It had its moments. . . a reflection on our time with Danya

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.