It has been over a week since you heard my final observations on my trip to Ukraine last month. While play-by-play observations from the trip are done, there are several things I feel I must address post-trip that hopefully will make much better sense now that you have tasted some of what I experienced by means of the previous six blog-posts. I have delayed posting this because I had been praying that God would present me with a clear vision on how I can serve this Gypsy community further. After the extreme poverty I saw, after critical forms of discrimination, and after seeing the deep spiritual needs of this community, it is a burden for me to go on with normal life without doing anything more.

Upon return, I was struggling in the task of figuring out what I needed to do to continue to serve this village of about 200 families. They have three fundamental needs: spiritual, equality, and development. Their spiritual need ultimately comes down to having a full-time pastor who can teach them the Bible in Ukrainian. While a dozen or so families asked me to become their full-time pastor, I do not feel God calling me to this community in that way. 

Their anti-discrimination needs ultimately come down to political activism within the country, something that would take years of living in Ukraine to become culturally integrated to become a political activist of enough prominence within the country to influence lawmakers. This type of activism is unpopular too even among the general populous of Ukraine; I discussed the situation with several friends I made in college who are from Ukraine who I could instantly visualize their disdain for the Gypsy community. 

Their poverty issues ultimately come down to a lack of livelihood, which is something I absolutely feel God calling me towards for this community. I graduated from Fresno State in December of 2012, and then in March 2013 felt called to go into ministry, a field very minimally related to my undergraduate studies. But, after starting my first week at seminary, I realized that my emphasized economics studies of micro-economic development would be incredibly beneficial to communities around the world such as this Gypsy community.

The Hope for Orphans organization is in the process of cultivating a self-sustaining farm to give the people in the village a way to work and create a livelihood for themselves and their families. Problems still arise in that many Gypsies find it difficult to leave their homes and children for several hours a day. Why? Safety. Gypsy families must spread out their pregnancies in order to receive government child welfare, since they only receive the welfare for each child under six years old. Due to this paradox, families have an average of eight children each, which as I am sure you can imagine, is crazy enough as it is. Now add the issue that these children have nothing to do throughout the day and therefore run around and play all day. Family after family that I talked to indicated their children’s safety is the number one reason why they are hesitant to work on the self-sustaining farm; their entire day is spent watching their children. Several even have a family ‘farm’ where they raise one or two animals each year to be as large as possible to sell at a market over two-day’s journey away via horseback just to make payments on their home loans.

At this point, I felt directed towards figuring out some kind of childcare service that would allow parents 3-4 hours a day of freedom to work on a self-sustaining farm. How could one do this? We cannot send babysitters out to the village so what can we do to help fill this void? A high-fenced play area. Imagine a playground for the children to play on, with slides, swings, teeter-totters, etc. with a water hookup from the main well, with benches and perhaps a tree or two for sitting in shade, all surrounded by a gate fence high enough for the children to be unable to reach. It is in no way full-proof, but it has the potential to serve as a way for parents to drop off their kids to have fun in a controlled environment with limited supervision, out of harm’s way from the rickety road that causes so many injuries among the children. All of this would be for giving the parents freedom to work the farm to make a better livelihood for their children. Will the parents work the farm the full 3-4 hours each day? Probably not, but it will give them the opportunity to gradually move into that kind of lifestyle. This kind of endeavor would not be as costly as it would be in America because of the dramatically decreased labor costs, since non-profit volunteers would build it, and materials are much cheaper in Ukraine than the United States—around $20,000 for the project.

Childcare, linked to micro-economic development through the self-sustaining farm, would be efficient in helping lift these people out of poverty over time; however, it is not the only step in the equation. One of the things I learned as an economics student is that whether it is micro or macro, no economic development can take place without a basic education system in place. This community needs a school. They need to replace their Gypsy dialect with Ukrainian so that they can function as part of the larger national economy. The only way to do that is to teach these villagers to read, write, and speak in Ukrainian. Many of the adults I talked to showed great interest in having a school not just for their children but also for them! Teaching the villagers the basic functions of education will give them a decent chance at interacting with the Ukrainian macro-economy rather than limited to the village micro-economy.

Strategically, the school should be built connected to the playground, so that the children can be transitioned from school to playground for an extended period of time allowing the parents more time to work on the farm. Will children transition into an education setting easily? No, but it will be gradual. Will parents work on the farm for the entire time their children are in school and at the playground? No, but the opportunity would be present for them to work as long as they deemed essential for the better livelihood of their family, and the opportunity would be present for the children to learn the essentials to functioning properly in the society outside their village. While the construction would take much longer than the playground, due to the non-profit volunteer aspect of the project, the cost is dramatically reduced. A school that could cover the basic educational needs for this community, both children and potential adults, would cost about $75,000 to construct.

So... $95,000 is the task placed before us. This small village of 200 families has the potential to rise up into economic development that could spawn out into nearby Gypsy communities, and we can set them up to achieve financial prosperity within a generation for about $95,000. What we can do through this is give this community an opportunity to learn their national language, both verbally and written. What we can do through this is give this community peace of mind for part of their day knowing their children are safe and out of harm’s way. What we can do through this is give this community the ability to work on the self-sustaining farm, to build a better livelihood for their family. What we can do through this is give this community a chance. 

I am not soliciting money with this post. What I am doing in this post is to ask you to pray over this project; that if it is the Lord’s Will, that He provide the funds or the circumstances to make it happen when the time is right. Thank you for coming along this journey with me so far, through prayerful support, through financial support, through blog-reading support, and I hope you will continue with me on this journey to make the lives of the world’s forgotten people a little better, and all the while share with them the Hope and Love of Jesus Christ.

It has been a few days since I have written in my journal; we have been busy with the Gypsies and have not had as much free time as usual, in fact hardly any at all. I finished Radical by David Platt this evening after program; I have been trying to squeeze in pages every chance I could. The book really went along with the activities and my attitude swings throughout the journey. Nevertheless, I will not be able to catch you up on everything because so many things still have me at a loss of words, but here are some highlights from the past four days that have shaped the second half of this journey.

The Hope for Orphans staff learned early on that I am starting school to become a pastor upon returning home and have used me for extra-ministerial purposes. Aside from leading a devotional on 2 Kings 13:11-20a on perseverance, I was asked to do eight baby dedications in the Gypsy village, pray over twelve specific families, play Jesus in a powerful drama about our new identity in Christ (a topic I hope to focus on in ministry), and preach the closing message to the entire village.

My devotional was on 2 Kings 13:14-20a, and it was about perseverance; to finish the mission with the same enthusiasm and strength that we came into the mission with. Steven Furtick, one of my ministry influences preached on this passage of scripture, and my devotional was based on his message. I highly recommend that you watch that 30-minute sermon. And if you do not have a half-hour, at least watch the 4-minute sermon preview at that link.

The national host invited me to the front of the sage during night service to perform a couple baby dedications; not infant baptism like my denomination performs, but a scripture reading and a prayer over each child. The next day’s night adult-service, there were six more babies whose parents wanted a “blessing from the people God sent to [them].” Some of the scriptures I read are below.

“Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind. Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted what the Lord is good.” 
I Peter 2:1-3 (NIV)

“People were also bringing babies to Jesus to have him touch them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs o such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’” 
Luke 18:15-17 (NIV)

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!” 
Isaiah 49:15 (NIV)

Throughout our time here in the village, I have been visiting individual families learning their needs, desires, dreams, life stories and prayer requests. From these conversations, translated of course, I learned about the lives of twelve families and prayed with them. We prayed for peace with some, physical pain relief for others, opportunities to work for some and some personal things that I will not share for others. The requests were fundamentally similar to the things people I disciple back in California need: peace/comfort, emotional pain relief, job opportunities/career/finances, and some other more personal things. Although materialistic circumstances differ, the hearts of people, found and lost, are the same on both sides of the globe.

Tonight, our last night in the Gypsy village, I preached the closing message. This was the first sermon I have ever preached, and it took so much emotional energy out of me doing what I could to make sure I seized the opportunity to invite the Gypsy People to come to Christ, while also making sure what I was saying was Biblical, and effective even through the natural struggles of using a translator. The picture to the left displays the age range in this village: five generations!

I preached on I Peter 1:3-9, which was totally a God decision.

I always envisioned my first sermon to be on Ephesians 4:29, the story of the fiery furnace faith, part of the life of my favorite prophet Elisha, the providential story of Esther, Romans 8:1-2, or one of the other stories that have shaped the kind of ministry I hope to do after completion of seminary—well, during seminary too! However, to think that my first sermon was on I Peter 1:3-9 seems so out of the blue now that I think about it. I stumbled upon the passage upon accidentally turning to the wrong passage after misusing my Bible’s concordance and thought, “this would be a good passage to preach at Easter” and four hours later the national host asked me if I would like to preach the Gospel that very night—talk about providence!

I ended the 15-minute message with an invitation to accept Christ, and while none of the Gypsy adults indicated they had accepted Christ immediately after the message, I felt at peace. Immediately after preaching, I felt discouraged; I did not expect half the room to get on their knees and accept Christ, especially considering the fact that many of the adults in attendance claim to be Christians after being reached by the CRC and Baptist churches in the years prior, but I was hoping that at least one would. Later that night when we got home, I finished reading Radical by David Platt and in the closing remarks of the book, he told the story of Jim and Elizabeth Elliott. Jim Elliott and a team of men went to a cannibalistic tribe unreached by the Gospel. 

When Jim and his team died at the hands of the tribe, Elizabeth, his wife, went to do the same mission, and when the tribe recognized that her message was the same message that her husband brought before his death, they chose to listen and because of that, they became believers and left their cannibalistic ways. Minus the cannibalism and martyrdom, I felt like Jim Elliott in that I presented the Gospel, and in the future when I, or other missionaries come and preach the same message to these same people, I have hope that the foundation has been set and when I realized that hope, it brought me peace. I look forward to seeing what God does in this community in the future and definitely feel that my work with this village is not complete.

Today was a much different day in many ways. We did not go to the Gypsy village today. Instead, we drove about an hour east to an orphanage of about 350 kids aged infant-17. This orphanage is where last year’s July team from the Well Community Church went. Between last year and this year, things have changed; the Ukrainian orphanage is now paid by the Russian government to keep Christians out of the orphanage, both missionaries and prospective parents. Moreover, if the Russian government catches them, they risk dire consequences, and since the Ukrainian police are corrupt, carrying out said consequences would not be difficult. Reluctantly, they let us in only to play with the kids, no Bible teaching, and that was only because they had become comfortable with the Hope for Orphans organization from past interactions. Therefore, we played with the kids for a few hours until the kids entered their daily quiet time an hour or so past noon.

One of the young kids, he was six, was a boy named Yura in a purple tie-dye shirt, the only shirt he owns. Every backyard activity I participated in, he followed. Some of us started playing volleyball, and there he was with his bright enormous mouth-wide-open smile. Then when I sat on the bench to catch my breath, there he was sitting next to me. When they called the kids in for quiet time, he put his hand around my back and leaned his head against my arm to say goodbye.

The orphanage is setup like a prison, in plain terms. The rooms are about two/thirds the size of a dorm room, where five-eight kids stay. They have set mealtimes with a twenty-minute allotment at each of the three mealtimes for which if the kid misses, they miss that meal. Between breakfast and dinner, with the exception of lunch and mandatory “in-room” quiet time (about an hour and a half) in the afternoon, the kids are free to play in the “backyard.” If you walk behind the orphanage, you’ll see a long staircase down to their backyard area; a high fenced play area where they are limited to soccer and working out. One thing my team and I noticed was that girls did not play. They sat on a bench and watched. The only other backyard activity the kids have is playing in the river, even more so down the hill on top of which the orphanage sits.

During their quiet time, we went to the river beneath the orphanage to have lunch. After lunch, we went back and our national host arranged them to let us do our program for just the evening, as long as we were quick to avoid any police interaction. We setup our stage in the lobby, right near the front entrance. “Purple Tie-dye Shirt Yura” saw me right in front leading worship and got as close as he could to the front, and even got up to be my partner during one of the songs (the picture above). 

After leading worship, which was longer than usual, I headed toward the back to the door to get a little air and so the next part of the program could take the stage. When I got to the door, I saw a police officer walk toward the entrance and my whole body froze in panic. Up until that point in my life, I have never been more scared in my life. Thankfully, though, he was a security guard hired by the orphanage to watch for behavior issues and deal with troublesome kids. 

During the program, I met a young man also by the name of Yura who was 15; we had a lengthy conversation and he inspired me on so many levels. He is fluent in English because the parents who are adopting him had him sent to live with them for the summer for two months and they paid for him to learn to speak English verbally and written, in an accelerated language learning program. His soon-to-be father and mother live in Seattle and work for Microsoft and Starbucks Corporate respectively. He wore a shirt from Arizona State University where he said he wants to go after completing high school where he wants to study linguistics and become a translator to help improve the lives of Ukrainian orphans.

I asked “Arizona State Yura” and “Purple Tie-dye Shirt Yura” and what he told me overwhelmed me with sadness. His parents, who are of some wealth, brought him to the orphanage because they did not want him anymore. Why he has not been adopted yet, according to Arizona State Yura, is because when prospective parents ask why he is at the orphanage, the directors say his rich parents brought him here because they did not want him anymore, which leaves a bad impression of him on parents—what could he have done? How bad is his behavior? However, Arizona State Yura told me Purple Tie-dye Yura is one of the best-behaved kids amongst the young orphans who always find reasons to be excited.

Toward the end of our nearly hour and a half conversation, parts in the rain—yes rain!—I asked if there was anything I could pray with him for and his response stopped me, overwhelmed me, and reminded me of one of my life verses: Daniel 3:17-18. He said, “People like you have come many times throughout my life here telling me how big God is and how I should pray because he has not forgotten me. The only prayer I have ever prayed all my life is to have a real family. I always asked God to give me a family and to make sure it is a good one. I never stopped praying that. I never gave up because I figured God was looking for a good family to take me. Now he has and it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted and asked for.” 

Daniel 3:17-18 is about Hadrack, Meshack and Abednigo about to be thrown into the fiery furnace and they declare to King Nebuchadnezzar: Our God can save us, but even if he does not, we will still praise Him! That is bold faith—that is what this boy has: God, I believe you can send me a good family and I will not stop praying and will keep waiting because I know you can! God has provided Arizona State Yura with a family starting hopefully this winter, a new name: James Yura Nichols, and an opportunity to escape the fate of most orphans with a dream to help those who live the life he has lived. After a giant bear hug, we left. 

Less than five minutes after leaving, legitimate Ukraine police stopped us, and I have never been more scared than right then—I know I just said that several paragraphs ago, not the “up until that point.” With guns at their side, they inspected the van and thankfully did not ask to see identification because our passports were in Kyiv and we could have been detained and/or taken to the US Embassy in Kyiv. Nevertheless, we went on our way.

Before going back to our in-field host’s home, we stopped at an authentic Ukrainian restaurant for dinner. Strangely, I found a piece of glass in my tooth that came from my crepe. I was talking to Chelsea when I bit on the piece of glass; I pulled it out of my mouth and it looked like a small piece of ice but it was not cold, so I was confused. I finished my sentence with Chelsea and then asked our national host sitting next to me what that was and he freaked out asking where I found that. Upon communicating the deep concern to the waitress, my meal was free, along with a complimentary slice of tiramisu as a way to express their apologies. A crazy end to the day, but the crepe was incredibly tasty—despite the glass—and by the time we arrived home, we were all worn out.

It is a fresh day; I got my hands on some shampoo and really showered; in our time in London, I showered with water, but there is something about not using soap that makes a shower feel useless. Amidst the humid blast that hits you as soon as you wake up, the cold showers were a blessing in disguise.  After staff devotional and breakfast, we went to the Gypsy village. 

I died and came back to life today, so it seemed. After four straight days of 120 degree weather, not to mention the extreme humidity, I about lost it. After returning home to America to do some calculations to determine how hot 47 and 49 degrees Celsius was: it is 116 and 120 degrees Fahrenheit respectively, and at the time of checking (3am Ukrainian time) there was 77% humidity, just to give you a little glimpse.

I sat in a cool building during the morning program to cool down my body; unlike my fellow teammates from Fresno living with 4-5 weeks of nearly consecutive days of 100+ degree weather, I live in northern California where the high is around 90 with consistent medium-high winds. Although I lived in Fresno for three and a half years, I am not accustomed to this kind of heat and it got the best of me. After morning program, I slept with a fan right next to my head. After lunch, rather than going back to the lake with a majority of the staff, I went back to bed, but this time with a Ukrainian remedy. My teammate Tatiana, who grew up in Ukraine, noticed that my entire head had “swelled” and was bright red, so she wrapped my head with cabbage. I do not know the science behind it, but it lessened the swelling on a Ukrainian team member’s wasp sting earlier in the week so I thought, “sure, why not.”

Unfortunately, when evening program began I could not participate because I was still so overheated, so I sat in the church building with the team members practicing the skit. Thankfully, though, I was able to lead worship, although by the end of the fourth song, I was fading in and out, and slurring the words to Hosanna, sung in Ukrainian (the link takes you a YouTube video from the Hillsong Church in Kyiv). I quickly exited the building to a chair in the shade where I continued to fade in and out. Next thing I know, my team had wetted my sweat cloth and placed it on my forehead and they were flicking the Gypsy water on my face and arms, and were feeding me their water bottles since I had already finished mine. All I was physically able to do was stare at the sun as it inched closer to sunset; after the sun sets, the temperature quickly drops to about 32 degrees Celsius; I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a high-humidity, 90-degree Fahrenheit night more than today.

All day, we have been teaching the kids the Biblical message of community working today with an emphasis on the topic of UNITY. What we did not realize until after was that in real time, the unity of our team would have been a great example to show unity to the kids. Had I tried to go through the day on my own, I would have lost control of my body and perhaps even collapsed, but because my team came together to help their teammate in trouble, I was able to persevere through the heat. It is a good example showing how Jesus never wanted us to go through life alone but in community so in our downs, we can be lifted, and in our ups, we can lift up others.

After evening session, rather than go back to our in-field host’s house, the team broke up into mini-teams of three, and we went to individual houses to talk to families. I went with Tatiana and Kolya who is the financial director for the organization. We went to a home of a mother (32) and father (34) who had six children, a seventh that died at one year old with a brain tumor and an eighth that died as a miscarriage. They also had two other children living with them frequently who were orphans in the village—this type of orphan/family situations was very common in the village. Neither parents nor their kids could read or write in any language. This is because Gypsies are abused in Ukrainian schools due to their dark skin. These parents introduced a desire to me, echoed by parents I would meet and talk to later in the week, that they want their children to learn to read and write in Ukrainian, not the Gypsy dialect. Their hope for this is that when their children are older, maybe they will be able to interact with the rest of the country to make a better life.

The second major need these parents introduced to me, echoed by nearly every parent I met, was keeping their children safe. The roads near Gypsy villages are not maintained by the government nearly as much as regular roads, and are therefore incredible unsafe. The father told us a story of when he was a child, his friend and he would throw rocks at cars that drove by. One day though, his friend through a rock the size of his palm at a car and it got caught in the car’s tire and flung back and hit his friend square in the head. The blow to the head was so severe that it knocked him completely off the ground backwards and when he hit the ground, mixed with the blow to the front of the head from the rock and back of the head on the ground, his friend never got up. He died. That day has haunted this man since it happened, and he says he spends his whole day worrying about the safety of his children. When asked if he would be willing to work on the field if he knew his kids were safe, even if it was only for a few hours a day, he said “most definitely” and his wife said she would work the field as well.

The mother is skeptical about going somewhere to work, even though she enjoys working, and is excited about the farm because it is in their backyards and she cannot be scammed. Many years ago, the mother went away for a whole year to the Russian border of Ukraine above Kyiv to bake and cool in a factory at the promise of $2,000/month, which is a big deal. Sadly, though, at the end of the year, they only have her $100 for the entire year and harassed her to leave at risk of being killed all because she was a Gypsy. Moreover, Gypsies are falsely prosecuted against and are victims of the corrupt Ukrainian police’s refusal to protect.

I could not help but think of the spiritually hazardous world of political activism that God called me out of after hearing this story. The word discrimination is thrown around way too much in American political discourse. The problem though, is Americans have an “I deserve anything I want because that’s the American Dream” attitude, so when something does not go their way they cry discrimination. People in my generation are not willing to work at something for a long period of time. The American Dream is about struggle now to thrive later, but people in my generation’s threshold for how long they will struggle is so low. I remember hearing fellow political science students saying they would accept the first job they got offered that paid over $80,000 and they thought I was crazy for saying I was looking for a job that paid $36,000, hoping for $24,000. In the competitive job market, mixed with the poor economy, you received a basic BA with a less than stellar GPA, held no internships, or leadership positions in college, and after not receiving any job offers prior to graduating you cry discrimination? 

There are children in this world denied entrance into school because of the color of their skin. There are people in the world who are given work with promise of a certain pay, and shooed away with a mere fraction of that promise all because of the color of their skin, and because they know the Gypsies cannot go to police either because the police refuse to protect them: that is discrimination. Stop complaining when you do not get your way, because like the principle of The Boy that Cried Wolf, it lessens the credibility of the legitimate cases of discrimination in this country and world when you abuse that battle cry. Sorry for the rant, but this is one of those things I think everybody is thinking but too afraid to say--and I admit, it is easier to say behind the safety of my computer screen. However, whenever somebody cries discrimination, I have a standard of discrimination in mind: this, and the many other, Gypsy just trying to feed their children and family. I have looked discrimination in the face, and it overwhelms me with grief.

After talking with families, we returned to the home of our in-field host where we had dinner: burgers! The team has been careful not to ask what we were eating at risk of hearing something "unfortunate." Well tonight, my fellow American teammate Greg jokingly asked if the burgers were Gypsy cows or non-Gypsy cows and the response was neither. “Those burgers are from a horse that died near here several days ago.” Our jaws dropped, and of course, this was after we had already eaten them. Yes, we ate horse. I know what you are asking your computer screen right now, and to answer that question, it was quite tasty. After dinner, I went straight to bed with another dose of cabbage patch forehead which my fellow American guys I shared a room with thought was hilarious enough to take this picture--it is pretty funny.



Tomorrow's blog post is entitled "A Place the Government Prohibits the Gospel." Come back tomorrow to read about the orphanage we visited that day and our nerve-racking experience with the orphans.

The house full of Ukrainians and Americans were up at 7:30am for the staff devotional, today led by American team leader Jeff Mueller. The devotional was about Galatians 1:6-10 and 5:22-26 and was a reminder that we are here to spread the Gospel and nothing else, and as representatives of God’s love, to act in accordance to the Fruits of the Spirit. After devotional, we ate breakfast or morning meal as they call it—we had an off brand of cocoa puffs and fresh bananas from the farm of our in-field host!

We soon left for the Gypsy camp where we spent the morning and early afternoon. We did the same worship songs as last night, including the one English song Every Move I Make, which is a song I grew up with in my church’s youth ministry. Now as a leader within that same youth ministry, it is still a frequent favorite of our students. After worship, we broke the kids up into three groups based on age. The group I had were the oldest of the group of kids in the village (ages 12-17). In this group would be about a half dozen guys who I would grow quite fond of and based on our interactions throughout my time at this village, the fondness was mutual.

During these groups, the kids receive a Bible lesson and do a craft themed with the message of the Bible lesson. After that, we broke all three groups up into two gender-segregated groups: the boys went to the field to play soccer, and the girls got their nails painted bright, vibrant colors to coincide with the Bible message of seeing yourself as a beautiful, beloved child of God. After these activities ended, all the kids gathered for a game in front of the church to win chocolate filled wafers for which all kids eventually won. I did not participate in this though, because the national host wanted to show me something in the village.

I will preface this with the fact that late last night, after writing in my journal, the whole team got together to learn a little bit about each other, and the team found out that almost immediately upon returning to America, I start school to pursue a Master of Divinity, a degree that makes individuals theologically prepared to become pastors.

Therefore, with that prefaced, the national host pulled me out of the activities with the kids temporarily to show me a second church building in this village, one that had been built by the American Baptist Church just a few months ago. This church building however did not supply the village with a pastor and came with no guarantee of one. This church building was well built in my opinion; windows placed strategically for maximum ventilation—it was noticeably cooler—solid foundation and walls of cement, and a roof that could withstand heat, rain and wind, but not fire. The church is hidden behind the home of the father and son who worked with the short-term Baptist missionaries who came with materials, blueprints, and people to help build. The father and the son (40s and 20s seemingly) came in the door-less building with us and spoke to us about the church, the community and the impact we had for about 45 minutes—the national host translated for me. “We aren’t able to bring the joy to our children like the joy you bring. It’s so clear to us that just because we’re poor, God has not forgotten us.” This Gypsy village has about 200 families, with nearly 70% between the ages of 0-17. Not all those kids are orphans, but substantial amounts are orphans. The families’ entire livelihoods are from government welfare for their children. Ukrainians who do not work receive the equivalent to about $200/month for every child they have under the age of six. This is why they have so many children; many families with 5-8 children, spread out in bunches so when a couple kids have grown above six years old there are more coming to keep the government money coming—the families literally use the government money to raise their entire families. If a family has no children under the age of six and does not work, they get no help from the government. 

When the father had asked what I do for a living, I said I had just graduated college with credentials in economics with a research focus on microeconomic development and that I would soon become studying to become a pastor. His eyes widened and immediately asked me to pastor the community and help guide them economically. What ended up being my first pastoral call, I declined citing my lack of verbal or written understanding of their language. I recommended that they pray as a community for an organization willing to train one of the Gypsy converts in a seminary setting so a Gypsy could minister to fellow Gypsies, to be most effective. He told me he would do that and asked me to “pray about becoming their pastor anyway.” 

After further questioning, the CRC church had about sixty regular attendees from the village before the pastor was sent away and the Baptist church had forty attendance pledges from the village from people who did not first attend the CRC church. Unfortunately, with no pastor in either, this village does not have church services on a regular basis. The village has several leaders who lead prayer groups every so often because with no Bible translated in their Gypsy dialect and with none of them able to read or write in Ukrainian (the closest language translation of the Bible for them); prayer is their only source of communication with God, aside from the occasional missionary to come through.

At lunch, we had soup of chicken broth and corn, peas, egg and potatoes, however I could not really eat because our in-field host gave the men some fresh peppers from his garden and after nearly burning to death from the spiciness and regaining power of my overheated head, my appetite was gone. 

In our free time, we went swimming, and I thought they meant to the river by the village, however we drove to an absolutely beautiful lake that was a well known Ukrainian and Slovakian attraction. The lake was within two miles of the Slovakian border, and it is a good thing because we left our passports in Kyiv, purposely. The water in this lake was clear and clean. People there rowed in boats around the lake, people climbed the cliff to jump into the water from 75+ feet up, and others swam with the fish. The picture to the left is a picture of the American team: Chelsea, Jeff, Greg, Mallory, me, and Tatiana. After a little fun in the Ukrainian sun, we went back to the Gypsy camp and played with the kids on the field with the grazing cows and ducks, although both left soon after we arrived. 

After playing with the kids, we did the program in the CRC building with a skit about the power of prayer, which is something the parents took very serious, since the parents of faith have no pastor, they rely almost entirely on prayer (not necessarily a bad trait to have), so these kids have seen prayer many times in their short lives. After the skit, Jeff shared his testimony with the kids about how Jesus has transformed his soul and how the Gospel can do the same for them. Then Chelsea and I led worship again with three songs in English: Happy Day, Every Move I Make, and Our God. After program ended at about 10:15pm (about a half hour past sunset), we headed back to our in-field host’s home to sleep.

After nearly 14.5 hours of sitting in a van—including stopping for breakfast where I had eggs sunny-side up for the first time—we arrived in Uzhhorod on the Western region of Ukraine near the Slovakian border. We spent more time on the bus within Ukraine than we spent flying to Ukraine from LA. About a half hour before arriving to our in-field host’s home, we stopped at a supermarket in the main marketplace about 20-25 kilometers away from the village to get some food items that we did not want to spoil. As soon as we pulled in the parking lot, a bunch of Gypsy kids stormed our van to beg or steal, which is precisely the reputation Gypsies have.

Our in-field host welcomed us with lunch and then we had some free time before heading to the village; there were three locale options for us to go in the area, and our national host evaluated all three to determine where we were needed the most. After evaluating, we set out for a small village about three kilometers away; the village is filled with Gypsies—he was pretty certain this was where we were going but evaluated the other two just to make sure. 

As we drove up to the village, we first passed a large field, dry, desolate and filled with piles upon piles of cow droppings to our right, and to our left was dry, empty land that went further than you could see. Just as we entered the village, we saw a river that served as the dividing line between the field and the village. Even in the two seconds that we had to see as we drove past we could see the trash, and the milky, pasty-blue color of the water, but also the sight of children screaming with joy as they splashed in the water.

We drove past a dozen or so small single-story cement-block houses that looked as if they were half built, falling apart or both before stopping in front of the main church building for this village. When we went to the village, Gypsy kids stormed our van too but with expressions of excitement and hope, rather than anguish and hopelessness. There had to have been a difference between the two Gypsies we encountered. Why was there such a contrast within their realm of poverty?

In the village, Gypsy kids live in small homes with their parents and usually 6-8 other kids, and they are told that if they grow up and run away from home, they are on their own, but if they stay around, they are family. Outside of the village, for the Gypsies that run away, in almost every case, they are thrown into prostitution, sex trafficking, drug usage/distribution, and what they are most known for—theft.

This church is the central point for the whole village; it was planted by the Christian Reformed Church denomination several years ago, although the pastor that came with it left just months after due to his inability to read or write in Ukrainian. I was incredibly shocked to hear this since I was raised in the CRC, and I currently serve in youth ministry in the CRC while I attend seminary to become a pastor. The church, while the gate is open, sits on the land allotted to the Baron. The Baron is elected by the village from within by majority vote. The Baron also serves as the creditor for the village; when individual families need to pay for materials to buy a home, he essentially owns their loan. The Baron is making an intentional effort to work with Hope for Orphans in a committed partnership towards holistic growth in this village.

The next big project Hope for Orphans is working on for this village is a self-sustaining farm. They have already acquired the land, and in fact, the government was willing to give it to them for free because of the proven success they have had elsewhere in the country. A major problem with Gypsies is they are raised in a culture where work is not overtly encouraged or done by most of the adults. 

The end goal for the Hope for Orphans organization, for this village, is for families to be able to care for their children, and to instill the values of hard work on both the adults and the children, so that overtime they may earn money respectfully throughout their lives rather than the method for which they currently live. The first few hours that we were able to spend with the Gypsy kids was mainly to warm them up to us. We walked them a couple hundred yards to the open field on the other side of the river where we played field games such as soccer, partner duck-duck-goose, a variation of dodge ball, volleyball and Frisbee. 

I could not help but muse over the so incredibly dirty river; it is where the villagers bathe and drink, and it is filled with trash. There are only two other water sources in the village other than this river. The first is a well at the church with water not recommended for people who were not born in Ukraine. The second that an individual family owns toward the back East corner of the village that is shared by that family's extended family, most of whom live one or two immediate houses away from this family—the well is also shared to friends of the family.

After playing with the kids on the field, we brought them back to the church building where some staff had stayed back to setup a concert for the kids. In every session, we gave the kids a concert; the Gypsy dialect has no word for worship, so we used the word ‘concert’ instead. The worship team consisted of a drummer, a guitarist, a bassist, and a backup singer from the Ukrainian team, and myself and Chelsea as main singers from the American team. We tried to integrate English with the Ukrainian worship, the reason being, most of the kids have heard many of the most popular Chris Tomlin songs.

On this first night, we did three songs in Ukrainian and a fourth song in English. The kids instantly got involved with all the songs regardless of language, some singing the English songs in their native tongue and most doing the hand motions and what not. After worship, some others from our team put on a skit about Jesus Christ being a comforter to a crowd of kids, most of which watching the wordless skit with dramatic background music in awe. As we left for the evening, the kids gave us big hugs because they thought we were not coming back. After we reassured them we would be returning, their smiles grew wide and they waved us adieu as we drove away in our van under the Ukrainian moon. 

We made it to Kyiv, Ukraine today, after two full days of travel. We departed from LAX on Sunday August 4 at 3:30pm, and nearly 10 hours of nonstop flight later, it was lunchtime in London August 5 where I about caused an international incident after taking this photo--I'm kidding of course, kinda. 

After several hours of sightseeing in Westminster, we found ourselves exhausted tremendously. Ok, that last part was primarily me. During our ten hour flight, the others slept but for some reason I could not, and when combined with the “American Tourist” experience on my first excursion outside the US Border awestruck at the royal architecture, I found myself so exhausted. My fellow teammates took photos of me sleeping seemingly everywhere we went. They even tell me I fell asleep standing up! 

However, after a full night of rest—over ten hours—in our cozy hostel, the rest of the team and I were fully energized and had our eyes wide open to what was to come. The picture to the left of this paragraph is where we stayed in London; it's on a street with a whole bunch of places like these, including a Hansel and Gretel house, but that picture is for later. It was as if we stayed in a hotel village, and with the tiny restaurants/pubs it certainly felt like a village.

When we got off the plane in Kyiv, in the middle of the day, the airport was completely empty; the only people there seemed to be the people getting off of our flight. Leaving the airport in Kyiv, Ukraine seemed a lot like the United States (at first); four lane freeways, McDonalds all over the place, driving on the right side of the road, and all the street signs were translated in English--on many signs, the English print was larger than the Ukrainian print! 

As we moved away from the airport though, those reminders of home went away, the nice buildings began to disappear and the four lane freeways turned into single-lane roads and then into dirt roads, leading towards small homes and pieces of land where the people outside the industrialized square of the airport’s metropolitan area lived. 

While in Kyiv, my team and I from The Well Community Church in Fresno, California stayed at the house of the director of Hope for Orphans. His wife is a Fresno native who was connected with the Well prior to getting married and moving to Kyiv. Our national host family made us burgers and fries and called it Ukrainian In n Out to make us “feel at home”; I must admit, In n Out’s spread/sauce does not even come close to the Ukrainian secret sauce, although I did not dare ask what was in it. 

During the meal, the team-at-large of 25 (mostly Ukrainians) got acquainted with one another by introducing ourselves and went around to receive our new names. The Ukrainians deliberated and picked out Ukrainian names for us five Americans, and we Americans gave an American name to each of the Ukrainians. My Ukrainian name is DONYA. Names were typically close to our regular names, although my teammate Chelsea was given the Ukrainian name ‘Football’ because of the Chelsea Soccer Team in London, however her name also changed to Abramovicha, the coach of that team. As it played out, most of us became close enough to our foreign counterparts to use their real names, and our Ukrainian names were used in jokes during the mission.

Right now we are resting in the home of our national hosts and will be leaving tonight around 10pm local time and trekking across the Ukrainian landscape through the night—they say about 10-11 hours—to get to the Hope for Orphans camp near Uzhhorod in West Ukraine near the Slovakian border by morning. The camp is for Gypsy kids. Gypsies are darker skinned and we are told they look identical to Mexicans with Russian eyes. We are also told that Gypsies are the outcasts in orphan culture, which makes me sad that there is such a thing as outcasts within the orphan community. We are excited to be part of the movement to show these kids God’s love, part of Hope for Orphans’ long-term mission and part of assisting Hope for Orphans in guiding these kids and people toward Jesus Christ as they grow up.

I have realized how much of an idol my iPhone is in my life. I chose not to bring my phone, or any other electronics for that matter beside a camera, and man, I am much more attached than I even realized I was. I imagine as things get going I will not think about it quite as much, but in the free time or time waiting that we have had so far amidst our travel, including now, my mind wanders about potential texts, voicemails, Facebook notifications, and Words with Friends games, which will all be waiting for me upon return. In order to get my mind off that distraction, I am trying to read intentionally. I am in the middle of Radical by David Platt and it is about how the American Dream has distorted the American Church. I also brought Crazy Love by Francis Chan and The Great Evangelical Recession by John Dickerson, although unlike several in my extended family, I cannot read more than one book at the same time, and sometimes even that is #thestruggle.

So many months of preparation mentally, financially and spiritually and we are just hours away from being with these orphans. It has been a long time since I have worked with younger kids. Growing up, I was involved in the infant-preschool ministry at my church, and worked in a childcare at a Christian family camp several summers ago. I love kids, so I am so excited to get back to serving and caring for children. I am thankful for the opportunity to be used by God and am looking forward to seeing what God wants to change in my heart, all for His glory.