Our day was relaxing as we got ready for our Monday activities. We sat around the apartment, watching television shows in Russian, eating breakfast late in the morning and put clothes on the clothes line. The three of us headed out and stopped to find lunch before our bus ride. As we left the cafe, we spotted the bus we were supposed to be on driving up to the bus stop. The three of us ran to catch it. Jumping on just in time. The ride was hot, no air conditioning.
As we arrived at the orphanage, Aleks pushed the button to let the driver know it was our stop. We jumped off and slowly walked down a bumpy side road to the back of what Aleks has known as his home for the past few years. It looked empty almost deserted. We headed to the front door and found a few faces waiting for us to arrive. Aleks walked in with confidence and as he walked in, he headed straight to his group room. Some of the kids following behind and beside him. We just joined them as we watched from a short distance. We walked through a door numbered “7” and into an open area with a dining room table, sofas and television. Aleks went straight to his old room to see if anything had changed. What I didn’t know was that his bed had been removed and was on the back porch area. But the boys were very excited to see him and off they ran to play outside.
Kevin and I sat at their dining room table and Ginta, Inara, the orphanage director, and another supervisor, which I can’t remember her name, sat with us. Inara asked us several questions about how Aleks was doing and if we had any problems. She wanted to know about schooling and how his behavior was. She wanted to know if he was still smoking in American…yes, that was one of the questions. After the questions were answered, Inara needed to leave for other business before her vacation time. Ginta headed out too to find Aleks case book for us to look through for any answers that we may need of his young life.
She returned with a 2-3 inch thick notebook filled with his records and a separate smaller binder with even more information, we think it was his schooling. As she opened the book and began to translate our little boy’s life on paper, I sat with tears filling my eyes and a hurt in my heart. This child has gone through more in his young lifetime than most of us will ever go through and may never go through. He as wandered the streets, begged for food and clothes, has taken on a role of an adult while the one that gave him life was in a drunken stupor. Each document was another piece to the puzzle, but so many pieces have been lost in the potholes of Liepaja.
As I walk through this journey with my son, Aleks. I am being changed. The rescue is not for Aleks but for me. I am constantly reminded that we too are all adopted. We are given a new beginning as adopted children of God. God has freed us, we have an inheritance. (Gal. 4:1-7).
