Final goodbyes, airports and a Bulgarian Baba

July 19, 2011: The last few hours in Bulgaria

My day began before the creek of dawn listening to my friend’s alarm clock beep softly but incessantly. As I lay unrested from my sleep, the dread of being on a plane all day loomed above me. I lay motionless not wanting to leave Bulgaria. But the thought of travel was not what was paralyzing me. It was the loss of a group of people that I had come to know and trust, knowing that we all were going our separate ways, back to our separate lives. I had met some of the most intriguing, kind, loving, inspiring people on this journey and I did not want it to end. Life in the last four years had left me worn, suspicious, and distrustful of people, in general. This group of individuals, showed me that not all souls are cold, that there is some good in this world and there are truly some amazing, Godly people with astoundingly benevolent hearts.

As I wearily began to dress and gather my already- packed- the- night- before luggage, tears stung my eyes as I knew I was leaving Bulgaria a changed person. My heart had been opened and a call to serve slowly crept into my innermost thoughts. I had forgotten the pureness of doing things for others, the reward in bringing happiness to someone else, the confidence that came with being obedient to God. But it was easy to serve while on a “mission” trip. That was the purpose of the trip, to serve others. My apprehension lay with what I was to do when I got home. As we were packing the van and heading out to the airport, a twinge of fear shot down my spine as I thought about home. I had to trust that God had a plan and wait until it was revealed. I had to have a kind of patience that I was not used to. Mariah, a team member whose wise words I had often found solace in, told me one day “that’s blind faith, my friend.”

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My itinerary consisted of two flights; one from Sofia to Frankfurt Germany, then the next from Germany to Boston. Most of the team was on the Sofia to Germany flight, which provided me with much comfort. But I was alone on the Germany to Boston flight and I could not hide my anxiety of flying so long and so far completely by myself. Prior to boarding the first flight I vocalized that I was a little nervous about the second flight and coming back through customs. The team reassured me that I was going to be fine and explained to me what happens in customs. Just as I was feeling a little more confident, we were called to board the Germany flight, however, as I was handing my ticket to the flight attendant, I was pulled to the side. Dread dropped to my stomach. Was there something wrong with my passport or my ticket? Did they want me to take another flight? My heart began to flutter. The flight attendant noticed the streak of horror that had come across my face. She put her hands on my shoulder and said in a soft, soothing voice, “Nothing is wrong, don’t worry. But can you do us a favor?” She paused a moment and pointed to an older Bulgarian lady wearing a light pink suit sitting near the gate. “This woman does not speak English and is nervous about finding her connecting flight to Boston. You are on that flight with her; could you help her find her way?”

Now, out of everyone on our team, I knew the least amount of Bulgarian and honestly, I was the least qualified to be taking care of a Bulgarian Baba (Grandmother). The flight attendant spoke to her in Bulgarian to tell her to follow me; to trust me. What were they thinking? I was worried about myself getting to Boston never mind two of us. We sat together on the plane and she was already having difficulty communicating as the flight attendants on the plane only spoke English and German. Tom, a team member, had printed out a sheet of useful phrases that proved very useful to me with my Baba. I had also borrowed a Bulgarian book from Mike, another team member, to write down several travel type words. I was trying ever so hard to communicate with her. I haphazardly asked her as I was pointing, if she wanted Ka-fe with za-har and mlyako (coffee with sugar and milk) and she replied “da” meaning yes. Yay! Success.

After landing in Frankfurt Germany, I soon found out why my Bulgarian Baba was so concerned about reaching the connecting flight to Boston. The airport was very confusing, even for someone who can read the English/German signs. I was thankful I was still with some of my team, as they helped guide the way and made sure I did not lose my Baba. We exited the plane outside, boarded a bus, then walked, and walked, then went up and down escalators, then took a train, then walked some more, then had to go through security all over again, then finally walked to our gates.
My layover was 5 ½ hours, so I stuck with the remaining team members until each of their flights took off. They seemed to think it was funny that I was in charge of my Bulgarian lady, telling me that God’s fingers were all over it. All I could do was roll my eyes. Silly God. After everyone left I still had a few hours before the Boston flight took off. I left my Bulgarian Baba alone, looking at a magazine, to do some shopping and buy some coffee. However, when I came back she was not sitting where I had left her. Oh no! I lost her already! Panic spread through my bones. Where did she go? Maybe she just went to the bathroom. I sat down and waited near where I had left her. As a million and one things were running through my head I noticed a commotion across the room at a nearby gate. It was Baba! She was trying to get on another plane! They were trying to explain to her that was not her flight…they were calling over to our gate seeking support. I jumped up and ran to her, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her to back to our gate. I pointed to the sign that said Boston, hoping she understood that was where she was going. I took her ticket and showed her the time…I kept saying 13:10, ees-hod (gate) 55. Dombre? It was much later that I realized I was telling her the time and numbers in ENGLISH so that was why she looked so puzzled when I kept repeating it to no avail. Ugh.
Finally around 12:25 a nice flight attendant came to get Baba, the rest of the elderly and the hard to board people. But my Baba wouldn’t budge unless I got up to go with her…She kept pointing and motioning for me to come. Finally the airline attendant agreed for me to go with her. My seat was not even close to hers. I found my seat first then caught back up with her to help her find her seat. She gave me a big hug and mumbled something in Bulgarian that sounded something like “see you in Boston.” The flight itself was just brutal for me. It was a daytime flight and it was full of annoying children and crying babies. My seat was also 3 rows behind the front bathroom and nearly everyone that passed my seat bumped into it. I plugged in my headphones to my ipad, took 3mgs of Ativian and drifted in and out of consciousness the whole 8 hours. However, I was fully awake and conscious as the lovely woman beside me puked as we were getting ready to land.

Even though my “job” was to help the Baba to the connecting flight in Germany, I still felt responsible for her. I wanted to make sure she got to her family. I waited and waited and waited for her to get off the plane and when she finally saw me her face lit up. I was glad I waited for her. We walked to customs together, but we had to go in separate lines. I guided her to the blue line, for visitors, as I went in the red line for residents. My line went fairly fast. I wondered how she was going to answer her questions, not being able to speak our language. Security would not let me wait in customs for her, so I waited at the bottom of the escalator for my pink Baba. She finally came down looking disheveled from her long flight and confusing customs line. I said, with my best Bulgarian impersonation “se-po-bo-cha-va ba-gazal” She seemed a little baffled as I had tried to say baggage claim…so I tried again…”koo-for” (suitcase) she said ok in Bulgarian and we were off to baggage claim. While we were waiting for our luggage, a nice, cute drug sniffing dog decides he wants to see what was inside of my carry on. I had to empty the contents of the bag to show the nice officer that I had no drugs or foods in my bag. Ugh. Soon we both had all our things and we were off to find her family. As we entered the waiting area, her grandson ran to her and gave her a big hug. My Bulgarian friend, with my blind assistance, had found her family. I was full of satisfaction and joyful happiness that I had completed my “job” with success. Her grandson thanked me profusely as she was telling him how I helped her. I just smiled, as they did not realize that she had helped me more.

Give this world to Jesus

As I reflect upon this past week, I have an explosion of feelings and emotions that are bursting within me. Before embarking upon this adventure I lived a typical life of work, friends and self gratification, I was breathing but was i alive? Today, i feel a spiritual transformation that is growing inside me that simultaneously brings me joy and sorrow. The orphans of Bulgaria are in my heart, in my soul and it's something that I can't let go.

The morning before heading to Dobrich, the older children's orphanage, I sat on the balcony humbled before God. I randomly opened my bible to Ecclesiastes chapter one, and when I got to the end of the chapter, verse 18, it said "for with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief." I didn't fully understand what this verse was supposed to mean, actually, I thought it sounded like a line from Spiderman.
But as I experienced the week, I began to understand; my eyes were gradually opened to the heartache of being an orphan. As an american, I had become desensitized to suffering. Suffering. I chose to ignore it. I chose to look the other way. I chose to be ignorant. I can no longer ignore it, i am no longer ignorant. I have the wisdom and the knowledge, and I feel much sorrow. The orphans of Bulgaria are in my heart, in my soul and it's something that I can't let go.

I pray that there will be a day, for these children, that there will be no more sorrow, no more pain, no more tears, no more fears. My heart cries for their future. My soul aches for their misfortune. This world is overflowing with poverty, abuse and suffering, all I know to do is to give this world to Jesus. I don't really know where this road is going, and where I am going with this new knowledge, but I know what I am going to put one foot in front of the other and walk through the doors that God opens. The orphans of Bulgaria are in my heart, in my soul and it's something that I can't let go.

Reality Check

The reality of my experiences, here in Bulgaria, are finally setting in. My mind is plagued with thoughts and sentiments as I process through the veracity of how these children live. Why? Why would God let these children live in such conditions? And why did God feel the need to show me? The unfairness of this world is weighing heavily on my heart. From the too good to be true Varna orphanage to the hopelessness for the children of Dobrich to the joy and happiness at Kaspchican I have been able to harness my emotions. Today, however, after walking the dark and dreary hallways of the Shumen baby home my feelings could not be controlled.

As we toured the dilapidated building that smelled of must and lead paint I could not help to notice the lack of color and music. Sadness exuberated from every crevice. How these children yearned for the human touch…I wondered how often they actually received it. As my team followed the nurse, she stopped at each room giving a small explanation of the children; I soon realized that that every child on that wing had a moderate to severe special need. The third window we stopped at left a haunting impression on me. This room contained three small children; one was lying motionless in the corner of the toyless room. Another small boy stood across the room screaming with no regard from staff. But the third child caught my eye then stared at me behind her chilling, emotionless eyes for just a few moments before she began to repeatedly bang her head against the metal slats that protected the glass door to their room. This continued for what seemed like hours as a sense of helplessness washed over me like a giant wave from the Black Sea. Her beautiful, precious face contained bruises from her countless episodes of self-injurious behavior. Her age could not any have been older than three years, but her soul was old and weary. I suspect that she has already spent the majority of her life in the cold, blank world of Shumen orphanage. My eyes began to tear as I attempted to hold back the overwhelming grief i felt for these children.

As I sit and write tonight, I try to sort through my impressions of each orphanage I have visited. I have witnessed hope, despondency, happiness, and bleakness. I pray to God to reveal why I am here and why He has sent me to witness the despair, of the Bulgarian orphans.