So we have been traveling for nearly two full days… it feels like it has taken an eternity to get here. And in the same sense, it feels like I have always been in this place.

In this moment.

In Simferopol.

There is a timeless quality to this city, no matter how many new grocery stores they build or new flat buildings I see going up.

Staying in the foster home of Galina, getting to know her children by way of the heart rather than blood ties, seems like such a natural thing to do.

They are curious about their American visitors and try to speak English and love our pictures of home – and want to show us photos of their world.

It’s hard not to be amazed – at how different this world is, but so familiar to me.

Even in our exhaustion, there is a level of excitement and joy.

Happiness to have final arrived.

Anticipation of how God is going to work in our lives – and through our actions over the next 10 days.

Our team got off to slow start.

We got onto our plane in Savannah, pushed out from the gate and grounded to a halt: Bad weather in Atlanta was keeping everyone grounded.

A loud groan erupted from the plane.

I prayed we would not have to sit that long.

I knew we had about an hour layover, and that would cut things a tad too short.

Fortunately, Gracie – who was meeting up with us after leaving from her home state of Texas – had already made the connecting flight and got the flight attendants to hold the plane for 15 minutes.

It was a mad dash from Terminal B to A – there were plenty of doubts as to whether we would make it.

Logic said: Don’t even try.

But we did.

Even more amazingly: So did our bags when we went to collect them in Kiev.

It has seemed like with each step forward, the troubles and obstacles have also seemed further away.

I know it is not coincidental.

There is an army of friends and family praying for us each step of the way.

And for that, I am ever thankful.

So  now I am in a room with the rest of the girls on our trip, listening to the sounds of the city readying for nightfall. It is 9:30 p.m. here. Back home in Savannah, people are still working for the weekend.

We have a beautiful view of the city from our hillside perch and I am exhausted beyond all reason.

Tomorrow is a new day – filled with new possibilities.

I will see old friends, such as Oksana, and make many new ones.

Day 2

It’s the end of the day and still Saturday remains a blur.

I know I got up in another country after entirely too many hours on a plane. I know I had breakfast. And I know it was good.

I remember saying goodbye to Sasha, Marsha, Luda and Vanya – four of our hostess Galina’s six foster children.

I remember piling into the van and riding to Project Sasha. We met up with Natasha and Kostya there – had a briefing on the ministries Mulberry International supports in Ukraine and then after a few formalities, we were off. Off to summer camp in the hills of Crimea (a place that looks entirely too much like parts of my home state of Pennsylvania.)

The kids were clearly thrilled to have the Americans here. There was a flurry of activities – including deciding who would partner up and join three teams of campers, a younger group, middle age and high school.

We quickly decided that Rachel, my goddaughter, and I would tackle the youngest kids, ages 8 to 11; Jimmy Roulette and Carol Waters took on the middle-schoolers. That left Christa Ashmore and Gracie Jones with the high school aged kids

Immediately three little girls in our group were coming up and introducing themselves. Olga, Anya and Rita.

They are the three amigas in a group of impish boys.

It was exciting for me to see Rachel eagerly making friends. I didn’t doubt her ability, but have been blown away nonetheless.

Day 3

It was a strange Sunday.

The plan was for the team to meet up near the outdoor theater and do a little praise and worship before breakfast. I missed my LateChurch service and knew we’d need a little encouragement.

But half the team overslept – including Jimmy, who was supposed to play for us.

It was a bust.

Instead, Carol turned the last row of the stage area into a hair salon. She French braided Olga, Anya and Sheda’s long beautiful hair.

I’ve learned long ago to go with the flow on these trips. Time moves in a different pace here.

Adjusting my attitude is sometimes a challenge, but I feel like I am adapting pretty well. Adaptation is the name of the game.

We learn as we go.

Several campers had parents come to visit them.

They would emerge from their cabins with bags of sweets that they immediately offered to everyone around. It’s a cultural habit I admire. How many American 10-year-olds would share an entire bag of Oreos if they were given them by their parents?

Day 4 (Monday, June 8)

This morning was a blast!

Rachel, Oksana (my translating friend) and I showed the kids how to take old cardboard egg cartons and turn them into grasshoppers.

The kids have amazingly short attention spans. But somehow we were able to keep 16 kids – mostly boys at that – on track for well over an hour. And they had fun.

Afterward, we posed the grasshoppers all over a grassy area and took pictures. I was amused watching them play with the creatures later that day.

I also learned something interesting shortly after lunch: There is a camp schedule! Who knew!?!

Right after lunch, all the kids disappeared… but they quickly made themselves known when they started pounding the doors to their rooms. (Our Ukrainian counterparts made them stay in their rooms under great duress.)

Apparently not all the campers were happy to learn that the nap time from 2-4 p.m. was mandatory.

I was thrilled to go back to my room for a nap.

I was even more thrilled (and still slightly amused) to learn that our Ukrainian partners had made a schedule each day… they just never told us and we didn’t know because it was all written in Russian.

They had the day broken down into hour and two-hour segments. It was all in military time.

At least we know a little more of what to expect tomorrow.

Tonight, Jimmy, Carol and I capped off a rewarding day with an amazing conversation with one of our translators.

We learned earlier this week that she was a believer of Tartar descent.

She shared about how her family is still Muslim and she is the only Christian in her home. She must hide her faith from her family or risk being ostracized at best. Her father has already warned her that if she became a Christian he would kill her.

It wasn’t a figure of speech.

It was a strong reminder to me how fortunate I have been to be born into a Christian home, with parents who encouraged me and my siblings to develop life-changing relationships with Jesus Christ.

It was such an honor to pray with her for wisdom in dealing with her family – and praying that they might see life-change too some day soon.

Day 5 (Tuesday, June 9)

After several days of joking about going to McDonalds for a cup of coffee, Jimmy had his wish come true.

For his birthday, the campers sang “Happy Birthday” to him while Dennis, one of the camp counselors who is also on staff at Project Sasha, came out with a tray.

Neatly placed in the middle of the tray was a glowing candle and a cup of coffee.

Jimmy quickly declared it the best coffee he had ever had.

He was clearly touched by the gesture.

Time at the camp is a funny thing. It passes both swiftly – and slowly – all at the same time.

Plans are constantly made by the Americans, changed by circumstance and readjusted.

It’s tedious at times.

It’s frustrating, too.

I see the frustration on my team member’s faces, too.

Especially, Gracie and Christa, They have a tremendous challenge. The teenagers are so hard to reach out to.

By the age of 15, many of them have already been beaten down. They are doubtful of adults who appear in their life. 

They are guarded. They don’t trust people.

Rachel and I are blessed. The youngest kids immediately took to us.

Maybe it’s because they hadn’t been hurt by the world as much.

Maybe they are more trusting. They haven’t learned to be disappointed by the adults in their lives yet.

They still have a level of innocence that remains intact.

I know it’s the same way in America.

Society is hardest on the perceived weakest.

What we fail to remember is that eventually those young souls will grow into adults. And they can either repay the hurts of this world with more hurt – or learn another way.

Learn to maintain their optimism.

Learn to seek the joys in life.

Learn to hope.

A hopeless optimist, I will always choose hope.

Day 6 (Wednesday, June 10)

Today was Americanski day at Camp Balanovo.

It meant we were in charge – the whole day.

Talk about pressure.

My group only had 12 children in it, but it felt like 400.

I felt like I was constantly running back to my room for supplies I had forgotten.

I felt like I was trapped inside absolute chaos for 200 hours… amazing how long 15 hours can feel.

At one point, it was pure adrenaline that was keeping me going.

No nap time today.

No respite.

No trip to the lake. (Our team discovered this large reservoir a severely steep staircase down from the camp. It leads to an amazingly refreshing mountain-filled view with a large body of water. We took a dip there the day before and it felt so good in the heat of the Crimean sun.)

It was a long day.

I found myself struggling to stay in the moment.

I know it’s partly an occupational hazard for me. As a reporter, I constantly find myself pulling out of moments that get too emotionally charged.

Perhaps the highlight for me was the talent show we had that night.

Rachel and I decided to get a band together – Marc became our lead singer. Vova and Nikita were on the guitars. Igor was our drummer.

We used pinecones and sticks to make microphones and stands.

In our imaginary world, badminton rackets became guitars and busted roof tiles became a drum kit.

I hooked up my iPod to the stereo speakers and the sounds of John Mellencamp’s “R.O.C.K. in the USA” flooded the stage area.

I showed Nikita how to kick his leg as he played his guitar “solo.”

We used charades to get Igor to practice for his drum solo. Last minute, I grabbed some bandanas and folded them and placed around their foreheads.

I lent my sunglasses to Igor.

We practiced our moves.

For the first – and only time in my life – I was a rock-and-roll band back-up singer.

As we took the stage, the kids were nervous.

They had watched the older kids showcase their talents.

As soon as the music started, they boys kicked in the magic.

Before long, everyone was clapping along to the beat.

Even the older kids, who like to act like nothing is cool.

We ROCKED Camp Balanova.

Our team ended up taking first place.

Later that night, the kids had a disco dance party.

Igor set up his “drum kit” and played the whole night.

I could only smile.

Day 7 (Thursday, June 11)

Today was Rachel’s 14^th birthday.

She had many birthday cards and wishes. The camp sang to her in the dining hall.

Just moments before breakfast, I saw Igor back at his drum kit.

Oksana later told me he had gotten on his cell phone and called his mom and dad. He hit the shingles loudly for both parents.

The taps and tinks echoed into the morning air.

I remain amazed at how much of an impact music can make in a kids’ life.

Half-jokingly, I said perhaps some day these boys will be in a real band.

At the same time, I think of how King David filled the Old Testament book of Psalms with nothing but songs.

Last night, our team wrapped up our time with a cook-out with the Project Sasha staff. We shared food, words of encouragement – and music.

It was such a blessing to be able to sing praise songs together – especially when whoever was strumming hit on a song both Ukrainians and Americans knew.

The Russian and English verses mixing in a choir of praise.

As we went around the table talking about the experience, all I could think about was how frustrating it is not being able to communicate without a translator.

During trips like this they are our mouths and ears.

It’s a crucial role they play.

And I look forward to a day in eternity when we can all sit down at a table together  and say all the things we wanted to express to each other but didn’t have the words to say.

It was a very rushed experience leaving the camp.

A flurry of farewell hugs. More cards.

Lots of long faces.

It was a relief to see that in such a short period of time we had made an impact on the lives of kids – some of whom we didn’t even know we had done anything extraordinary for.