liked to kick a ball and chase it himself)
Self-preservation attributes
like:
He lied to avoid
confrontation, even on small things
He was quick to
claim things were unfair if at all in his view unequal
Intense rivalry
with the girls over affection, gifts, slights, etc.
·
Him coming from
poverty
He hoarded his
toys or gifts from Christmas, rather than enjoying them
He didn’t
understand that we having much could not afford to buy everything
·
Him coming from
Ukraine and therefore a different culture
Frustrations over how
to communicate with us
He hated to lose,
especially to the girls, and would cheat to avoid it
Was full of
bravado, backed by nothing
Resisted losing “Face”
in any situation
Was cruel to
animals, without realizing it
If
you think that these categories don’t perfectly fit, you are right. It was more
of a perfect storm, and a unique mix that was what we saw manifesting in all his
actions.
***
The
first week was the hardest. There was really no grace period or honeymoon. We
met him at the airport. We gave him his new clothes and a toy for the ride
home. He didn’t open it, but played with it in the package. He walked in front
of us out of the airport, leading, though he didn’t know where he was going. We
held him back as we crossed traffic, saving him from being run over, directed
him down the path to our car. He said that he wasn’t at all tired, but promptly
fell asleep in the back seat. His head falling forward, ironically only inches
from the pillow we had back there for him. When we got home, there was smiles
and some playing with the girls, he mentioned Beyblades, but if there was a
honeymoon that was it. Bed time, too late, and onward into the week.
Beyblades
became a major topic of conversation. He was fixated on them, so we thought we
would get him one as soon as possible. Having mostly girl toys in the house, we
wanted to get him something he would like. They went to the store and he got
one, or two because you need two to actually do it. So our oldest decided she
would get one, too. But his was much better, ball bearings and so forth, so
would dominate the ring constantly. So playing was not much fun for anyone (but
him) because there was no drama, no challenge, just dominance by superior
construction.
I
was at work for most of the first couple days, so I tried to do my part
mid-week. I was going to take the four kids to the park and then to the store
to get a gift for my parents, whom we were to see the next day. The park wasn’t
too bad. I had brought a soccer ball, hoping to kick it around some with him.
He kicked and chased, kicked and chased, oblivious to anyone who might want to
play with him, or anyone he might hit with the ball, or knock over, including
our littlest girl who is 3, just old enough to climb up stuff, but not real
solid in doing so. I needed to keep an eye out. Stressful, but all in all not
bad.
Then
we went to the store. We passed Beyblades, he wanted more. We passed candy he
wanted some. We passed other toys he wanted. We passed juices and sodas, he wanted.
I kept telling him no. He pouted, refused to walk, wouldn’t stay close. I had
to physically drag him, and this behavior is all happening at an over-crowded
week before Christmas Wal Mart. It would have been really easy for a little
Ukrainian boy to get lost. He knew it and I knew it, and he was going to push
his power. We get to the check out line, and he points at this candy he wants,
that toy he wants, and it becomes a microcosm of the store itself. At one point
he says to me, “You say No (pointing to this), no (pointing to that. . . then
really fast) NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO (pointing each time)”. I’m done. I look at
him straight in the eye, with all the snarky irritated force I can muster, and
say, “Yes!”
And
then he dropped the beyblade he had in his pocket (he was told to leave it in
the car) on the floor and it rolled underneath the barricade closer to the
other side. He tries to get it but can’t. There are people waiting, I’m at my
wits end, and say, “that’s what happens. . . we have to go.” But the defiance
and pouting turns to hurt puppy dog eyes. We go back through the line. I
explain to the 10 or so people who have to move for us to get where we need to
get. He gets his Beyblade, puts it into his pocket, and we head out, and no
sooner is it back in his pocket than the pouting begins again. This is the
gratitude desert.
It is
comical to look back on, but at that point I didn’t know if we were going to
make it! And this was only the third day! That was the worst moment, but there
were many similar ones. We were functioning, but had no real relationship at
all to build discipline upon.
We’d
play games. . . he’d cheat. We’d do activities with other kids. . . and have to
watch him like a hawk, worried that he’d hurt or alienate them. We’d take turns
and he’d demand to go first. We had Christmas functions where he’d take gifts
and go play by himself, or demand to be the center of everyone’s attention. He’d
demand to eat things, take more than he could ever eat, and eat half of it. He
demanded to put ranch on spaghetti noodles and took one bite. He’d take a
horseshoe game stake and break as many things outside as he could. He pushed
our dog off my parent’s dock into deep marsh mud, and laughed as she struggled
with life and death to get out. And he’d lie. The trying moments are too many
to mention, but you can see the point.
Love,
does it have power? Where is the gratitude? Where is the fruit of this labor?
***
But
things did begin to change, slowly. I don’t know if trust was emerging, or
whether he had just pushed all the envelopes to their edge and had found the
breaking point and so retreated, but it got better. At least his behavior began
to curb. I like to tie it in my memory to this moment, though it was gradual with
many of these edges tested.
We
were at church, and someone had given us a Dairy Queen gift card, so I said, “Why
don’t we just go out to lunch?”. I came a little late because I needed to close
up the church, but when I arrived everyone was smiling and laughing. Danya,
wanted a hamburger, but he called it “Scram-buher” and sung it more than said
it. It was hysterical, but he wanted chicken, too. ‘Can I have Scram-buher y
Chicken?” Sure, we got him both. We knew he liked chicken, but weren’t sure
about the Scram-buher.
We
got done, and had enough on the gift card to get some ice cream as well. But
Danya had only eaten a couple bites of the scram-buher. I told him he needed to
finish what he ordered or he would not get dessert. He took another bite,
looked like he was going to finish, so I went ahead and got him a blizzard,
too, but I kept it, to give to him when he was done. He wouldn’t finish and
demanded the ice cream. Everyone else was eating ice cream, but everyone else
had finished their lunch. He didn’t get it, and neither did he get the ice
cream. We got up to leave, and he was pouting, much like the Walmart scene. We
were headed out, but Dairy Queen has a double door with a little room between
the outside and inside door. When we got there, he refused to come out further.
We continued to go. We weren’t parked very far from there at all, so we could
see him. We put the girls in the car. I walked over to my truck and watched.
DeAnna started to drive. He came out. His will, tested, and broken.
The
power he hoped to wield was found to be nonexistent. He knew it, we knew it. Now
we could build.
When
he’d cheat we’d leave the game. When he behaved badly he could be punished.
When he lied we could send him to his room. We could use words like
disappointed and they stung him. He knew he couldn’t manipulate us with pouting
and defiance, so started trying to manipulate us with good behavior. But don’t
get me wrong it was manipulation. It was always done in comparison to the girls.
It was always done for credit. It was always done for some type of bargain.
To
be honest, it was a mirror reminding me of my own needs and insecurities, and
how my manipulation could be mistaken for love. It was enough to teach me that
more had to be done to really reach him (and us). For this experience to truly
be lasting, we’d have to get ourselves and him beyond the stick and the carrot,
beyond manipulation and into what love really is. I think this moment was a
crucial one because in many ways we had won the game, but we had to remember it’s
not a game to be won. Our goal was not to teach a child how to behave and
conform to American life and American standards (which would do him no good
back in Ukraine), but to show him and let him experience love.
***
And
all this brings us to the end. Our emotions heading into the final week is best
described as relief. We could see the finish line ahead, and we could not truly
take the perspective of seeing anything other than it all being over and the
resulting relief.
Though
we could look back and see happy times and laughs, activities, trips to Busch
Gardens and Ice Skating, and so many more, all of us were happy to see things
coming to an end, so that life could get back to normal. I made the comparison that
it was much like an on-deck batter in a baseball game, warming up with a donut
or a heavier bat, so that his bat would seem so much lighter when it was time
to finally get in the batter’s box. . . having only the 3 kids, and not 4 would
seem like a breeze. And the girls were done. They had been pushed to their
limit and saw anything Danya did as teasing and bullying. They couldn’t see it
any other way, even when it usually wasn’t it. It was harder for them to not be
poisoned by the first week or so, and see no change. So we were headed to the
airport, relieved to be done.
Had
we succeeded?
We
could see a difference in Danya, but mostly in terms of behavior, which was
inconsistent, and always seemed in some way to be tied to manipulation. There
was always a barrier there. And we weren’t sure we had penetrated it. I mean it
was good that he was behaving better, and maybe I was being too hard on us, and
him. And somehow, as is natural, we lowered the standard enough to feel good
about it. People complemented us on how it was going, and I put a positive spin
on it every chance I got.
But
had we given love? Lasting, pure, a mustard seed? Or were we just sending him
back to a harsh world of manipulators, fear, doubt, and tightening control. . .
the cynical world where most dwell, where kindness is a tool, and love is only a
means to an end?
I
didn’t know, and I wouldn’t know, if I hadn’t been given a glimpse behind the
veil. I was given an instant. He gave me an instant. And it put so much into
perspective.
He
said good-bye. He gave the girls a hug. He gave DeAnna a hug. She rubbed his
head, like she had done so many times. He gave me a hug. He lingered just a
moment extra. He said nothing, what could he say with the language barrier. But
his eyes said it all. And he took the time to look at each of us, or at least
it seemed that way. There were tears, but not enough to fall, not enough to
change his expression or break his strength, but there was that mistiness, It
said everything at once:
I am a child of
God,
Touched by the
love you have given me,
My life has been
harder than you can imagine
I’ve had to build
walls
I’ve had to keep
my distance
I’ve had to use
people and things
I’ve had to
scrounge and hoard
I’ve had to show
my strength
Because it’s all I’ve
had
I never know what
is next
I’ve always
thought it might be worse
Because it has
been worse
And clinging to
control
Clinging to power
Clinging to what I
can hold
And see and touch
Has been all I’ve
known
I go back to it
So I won’t really
cry
But I want you to
know it has mattered to me
I won’t forget
Even if my mind
doesn’t remember
My soul always will
There is light in
me
I want you to see
it
I see now
It because you
showed me
Your light first.
Such
is the power of a moment. It gives life. It makes you see things differently.
It opened my eyes to all the other times he showed the same, but I was blind.
When he wanted me to hug him at night before turning off the lights. When he
was scared to go out into the yard at night to get the toy he had left. When he
would use a soft voice to talk into the translator. When he would repeat “Scram-buher”
and other things again and again because he knew it made us laugh. When he
wanted to give one of his Christmas presents to DeAnna’s mom. When he wanted to
earn money, but then used it to buy presents for other people. When he fell ice
skating and popped up with a smile saying, “I’m alright mom!” When he wanted to
take pictures because he understood it was about capturing a moment and memory,
and that these moments were ones he wanted to capture and remember.
It is
truly the beautiful thing about love and God and grace and this life we’ve been
given. It is not as hard as we want to make it, and the part we play is not
something we have to control. Whether a moment of love is surrounded by a
million mistakes and sins, it still has the power to transform lives. Love is
an infinite thing, unfettered by the ticking clock. Whether it is four weeks,
filled with bad weeks and good weeks, manipulation, power, and control, a
moment is all it needs. The rest lies with God in the infinite possibilities each
moment contains.
I’ve preached such things
again and again in my life, saying often that each moment God gives us is a
chance to extend grace, and that each moment isn’t defined by any that came
before or would come after. I’ve said such things often. It is hard to put such
words into action, and action to life. We wish so badly to be perfect that we miss
so many moments trying to perfect it all. Our time with Danya was far from
perfect, but it had its moments.
