
[When they met Miroslav] He was
turning two. We called him “Angel Boy”—I cannot explain the
beauty of his spirit. He, in circumstances that no little child
should live in, was so full of a sweet, heart-breaking peace. His
eyes showed no contempt or anger. Ever. They only held love and a
sad, mystified wonder at why he was left alone and uncared for.
He had just been placed at an
orphanage for special needs children due to his diagnosis of cerebral
palsy. His mother still held rights. She was only allowed to visit
him one day a week because she had entrusted him to this place. We
got to see her three or four times over the seven weeks that we were
there. Once, she brought Miroslav’s older brother, a rambunctious
boy who enjoyed striking us down with his plastic sword. The boy
showed a gentle side, though, as he bent and tenderly kissed
Miroslav’s cheek. Miroslav smiled ever so sweetly at him. I sensed
the love between these two brothers. I even felt that the mother
cared deeply for her youngest son. Why, then, had she left him here?
With the help of a translator,
my family and I asked her if we could do anything that could assist
her in bringing Miroslav home. Did she need money to take care of
him? No, she didn’t. She said that he got the therapy and care he
needed here. Our hearts broke as we thought, “If only you could
understand! Your child gets no therapy. No special care. He spends
all his hours behind crib bars, waiting for you. He is hungry,
afraid, abandoned.”
Miroslav’s mother told us
that, in a year, he would come back to live with them. We knew what a
year in this place could do to a child. “Oh, God,” we prayed,
“keep Miroslav strong.”
When we left the orphanage,
when we looked into Miroslav’s angel eyes one last time, we held
hope in our hearts that he would be freed from this place.
Back in the US, we were unable
to get news of this little boy. Then, after more than a year had
passed, we saw a photo of him with a missionary. The very photo in
this article. He looked so happy, so joyful. But we knew that when
the missionaries left, he would be back in his crib. Little Miroslav
was still at the orphanage. His mother’s promise had not been kept.
We’ll never know why. Still, he remained unavailable for adoption.
We prayed. We asked God that his family would take him back, or else
they would sign their rights away, so that he would have a chance to
leave the orphanage.
Today, he is still in the same
place, still waiting for his momma to come back for him. She never
will. He is turning five. He will spend his birthday alone, in a
crib.
10 days ago, nearly 3 years
since we told Miroslav goodbye, I received an email from a Ukrainian
friend. In her words, “God is making the best for children who need
him. Can you imagine that the lady from [the orphanage]…said
‘please find family for Miroslav’?”
It was an answer to prayer. He
is available for adoption now. He can be freed. If only an adoptive
family can be found.
That’s where your part comes
in: Share. Miroslav’s. Story.
Most everyone knows that
Ukraine has all but destroyed part of Kyiv in their rioting. I have
seen photos of beautiful monuments that I stood under that are
blackened, burned, and crumbled. It is shocking and terribly
saddening to someone who has been there. But, even more troublesome,
are the Russian troops who are taking over Crimea. Adoptions in that
region have been stopped. Adoptions ARE still taking place in
Miroslav’s region. Is time running out? Maybe. I don’t know.
Is there a homestudy-ready
family out there that could rush through the paperwork and claim
Miroslav before he’s stuck behind crib bars forever? There must be.
But it may take many of us to reach the right person. You can take
the first step towards finding Miroslav a family by pressing the
Share button.
Not all great things are hard.
The
person who wrote this article can be reached at mckennaugh
[at] inbox [dot] com or 570-549-2442.
Please visit the original post
at http://therebelution.com/blog/2014/04/help-miroslav-get-adopted/#.VEVX1PldWwE for
more information.
In Christ,
~Maria