The Plan. (And a few congealing thoughts).

The Plan:

1. Become fluent in Russian

2. Get whatever schooling and training would be useful for 5 and 6

3. Move to Russia or Ukraine (or another Russian-speaking country)

4. Marry the world's best fellow who wants to adopt a bunch of kids, speaks or wants to speak Russian, lives or wants to live in Russia (ok, so this is going to be the hardest part...might need a bit of re-working...maybe instead I could be a nun and start a convent that cares for the kids?well, they really need male role models so I won't give up on my first choice just yet)

5. Open a family-style orphange, legally adopting some and caring for others who may be social orphans

6. Establish a non-profit that supports the development of family care and education for orphans
7. Try to spread a successful model of family care and education for orphans across the globe.



Think it's possible?



Guess I'll get crackin' on 1 and 2 as best I can, pray with diligence, and then jump at the opportunities I am given. This is my desire but I guess I'll just have to wait and see what God has in mind.

It's hard because I've grown weary of words. I wrote in my journal on the train yesterday for the first time since London. I looked down at the pencil in my hands and I suppressed a stong urge to snap it in half. My hands can do better than this. I'd rather hold a child than a pencil.

I've been odd since returning. I haven't wanted to talk about it. I've had nothing to say. I walked with a friend for three hours by the lake on Friday night. Before we set out I told him that I was no good for conversation because I had nothing to say. We walked mostly in silence, catching fireflies, splashing our toes in the water, and watching the lights blink on in a thousand windows.

I turned to him at the end of the evening with my simple explanation. "It's just, I don't want to say any more unless I can finally do something about it."

I'll never change the world. I'm not that awesome. But I can take a corner of it and make it just a little bit brighter. To think it was a tag on a sweater brought me that first time to their corner of the world.

An all-powerful God that would use a tag on a sweater to convey His will to me. Crazy...

People question it all the time, and raise eyebrows when I say I love Eastern Europe and want to move there. Yesterday, I discovered one silly, simple, but very logical reason why I should go to Eastern Europe rather than work with needy kids here in the U.S.

Don't laugh....

I'm too small to help kids here.

Yes. I mean physically too small. Too skinny. I said don't laugh.

I went with a group of inner city kids and some volunteers from my church to the beach yesterday. With only one other guy willing to jump in the water with them, I threw caution to the wind and jumped in too. The wrestling and body-slamming that henceforth occured left bruises on my ribs, shoulders, wrists, bum, ankles...and pretty much everywhere else.

So I can pretty much only handle African American and Latino American kids until they are about 5 years old. Then they can beat me up. It was a fun day, but I'm physically incapable of doing that every day.

So my aforementioned plan...I can't make it happen, but I'm aiming in that general direction. Chesterton comes to mind as I try to narrow down what I want to accomplish in my lifetime: 'All roads lead to Rome; which is why many men never get there.'

I care for many things, but this one, it has my attention. "Attentiveness is the natural prayer of the soul." If so, teach me to pray.

Missing.

I can't sleep. I can't swallow. I can't think. I can't cry.

I can't go back.


My body is several thousand miles from where my heart is, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Every time I am there I know what I want for my life. That's saying something for a girl who notoriously can't settle.

I have renewed determination to love, to learn; to learn to love. The depths of me are tied to those eyes and smiles. I will be there again, I am so sure of it.