Sons can be birds, taken broken up to the mountain

Another volunteer told me this week that Casa Juconi is the most difficult "site" for her because she's still learning Spanish and can't quite keep up with the boys yet. That made me think...one of the reasons Romania was so dreamlike and holy for me was that I really understood so little of what was going on around me. With our little band of "Americancas" we set out own rules for interpreting our environment and the context of our experiences--we LOVED! so purely! It still feels so sweet to think about it--holding angel infants in the hospital of savages, gyring and gimbaling in the playroom. I couldn't ask about the families or thoughts of the other orphanage workers, I had to depend on the broken-down English of others to make friends in the hospital and on Mihai my intrepid interpreter when we went gypsy-hunting.

Being HERE I am so much more aware of complexities, contradictions, and conflicts because I am able to speak the language. I can appreciate the excellent work the social workers and educadores do. I can't spin as many snowflake-beautiful tragedies to fill in the gaps because there is a normalcy about this that I didn't have hedged around me in the otherworldliness of Iasi. There was a sacredness about being there among so much innocence. I love Mexico and the blithe humor and affection, the humility and there's sort of an endearing griminess about the whole thing, swinging free, that is so appealing. I love the Spanish marching on like a victory to the horizon! On days I am with the boys, every one in awhile I realize with a jolt that I've been jabbering in Spanish for hours without having to think about it. It's an amazing feeling! Little Morena despairing in the MTC would be happy to see me now.

I love working at the Casa Juconi. I want to describe the Boys and the dynamics there so you can love them too, pero me faltan las palabras aptas. Sometimes they're like a merry band of brothers, other times they are vicious with each other. They are volatile and more experienced with dark shadows than children should have to be. One minute they will be playing with trucks and making car sound affects and then at lunch they'll talk about whether it's easier to snort cocaine through a straw or straight. They know how to fight and when they do fight it's really ugly. They are all incredibly cuddly with the staff and with each other. They are old and young for their age at the same time. They talk about stealing and drinking with their friends, but even the 14 and 15 year olds will curl up next to you to read a story.

One of the boys (Jose Manuel) is schizophrenic and painfully delayed in his social skills. He is 15, one of the older boys, but all of them are scornful of him; he is universally disliked. It's awful to watch him be kicked down over and over again. Whenever he makes a comment, another boy scowls or tells him to shut up. Of course everyone reprimands the other boys for being horrible, but stilling the insults doesn't create friends. I see this boy shriveling for want of kindness. I play games with him and he struggles to remember the rules; invariably another boy will come and shove him out of the way. He is just now learning to read; his mother was mentally ill also and his father abused him horrifically. I asked this boy once what he wanted to be when he was older and he told me "a singer, like Don Omar. It's not necessary to study." I asked him if he knew how to sing, and he shrugged. "I just need to find some people to write songs for me." In the afternoons I let him listen to my ipod. He's still confused on how to work it, so whenever he wants a new song he comes to me and I change it. He writes down his favorites in a notebook "for when I have my own ipod." On the list are several EFY songs. A week ago he ran away to his uncle's house for the night. Everyone was so worried and then he showed up the next morning back at the Casa Juconi. One of the educators told him, "We were very concerned," and he said, "The guys weren't. They'd be happy if I left." When I look at him I see a struggling little animal caught in a trap. Sometimes the weight of all the lonely people is crushing. But I rejoice in the moments I have to be a friend to this boy.

One afternoon earlier this week we were working on a project that involved looking up the boys' names and talking about the meanings, pictures of famous people with the same name, websites that talk about characteristics. When it was Manuel's turn, I read him the definition of his name--it's a variation of Emmanuel, which means "God with us." I got a little choked up because I love that name for the Savior. I told Manuel his name is really special and it should always remind him that God would be with him. Instead of looking up pictures of politicians and singers with the name Manuel, like I'd done with the other boys, I showed him pictures of Christ with children. All the little guys crowded around and they loved it. I wanted him to have hope. I don't know if he understood everything I wanted to communicate to him, but one of the other boys commented, "There are a lot of feelings in this room right now."

I love the line in the Blake poem promising a little chimney sweep that if he were good, "He'd have God for his Father and never want joy." I wish these boys could feel that they have a loving Father. In occasional moments of stillness sometimes I daydream about being home with my family for Christmas and then I remember where I am and feel a little ashamed, and deeply grateful. It's important to remember the kids who don't get to go home for Christmas. I am being as good to them as I can, I wish I could take them back with me. :)