Sydney and I duck into a little convenience store to purchase juice boxes, crackers, cheese, and chocolate before catching an unmarked bus at an unmarked bus stop that will take us to Chaslivitsi Orphanage. Sometimes the bus is purple and sometimes it's green. We eat our food and I silently hand Sydney one of the earbuds to my iPod. We listen to music, look out the window, and watch old men herd their cows on the side of the street. Time stops outside of the city. Grandmothers in head scarves sit outside of their homes on benches; men smoke cigarettes and watch the bus pass by.
The bus stops outside of a stretch of iron gates. Bright yellow leaves litter the ground. We hop off the bus and Sydney waits patiently as I grab handfuls of leaves to keep in my bag for crafts on a later date. We walk through the gates and up a brick-lined walkway. The children know we are coming; they yell some variation of our names and we are enveloped in a mess of greetings, hugs, and hand pulling. We walk into "our classroom." The ever-faithful Sydney immediately begins writing the alphabet with illustrations upon the chalkboard and I greet the class. We have our English lessons; sometimes it goes smoothly and other times it does not.
The first time I stepped foot on the grounds of the Chaslivitsi Orphanage, I immediately thought: Island of Misfits. It's from the movie Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, if you have been living under a rock for the past few decades. Many of the children have developmental disabilities. Most of the children have been orphaned. They have little to call their own. They are misfits without a home; they are children that do not fit anywhere. And I love them. I love their little quirks; I love their excitement over remembering the word "apple." I love that I get to be a part of their lives; I hope that they can find some kind of temporary home within the love I have for them in the short period I am here.
On days like today, Sydney and I walk out of the iron gates and leave the grounds of the orphanage to catch the bus back to the city. On days like today, we are quiet and I am a strange, bizarre mix of sad and thankful. We wait for the bus and we think about how lucky we are to have met these little misfits. Sydney looks at me and we both know that we are sad, but we know we are also deeply, deeply thankful. We get on the bus and it is the end of another day, and we are okay.
On days like today, I thank God for the misfits. I say, God bless the ones that never fit in; God bless the ones without homes. God bless the marginalized populations, and God bless the ones who are brave enough to look sadness in the face and accept it.
"Rudolph, I promise. As soon as this storm lets up, I'll find homes for all those misfit toys."
-Santa Clause
