Where it all began…

Phil and I met in a small town called Locust. We were both going to a little church called Providence. Phil was involved in children’s ministry and played percussion in the church band. I was just a normal young adult attending church, pursuing God’s kingdom. I saw him on stage and thought he was a cute guy. Little did I know that he was going through a trying time! I had no idea the journey that God was about to begin for us! But we’ll get back to the story of how we met in a later post.

My story began in Russia. I don’t remember much about my early life, but I do remember a small apartment that I lived in with my parents and my brother. We had running water, but no bathroom. Most of my day was spent wandering around our small town with my cousin. We went to the landfill to find toys, threw rocks at the windows in town, and rummaged around for food. Other times I spent helping out at the school with diaper changes and cleaning. I tried my best to pass the time without getting into too much trouble. Some days this was more difficult than others. I was never one to turn down a dare. I remember one day my cousin dared me to lay under train tracks while a moving train went by. My cousin went first, then my brother, then me. I remember the train was so low that I had to turn my head to the side. The dust made it so hard to breathe, but somehow we all survived. The next day there was an officer by the train tracks, so that put an end to this dangerous fun. The days that my parents were home, we had fun walking through the streets and eating a cheap meal together.

Some of my fondest memories are of the time I spent with my grandparents. I spent so much time in their yard swinging, helping with their cows, and taking care of their garden. Milking the cows was one of my chores while I was there. Every morning I would head out to the barn to collect the milk. I remember squirting the milk in my mouth straight from the cow. Taking care of the cows was my favorite chore. My grandparent’s home was surrounded by huge trees. I would wander for hours, find lilies in the pond, and enjoy being outside. We didn’t eat a lot at my grandparent’s house; I remember that we always had candy because it was cheap. These are the memories that I cherish most. I get emotional when I think back on the rest of my life in Russia, but I’ll do my best to keep it together as I type the next series of events.

Around the age of five, I remember having a cup of tea with my brother at my grandparent’s house. My mom walked in the front door. She looked scared. She told my brother and I to hide under the bed and hold on tight, that my dad was coming. Then she left. My brother and I walked into the kitchen. I just remember holding the old tea cup and dad walking in the door. We dropped our tea cups and started to run to the bedroom that was behind us. I went under the bed first and moved as far towards the wall as I could. My brother came next. Dad was able to grab my brother and pull him from under the bed. Dad took him to the living room and started beating him. My grandparents were yelling stop, over and over again. Looking back, I should have taken my mom’s advice, but I couldn’t stand what was happening to my brother. I came out from under the bed and tried my best to stop my dad. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and threw me against the wall. I’m not sure how long I was unconscious; I just remember waking up to my grandparents taking care of my brother’s eye. Dad was gone.

Shortly after, mom came back with the police. She told my brother and I that we had to head back to the apartment and pack a few things. I asked my mom what was happening and all she told me was that my brother and I were going on a trip. I knew something wasn’t quite right. My brother and I got on the bus that was parked out front. There were two police officers and one driver on board. My brother and I took our seats. I remember mom crying while we boarded. Somehow I knew that this would be the last time I would see my mom. The police officer tried to calm me down. When we dropped him off, he told me that everything would be fine, and that my brother and I were heading to an orphanage. He kissed my hand and said goodbye (which was a Russian tradition). I was left on the bus with one police officer, the driver, and my brother. So many emotions come flooding back as I recount this time in my life. It is so hard to think back to how hard life was. I remember it being so hard to let go of my mom. From here, life didn’t get much easier. I’ll share more about my time spent in the Russian orphanages in my next post.

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