The Orphan with Dark Eyes Pt. 2

So I took a deep breath, cautiously closed the gap between us, and plopped down on the padded floor in front of the orphan with dark eyes.

…

She didn’t really acknowledge me. Her eyes were unfocused, looking at the patch of floor to the right of me.  I knew that she would not understand any English words I spoke to her, but I said them regardless. 

“Hi! Do you want to play? Here is a ball!” I tossed one of the ball-pit balls into her lap so that it landed right next to her relaxed fingers. Jesus, please give her an understanding so that I can interact with her…

I could feel the minister’s wife’s eyes on us as the ball rolled onto the floor for the fourth or fifth time after not one of the girl’s fingers was lifted to attempt to catch it or interact in any way. I flicked the ball in her direction to no avail a few more times, the small girl’s face unchanged. She had finally looked at me, but her gaze had no trace of warmth or playfulness but was bleak and exhausted. I turned my head to speak to the minister’s wife, who spoke to me first.

“Nora is afraid of Isaak…”

Nora. “Yea. I think she is afraid of all the guys. But especially Isaak.” I connected the dots after I saw her reaction to him that morning and observed the way she kept looking over my shoulder to ensure that neither he nor any of the other men got too close. “What does she like to do? Is there something I can do with her that she would be more likely to engage in?” 

She shrugged, asked one of the workers in Albanian, who chuckled as she answered. The minister’s wife leaned toward me to translate, “Bite other children.” 

“…OH. Gotcha.” LORD, what are you wanting me to do?? I have no idea what is going on in this child’s mind! I don’t know that I could even get her to touch this ball if I spent the rest of my time with her! Maybe I should go play with another kid?

She needs someone who will stay. Someone who will teach her that the friendly kids are not more worthy of love than she is. Don’t let her struggle to attach push you away. 

Alright… Maybe we need a change of scenery.

I gingerly put my hands under her arms and began to lift, which resulted in her body going limp and the beginning of a meltdown flashing across her face. Okay, okay! I put her back. She wanted to stay put and not to be touched. Okay…It took close to 10 minutes of sitting with her, smiling and tossing the ball in her lap, positioned right in front of her folded hands, for her to give the most microscopic of efforts to extend her fingers. When she did so, she touched the ball as light as a feather and made it lazily roll and thud onto the floor beneath the foam block on which she sat. I gave it to her again, and again she brushed the ball with a single finger to create the same effect, her face unenthused. However, I felt hopeful! She barely interacted with me for a few moments before her eyes fixated behind me, locating all the men in the room once again, on guard. She blinked back into focus to flick the ball once more. She was silent. Eventually, we got comfortable, added three more balls into the mix, and played a simple game of get-as-many-balls-in-the-other-person’s-lap-as-you-can. We had only four balls, so often we each had two and tossed them simultaneously at each other. I began to see a modest smile on her face for the first time. 

This went on for several more minutes before the minister’s wife spoke excitedly to her in Albanian, picked her up, and urged her to run through the course with the other kids. She quietly complied. To my pleasant surprise, she did not fight the current of children that swept her up and through the obstacles the others had been enjoying while she sat. I watched, ready, in the case something went south, but I soon lost sight of her. I was relieved that she was interacting with the others. I hope she is having fun…

Wailing. Oh no. My eyes widened and I quickly made my way to the bottom of the slide at the end of the course where Nora was terrified as she tried to somehow get off without going near my husband, who happened to be at the bottom of the slide as he played with other children. 

“Nora, hide!” (“Come on!” in Albanian/ Romanian) I called, opening my arms to provide refuge. She came to me, big emotions and all, and calmed somewhat as I distanced her from Isaak. Oh my goodness, poor girl…she can’t even try to distract herself. She is THREE and is on guard against the world. She sees every man as a threat…

I whispered aloud, “Poor baby girl, who hurt you?” Thumb stroking the back of her head through her short, dark hair. 

I don’t recall what transpired afterward, but we ended up standing in front of a small trampoline that no other children were using. Fascinated, I watched Nora deliberately pick up one, two…three…four balls in her little hands and put them on the bouncy surface. She was waiting for me. My heart ached at this tiny gesture that invited me into a place she thought would be safer. She didn’t want to be alone… I crawled on my hands and knees so as not to bounce my delicate friend too much.   

We continued a variation of our ball game from before, the trampoline adding a variable that did not particularly help me in my attempts to keep the balls on her side. Eventually, that game lost her interest but still, she sat, unlike other kids that hurried to find their next plaything. She was preoccupied, scanning the room for men who were within 30 feet of her. Paranoid. There were two occasions where she whimpered and timidly pointed over my shoulder, informing me that Isaak was getting too close. I assured her it was okay, that Isaak wasn’t going to hurt her, and attempted to distract with a song and a ball toss in her direction. Once the balls became entirely trite, we simply sat. I spoke Scriptures of Christ’s love and good plans over her, words that she did not understand, and I took a chance at holding her hand. I prayed she would accept my touch. My pointer finger gently stroked the inside of her palm and she opened her fingers wider. So we sat some more, her eyes still alert but not necessarily fearful. I quietly hummed and thanked the Lord that she allowed me to touch her little hands, the smallest bit of affection in exchange for a sliver of her trust. 

Maybe minutes passed. Maybe a half-hour we sat in that state. With each time the pad of my finger crossed the soft skin of her palm, my compassion and heartbreak deepened. When the time came for us to gather the children to depart, I exited the trampoline and Nora’s crying followed me. I turned to beckon her to come, assuring her that I was not leaving her behind. Lip still quivering but breath steadying, she crawled off the trampoline and took soft, sock-feet steps to the cubby holes to wait patiently for her shoes(maybe) and coat.

Again, it was a toddler cloud of chaos as we exited the play area. I was handed the girl with the honey-colored hair to hold during the ride back to the orphanage but still found a spot next to the orphan with dark eyes and soft palms. 

When we stepped off the bus, Nora had already detached from me, distracted by the ruckus. She didn’t glance back at me when she entered through the front door and down the hallway to the classroom where she’d spent the majority of her toddler days. Clearly, she didn’t expect me to be present long-term… I hate that I wasn’t the one to prove her wrong…I am so sorry I have to leave you, dear girl. Maybe I will come back one day to see how you have grown and take care of you. Jesus, please please watch over her while I have no control or say in loving her. 

Heart like cracked glass, I climbed back into the Hope for the World van and allowed my mind to flood with the, now, memories and prayers that one day, the orphan with dark eyes would let me hold her.

Please join me in praying for these precious little ones. For healing and hope. For joy despite their circumstances. For loving families and the refinement of the adoption process in Albania, as it currently falls short in many areas, making it incredibly difficult for these children to be adopted by loving families, both locally and internationally. Not to mention, the culture in Albania looks down on adults who care for children that are not their own, so foster care is almost non-existent, with the number of foster families in all of Albania being less than 10. 

If you have any questions, please message me! And if you happen to be reading, feel compelled, and have the capacity to ADVOCATE on behalf of these precious kids, I plead you do so. God bless each of you and encourage you in the important role that He has set aside for YOU in His Kingdom, as not one of His children escapes His loving hand. 

Psalm 139:13:15-16

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb…My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

*Names are changed for the privacy of those involved*