Then he showed me a river of the water of life, clear as crystal, coming from the throne of God and of the Lamb, in the middle of its street.  On either side of the river was the tree of life, bearing twelve fruits, yielding its fruit every month; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.  Rev. 22:1-2.

23-28 July 2013, Northern Ukraine.  In a foreshadowing of the Revelation 22 promise, we camp at a river’s edge for five nights and four days with children whom God is healing.

We are in the wilderness, in a remote and very rural region of Northern Ukraine.  The children are from surrounding tiny towns and villages.  As sparse as social services were in the cosmopolitan city of Kiev, there are simply none at all in this region of the country.  Yet the needs are profound and heart-breaking.

The number of kids in the camp will fluctuate from about 15 to 30, ages 4 to 14, over the next several days.  One teenage boy and his primary grade age sister live in a whore house run by their mother.  Three other siblings ages five to twelve are used by their mother to beg.  Of these, the youngest, a little girl, has permanent burn scars up and down both arms and across her shoulders where someone poured scalding water.  A young adolescent girl’s mother is a prostitute servicing long-range trucker drivers.  Alcoholism and drug abuse and trafficking are rampant.  A young teen age girl is epileptic, and may suffer from spiritual oppression, as well.

Victor, the Ukrainian Director for Ezra International, is driving Bruce, Sarah, George, translator Ura, and me from Kiev in a blue diesel Ford high top van with seats for nine.  The six-hour drive covers endless farm country growing corn and sunflowers, interrupted occasionally by iconic hundred plus year old farm houses and villages, and sometimes modern roadside petrol stations.

Amazingly, we have a GPS guiding us in this remote territory.  In the dark, we make only one wrong turn on roads with minimal markings.

Off the pavement, the path to the camp is a barely visible two-track across a meadow and next to a sharp drop off down to a river.  Where the road passes through tree groves that shade it from the sun that would dry it out, it is a muddy mess.  Arriving in the rain in the dark night, the van sloshes from side to side through the slop.  I fully anticipate the van getting stuck and all of us being called upon to get out and push.  We are spared that requirement.

We arrive after 10:00 pm, dry, for now.  All are in bed, but the excitement of new arrivals rouses the sleeping campers.  I am assigned to sleep in the boy’s tent.  Nobody clears me for a background check.  Others sleep in the vehicles.

The morning reveals the camp, now in its second summer, set under an oak grove on the bank of a large river.  Nearby is an open green pasture with waist-high grasses, populated by a flock of graceful storks and free ranging cattle.  Fishermen, campers, and recreational river boaters happen by now and then.  The scene is breathtakingly beautiful, open, wild and serene.

There are no facilities or resources whatsoever, other than what Tolik, the camp director has built with his marvelous ingenuity and bare hands.

In the center of the camp is a small lean-to kitchen with roof rafters made from fresh-cut saplings.  The roof and walls are mostly carpet and scrap plywood, but include windows and a door.  It is not exactly weather-tight.  It is outfitted with a propane stove, dry storage boxes, and counter top.  Cooking is supplemented by an outside open fire.

The kitchen is only large enough for Anna, the camp cook and mother of Olga who is Vladimir’s wife.  More about them later.  Anna works magic with her resources.  Her constant smile and warm attitude is infectious.  It is very clear she loves these kids very much and loves cooking for them.  We are all well fed and well-loved.

Bruce is quite popular because he has brought Starbucks coffee.  The day starts well.

Nearby is a blue plastic dining fly under a huge oak tree.  It too spans a structure of saplings lashed together.  It is suspended in the center by a rope tied to a branch of the oak tree some 20’ feet in the air.  The first time I see it I worry about the child (it could only have been a child) who climbed up there to secure it.  A few days later when I actually see a child re-securing the rope after a storm, my worries are not relieved.

Surrounding are an array of half a dozen tents.  The two largest are maybe 20 x 40 Soviet era heavy canvas army tents, one (formerly) white, and one drab olive green.  They are actually quite serviceable, except the white one leaks, which restricts the sleeping area.  It was intended to be the girl’s tent, so that requires some reshuffling.

Tolik has built soccer goal posts and a basketball hoop from tree trunks.  The basketball backboard is plywood and the hoop is bent rebar.  (Who is strong enough to bend rebar?)  A fence for drying sneakers and clothes, and leaning fishing gear and bicycles, is erected along the river’s edge.  Two rope swings get endless use.

The river itself is actually two, as the camp is built just 50 yards downstream from a sizable tributary that joins the main river.  The river must be a good 150 feet across, and is heavily silted – think Mississippi.  The surface is deceptively calm.  There are no rapids or waves; but the current is frighteningly strong.  No one ventures into the main river.  We swim in the tributary 50 feet in width (the only approximation of bathing for five days), and the current we feel there is more than enough to bring respect for what is under the surface.

Camping with 20 kids as young as four on the bank of a strong river would make US safety officials apoplectic.  But no one seems concerned.  And indeed, compared to the horrors these kids actually experience, the threat of the river seems inconsequential.  It feels more like “He makes me lie down green pastures.  He leads me by quiet streams.  He restores my soul.”

Except for the mosquitoes.  Their mission is to keep the soul from being calm.  We bring 200-proof deet (didn’t know it could be purchased legally; thanks, Olga).  This works pretty well.  During the latrine visits, however, swarms have been lying in wait for un-deeted exposed flesh.  I know, TMI.

I don’t know how the kids and Tolik cope so well.  I notice one seven-year-old girl’s legs are bleeding from scratching bug bites.

We are blessed with balmy temperatures in the 70s and occasional rain, sometimes heavy.  We were warned to expect hot and humid weather.  Thankfully the weather is untypically cooler.  Long sleeves and long pants help defend against the mosquitoes.

After the first night we put up some more tents.  I am assigned a tent by myself.  Something about alleged snoring.  But I stay dry and quite comfortable.  I hear some of the rain finds its way into Bruce and George’s tent.

In all it is a wonderful environment.  The kids are truly energetic and happy.  Five-year-old Dahrina cannot constrain herself to merely walking; she skips everywhere except for the occasional burst of running.  No one in this population seems put out by their surroundings.  Much to the contrary, this place can only be described as healthy and vibrant.

We have brought about four large duffel bags and suit cases filled with crafts, toys and games.  This is a “wow” for the kids.

Sarah, with her psychology degree and preschool training with kids, is a master at quickly engaging the kids.  Her fluency in Russian is a godsend, especially when our designated translator must depart unexpectedly.  Sarah quickly sets up craft tables with beads, crayons, yarn, glitter and glue, which are eagerly devoured.  There is no squabbling.

We bring 9 spiral notebooks.  They cost 17 cents each.  The recipients are shocked and delighted to learn they each get one entire notebook.  When the reality of this treasure dawns, the kids set about personalizing them with masterful decorations inside and out.

Carol Jensen, from my Rotary club, has donated some 50 stuffed animals.  The kids’ first reaction is to admire them.  It does not occur to them that they will actually be able to keep one.  I expect the older ones, especially the boys, will not be interested.  Completely wrong.  All are thrilled and grateful.  Each child selects one that seems to reflect his or her personality, and it becomes a treasure.

We bring games that do not require too much language.  Connect Four, Dominoes, Barrel of Monkeys, Snakes and Ladders (inspired by Chutes and Ladders).  Kacha, about 12, is diligent and ultimately masters not just one but a double barrel of twenty monkeys.  She is the champion and George is her cheerleader.

The crafts and games are a great way to engage and connect with the kids, as are soccer, basketball, and swings.  The divides of language, age and culture steadily fade.

Tolik has a drug addicted and Mafia past, and a heart for the kids and a love for Jesus bigger than the grand outdoors we are living in.  His street past gives him both wisdom and tenderness for the kids.  He is as skillful in caring for their hearts as he is in having built the camp from next to nothing.

Tolik leads the kids in daily and nightly prayers and devotions.  Not speaking Russian, we Americans are not able to engage as verbally.  Our connection is more kinesthetic.  It takes a few days, but magic happens.  The only way we know to bless the kids is to spend time with them, playing, eating, and hanging out.  It seems to have an impact.  We want them to know they are important and valuable.  And that we love them.  They are worth spending time with them.  We think some of that gets through.

The younger, pre-teen kids seem happy and energetic from the start.  In God’s grace, they thankfully appear unaware of their plight and needs.

For the young teens, however, one senses that they are beginning to understand their homes such as they are, and their parents’ lifestyles.  They seem heavy and sad.  Perhaps it is shame, although their circumstances are not the kids’ doing.  Perhaps it is not a conscious reaction at all, but just the predictable sadness that would come from gaps of love, nurture, security, health and affirmation that every child needs.

Whatever is going on behind those beautiful sad, dark eyes, in just the few days we have we see some change.  After a while we are blessed with some tentative smiles, and then smiles and openness more consistently.  The heaviness seems a little lighter.

These kids have big challenges ahead of them.  Our presence seems so brief and small in comparison.  Yet our connection is undeniably real.  We keep praying for them, and for those adults dedicated to come to their aid.  We trust for better days ahead for them.  For miracles.  Lord, may the mustard seeds planted take root and grow.

On Thursday we are visited by three small churches from the area.  They hold an outdoor camp meeting.

Slava (which means “praise”) arrives with his buddies in his Lada.  He is justifiably proud of his 37-year-old Soviet car and what he has done to keep it running.  Through Sarah who translates I share that I have my grandparent’s ’55 Chevy.  Impressed, Slava retrieves a key ring from his Lada and gives it to me for the Chevy.  The inscription on it in Russian translates, “Whatever you need, God will provide.”

Slava brings his guitar and breaks into worship music.  During the camp meeting, he shares his testimony.  He was in prison for 28 years.  Six years ago he was baptized.  The water was cold.  But he came out warm.

This leads up to nine people being baptized in the river.  In Southern Pentecostal tradition, they are dressed in all white.  One is missing a leg.  One woman cannot walk from nerve damage due to drug abuse.  Others have weathered faces from hard living.  These nine are all residents of a nearby Rehabilitation Ranch for addicts, homeless, handicap and others in need, run by Vladimir and Olga (cook Anna’s daughter).  More about this in the next post.

On Friday, we have a barbecue and carnival for kids in the area.  We feature face painting, pin the tail on the donkey, slip and slide, soccer, stuffed animal giveaways, boat rides, and barbecue chicken.  Meat of any kind is luxury.  The intention is to show the area love and hospitality.

Tolik, Sarah and I drive into town that morning to buy the chicken and other supplies.  We stop by Natasha’s house.  She is 12, and has epilepsy.  She has medication, but still has seizures, and is now at an age where she is embarrassed by them, so she has not been coming to camp.  We meet Natasha and her mother.  Natasha is dressed smartly; her mother is still in her bathrobe.  Tolik is a master at bringing a firm comfort.  I do not understand the Russian dialogue, but Natasha agrees to come, and stays over at least the next two nights.

On Saturday night before our departure the next morning, we have now been with the kids four complete days.  Just before bed time, we pray for them and lay hands on them one by one.  Our prayers are translated.  Then the kids spontaneously turn, and lay hands on us and pray for us.  Now the “wow” is from us.

Outside Natasha collapses unconscious.  It is the second time today.  The first time was after prayers in a church service in town that morning.  I’m no doctor but it does not look like a seizure to me.  Perhaps it is the epilepsy, something spiritual, something else, a combination, I don’t know.  She wakens, and appears disoriented and upset.  Later, after she is in bed and calmed down, Sarah and I go to her bedside.  Sarah translates.  I ask Natasha if I can pray for her.  She does not say yes but she does not say no, so I pray for her, encourage her that she is precious and God loves her very much, and recite the 23^rd Psalm.  I want more than anything for her and all kids to know how much their Heavenly Father loves them and cares for them.  Tolik is wise and patient in these situations.  He has learned not to rush the work of God’s Spirit in these tender lives, and to operate with wisdom and discernment.  Of all the kids I will meet on this trip, Natasha is the one I will remember and pray for the most.

We leave early Sunday morning, bound for a women’s prison where some prisoners have young children, to explore how these mothers and their children can be helped.

For more pictures of the camp, see:  https://picasaweb.google.com/114824553535557120193/Camp.

Surely God is fulfilling His promises of Isaiah 61 for these children:

The Spirit of the LORD God is upon me,
for the LORD has anointed me
to bring good news to the afflicted.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted
and to proclaim liberty to the captives
and freedom to the prisoners.
He has sent me to tell those who mourn
That the time of the LORD’s favor has come,
And with it, the day of God’s vengeance against their enemies.
To comfort all who mourn in Israel.
To those who mourn He will give a crown of beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy instead of mourning,
A garment of praise in exchange for a spirit of heaviness or fainting.
They will be called “oaks of righteousness”
That the LORD has planted for his own glory.