Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost: Confessions, Realizations, and Analogies.

I'm not a patient person. I struggle to deal with people who display the same weaknesses I have. Probably because I hate them in myself so I have an automatic rejecting response to them when I see them exhibited by another. I am surprisingly insecure. Most people don't really believe that, since I can seem pretty outgoing sometimes. Many of those same people would be surprised to find out that they haven't seen "the real me" (as cliche as that sounds).

They hopefully will not take that too personally. I think they'll understand by the end of this post.

Last confession (and one of the bigger ones)-- i am probably the least prepared or confident or comfortable person in my major. Seriously.

Everyone on the first day of classes went around and said why they were going into special education. Every single answer revolved around family or friends with disabilities, years of experience in schools or facilities, years of involvement in clubs, or simply an undeniable passion for working with people with disabilities. I don't have any of the above, and it frightens me to admit that.

My teachers always say that people don't go into this major if they don't have that passion. "It takes a special person." "I'm not patient enough for that" is another common response people have when hearing what I'm studying. Every time I hear that, I freak out a little bit when I hold back that words "neither am I. What does that have to do with it? Is that a requirement? What am I getting myself into?"

Quite honestly, on that first day of class, I told the truth "uh, it's been a long road. In my senior year, I helped out in an adapted physical education class as my own gym class credit. I liked it but it wasn't until the end of my freshman year at BYU that I changed my major to special education."

And it's the truth. I gave them the top and bottom levels of the truth. Just glossed over the middle. Well here is the middle with all its juicy details---- you ready?

I am faking it.

Yep.

I changed my major as a result of a prompting I got that basically made me feel that special education was a path that I could pursue and there was something promising down that path for me. And that was enough.

In reality, I had virtually no experience. I have no personal acquaintances with disabilities that have affected me. I volunteered at special Olympics growing up but definitely cared more about that friends I was running the games with than the athletes participating. The adapted physical education class was fun to me and sometimes gave me more perspective. I grew to love the kids I worked with. But it wasn't enough to change my life plan.

But that prompting from God was. And I hold onto that, despite the fact that I have so little experience. I was required to get experience for some of my prerequisite classes. But that was my first real experience working with students with disabilities. Kind of a late start don't you think?

Yeah. Pretty terrifying. Well. Hold that thought. Here's the events of Romania this week with the promise that at the end, things will all tie back to my confessions. (But some of it is just recorded for the sake of me having some memories written down. Don't read into everything)

So this week was full and busy and crazy and good. It's really nice having our routine down now. Wake up, get to the orphanage before 9, work there til 12, pick up lunch. Depending on which day of the week it is, I may be hurrying to the hospital after lunch or on the other days I'm finalizing my lesson plans for the little terrors- I mean children- at the kindergarten.

After the hospital, my roommate and I have been going on runs through the city, followed by a core workout. It's been pretty nice having a little part of the week that I feel like I can control. That sounds weird, but I mean all the work I put into the week is helping me as well as the children. But the success of my plans depends on the children as well. I can control my workouts, and it kind of helps me feel in control for a bit.

Some of you may know that I was a pretty competitive runner in high school. I planned on trying out for the BYU track team, and I was looking forward to dropping my time in the 800 during my senior year. Before the winter track season could really get going, however, I developed Achilles tendinitis in both of my feet. I cross-trained,

went to physical therapy, met with a podiatrist, but my running year was over. To this day, I experience pain during/after running.

My roommate has had surgery on her knees, so we are both starting from scratch with this whole running thing. We are gradually upping our mileage, and although it doesn't feel like "the old days," it's starting to feel good. I've heard that (contrary to what they told me in physical therapy) it's not good to stretch your Achilles when you have chronic Achilles pain. Apparently it just leads to further development of scar tissue up in there or something...? Anywho, I've been massaging my Achilles instead after the runs. We'll see how it goes.

The school this week was pretty typical-- hot and sweaty and crazy. But the highlight of teaching this week? When I walked over to a new group to help the teacher re-gain the children's attention, three of the little girls started cheering "teacher Elsa! Teacher Elsa!" Apparently the side braid I often throw my hair into resembled Queen Elsa's hair in Frozen. I didn't really mind that comparison.

My braid is struggling in this picture here... The school does that.

The hospital this week has had its ups and downs as well. We got to play with that cute little orphan girl again as well as some babies who didn't have mothers. But when we came back on Thursday, the nurses said they didn't have any orphans on that floor. It was strange- I was happy that she was well enough to leave... But scared since I had no idea what conditions she was going back to.

The hospital is still nicer than I expected, but still a lot worse than the conditions we are used to back in the states. I've seen doctors carry children out of surgery to their rooms. Everything is dirty. It's different too, because while in the states, mothers often stay around and make sure their children are getting the care they need, here the mothers are responsible for the care. Mothers are seen laying in bed with their sick child, changing them, feeding them. It's different but interesting.

The other day while at the hospital, I saw an entire family of gypsies standing outside the doors to the intensive care unit. They were all crying. I know that sounds like a super random and pointless story, but I've never been in a hospital when it wasn't for someone that I knew. I've always been there when I had my own worries. Walking around, searching for children to help..I guess it put me on high alert for people in need. I felt so much pain for those people that I didn't know who were so worried about their loved one.

Random Romanian observation: people here buy flowers on the streets and walk around holding the bouquet "upside down" from our point of view. I bet it's to keep them from drooping? Not sure.

Also, I'm pretty sure I will be hit by a car within a day of being back in Provo. I'm so used to having to just step out into the road to get the cars to stop. And they do. Except sometimes the drivers think it's funny to make you panic. They like to see the fear in your eyes. I've had a couple close calls this week haha. But yeah, Provo drivers don't really stop on a whim for you. Speaking of Provo drivers, looks like one of them dropped by to parallel park on the streets of Romania!

Okay. Orphanage time. This is when things get real again. If you skipped the middle portion-- this is where you want to tune in again.

First of all, don't expect any pictures of me with the orphans. It breaks my heart to say this, but it's not gonna happen. Part of the agreement that our program has with CPS states that we can't take any pictures of the children. There are even video cameras in the rooms there, so no way around it. And the hospital is the same deal. I think we can take pictures if the child's parents give us permission........ Which is not helpful seeing as we are working with orphans. But if I wanted to preserve the memory of the little...Angels... From the school, that could be an option.

Anywho, we have a lot of children in my room at the orphanage. This week has been pretty exciting in a lot of ways there. It is warm enough for the kids to go outside, so the majority of the kids go outside for an hour and a half with the workers and the other volunteer from my group. I volunteered to stay inside with some of the kids who aren't physically up to spending the time outside. I admit, the first day, I just wanted to avoid the heat.

But it didn't take long for me to realize I made the right choice by staying in. Usually I get to stay in with a group of three to five children. When everyone else is in there, it gets so crazy and someone always needs immediate attention. But when I have that hour or two with just a few kids, I can actually give them all some one-on-one time. It's come to be the highlight of my week.

Usually the children that stay in are some of the orphans with visual impairments on top of their other disabilities. Some of them are not very responsive, so they tend to get overlooked when the rest of the kids are crying and getting into trouble haha.

What do we do during that time? Well it depends. Usually I sing country songs while massaging them (many of them seize up so their muscles are tense), tickling them. I've started taking a soft stuffed animal and "bouncing" it up their legs and rubbing it gently on their face. This one girl who I've never seen much more than a smile from LOVES this. I got to hear her laugh this week! It was pretty incredible. Over and over that little stuffed animal would nuzzle her neck, and she would squirm and smile and giggle as much as she was capable. It isn't much of a game, but the stimulation is so important for her.

I made a certain girl smile at me for the first time since I've been here! She is almost completely blind, and she usually is either silent or screaming. When I play and talk to her, she usually just makes an interested face, but that's the most I get out of her. But this week was success! All it took was me rapping "Ice, Ice Baby" and she and the other kids were big fans of me.

There is one girl (who's name for this blog will be Mary) who has completely stolen my heart. One day this week she just really wanted some love and attention. I couldn't put her down. Her body seizes up and gets so tense, so I would rub out her legs and she would just laugh and laugh. Her hands are almost always clenched into fists. She has limited vision, but regardless of if she can see me or not, looking into her eyes just makes my heart melt. I can already tell that leaving her is going to be impossible. I don't think I could leave some of them this week if I had to. And after another 3 months of spending time with them?? It's going to hurt so badly.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so painful if the odds were more in their favor. But the rules regarding adoption are pretty strict with Romania. I came home the other day after holding Mary and researched it pretty extensively. Basically, you can only adopt from Romania if you are "related within the fourth degree of kinship" to the child or a Romanian citizen. Currently doing research on if I can get citizenship in the next three months. Stay tuned.

It doesn't look like the adoption ban is going to change anytime soon either. It's so frustrating to me, I just want to cry. There aren't many people in Romania who have the financial security to adopt a child. And even less likely would they be secure enough to adopt a child with profound disabilities and health needs. Almost every child in my room was abandoned because the birth mom couldn't care for a child with disabilities. So many of the children I'll be leaving are not going to leave the orphanage.

To most of them, I'm just a face who plays with them. The next group of volunteers will do the same things for the, that I am. I'm just a playmate, a helper. I'm not Hannah.

But it's not like that for me. They are already in my heart. They're changing me already.

I came on this trip to help the children of Romania. But I had an ulterior motive. I want to know who I am. I want to feel confident in who I am.

I think I'm starting to scratch the surface. I'm starting to have those little moments. Those moments when I'm holding a child, thinking solely about them and then suddenly WHAM! In comes a little thought, a realization about myself. it's like jigsaw puzzle or a scavenger hunt. Not sure which analogy applies yet. Maybe a scavenger hunt for jigsaw pieces? Each piece provides me with a little bit of a glimpse at who I am.

But that's where things get more complicated. I am starting to realize through this whole "self-discovery kick" I'm on that it's not so much about finally pulling back the curtain and getting to see some hidden identity of mine that's been eluding me my whole life. It's much more about taking the pieces I get and arranging them into whatever picture I want to create for myself. It's about finally figuring out the possibilities of who I can be. Of who Christ can shape me into. The possibilities are endless.

But I'm starting to scratch the surface.

I still have a long, long way to go. I still overthink everything I say. I still overthink everything people say to me. I still spend way too much time and effort trying to win other people's approval or attention, because it makes me feel good. I still am much more uncertain behind the smiling face and jokes than almost anyone knows.

But the difference is... I'm starting to care less. And don't worry, it's not an unhealthy emotional detachment type of caring less. It's more that through the process of caring so much about these children and just the whole new perspectives I'm developing here, I care more about them and less about everything that I thought I needed in order to "discover myself."

This is a monastery, not a dollhouse-- I swear.

And about special education? Yeah. I made the right choice. It's not like I all of a sudden found my "green thumb" for special education. Honestly, on the first day I had to force myself out of my comfort zone to interact with the children. I was kind of nervous, since members in my group know my major and expect me to be pretty competent. So it started out with me just faking my way through it. But sometimes the actions have to precede the feelings. It didn't take long for me to love these children, and I'm becoming more and more comfortable. I'm getting experience here that cannot be replicated or understood in class. I still know that prompting pushed me in the right direction. And now I'm getting the experience of a lifetime as I am molded into the person who can actually fulfill that calling.

I'm starting to think less and less about the people and things I've left behind. I'm still counting down to coming home, but it's more because these months are emotionally and mentally draining. I'm looking forward to the future. I'm excited to throw all my heart and energy into serving the children here.

Don't worry. Not all of my entries will be this sappy. But this is my journal essentially for the next few months, so you can just deal with it.

Things are changing, slowly but surely. I'm trying to make a difference in the lives here and trying to do it for all the right reasons. With the right luck and hard work, I won't be the girl you knew when I left Utah in April.

I hope to be so much more. I just have to decide who I want to become.