Burning Down the House

Posted on April 8, 2012 by Shawn

“You sure you want to do this? You don’t have to,” Anya waved dismissively.  “I don’t care.”

“I said I would didn’t I? Besides, I have to prove how amazing I am at this,” I responded with mock impatience towards her questions.

“Whatever, you bragged about these things so much, they had better be good,” Anya failed to hide the wry smile creeping across her face.

“Yeah, yeah.  They always are. Don’t you worry, I am a professional at this, world famous even. I’m kinda surprised I haven’t yet won some kind of medal,” I said, staring at the counter in front of me.

“Oh right, I forgot. Go ahead and show me Mr. Perfect,” she replied, turning away.

My eyes passed over each of the many items spread across the counter. I took note of each, trying to remember if I was forgetting anything. “Eggs, brown sugar, butter, vanilla, milk…” I listed off each ingredient, careful to not make any mistakes. I had spent months boasting. I had better not screw it up now. After all, chocolate chip cookies are Anya’s favorite food in the world, and she promised to be a harsh critic.

Tomorrow, Justin and I would return to Oregon, and I would once again have to say goodbye to Anya. And if the past had taught me anything, it could be a while until we see each other again. It only made sense to leave her with something she’d really remember. I’m not much of a cook, or baker, but when it comes to chocolate chip cookies, I have a talent for creating delicious treats and an ego to match it.

When touting my culinary skills surrounding cookies, I’m never reticent to tell those who will listen about the cookies my mom hands out in droves to friends, family and neighbors come Christmas time. Along with a family Christmas card, my mom, a master of baked goods, sends out various treats to dozens of people. What she fails to mention is that, generally, her delicious chocolate chip cookies are not hers at all. That’s because whenever cookies need to be made for friends and family, mom recruits me for the job, admitting that “Your cookies always turn out so much better than mine. I just don’t get it.” Long story short, my cookies are awesome. And tonight I was going to prove it to my toughest critic.

With all the ingredients finally in place, I began using my years of practice to measure them all out and mix them together.

“I need a bowl to mix these in,” told Anya.

“Over in that cupboard,” Anya pointed without looking, distracted with the dishes.

“And a spoon to mix them with.”

“Over in that drawer,” She announced as if it were obvious.

“How about a tray to put the cookies on?” I asked, looking for a cookie tray to bake them on.

“Use the racks in that lower cupboard.”

I inspected the rack Anya referred to and frowned skeptically at what was in front of me. Instead of a cookie tray was a metal rack with very pronounced gaps in it.  It looked like a miniature version of an oven rack. This didn’t appear to be something to bake the cookies on.

“You sure this right?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. We always use those for the cookies,” Anya didn’t turn around to look.

“Alright, if you say so,” I replied. The rack didn’t look to me like it would work for cookies, but I was tired of berating Anya with questions. Besides, what did I know? Other than baking chocolate chip cookies I can’t find my way around a kitchen with a map.

My hands worked through the dough with years of practice behind them, and within minutes the rack was full of cookies ready to bake. I slid the rack in the oven and joined Anya and Justin in the living room just a few feet out of the kitchen. Anya and I sat on the couch, chatting and watching TV. A few minutes later, I leapt up to check on the first batch of cookies. There was no way they were finished yet, but I was determined to impress Anya with my skills,and there was no sense in taking risks, as the old adage goes, “Better safe than sorry.” Then I saw the smoke billowing from the oven.

My eyes were so wide they about popped out of my skull, and a stabbing pain rose up from the bottom of my stomach until it reached my throat and I painfully attempted to swallowed it back down. For a moment, I could only stare at the oven in horror. Finally, I forced myself to open the door.

“Oh God no,” I moaned aloud at the sight.

A cloud of smoke hit my face as the door flew open. Through the coughing and sputtering I saw the half baked cookie dough dripping through the gaps in the rack and onto the oven’s element, where some of it had already caught fire.

“No no no no! Damn it Shawn you moron,” I chided myself as I shut off the oven and tried to avoid burning Anya and Susan’s house down.

“What’s going on over there?” Anya called without looking.

“Nothing at all, just baking delicious cookies,” came my terse reply.

“Oh, nice work there,” Justin said from directly behind me, making me wince.

“Shut up! I’ve got enough of a problem here already,” I snapped back.

I snatched the rack of cookies out of the oven and set it on the stove. By now the smoke was beginning to fill the entire second floor of the house, and things seemed to be going from bad to worse.

“Oh, what are you doing?!” Anya flew into the kitchen through an ever thickening cloud of smoke.

“Don’t worry, I have everything under control,” I announced with a hint of frustration and embarrassment, “and I thought you said you used those racks for cookies all the time?” I then asked Anya with far more than a hint of each.

“Yeah, for after the cookies are done!” Anya most likely thought I was a complete idiot, and she would have been right.

“You use. . .seriously? Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“I thought you needed something to set them on to cool off. You said you were good at this.” By now Anya and I were throwing open windows and turning fans as high as they could go in hopes of not setting off all the smoke alarms.

Minutes later Susan, who had been upstairs working, came down to investigate why her beautiful house suddenly looked like Smokey the Bear’s worst nightmare.

“What in the world is going on down here?” she asked.

Oh how I wish I were dead. I thought to myself while helping Anya scrape charred remnants of cookie dough from the oven. At least by now, nothing was still on fire.

“Nothing to worry about mom, just Shawn setting the oven on fire,” Anya replied casually.

Twenty minutes later, in the aftermath of my cookie disaster, the smoke had begun to clear. Susan had returned upstairs to her work with a bit more reassurance from Anya, while Justin returned to his work in the living room.  Anya stood over the sink wiping the ash off their oven racks. I could tell my face had turned a deep shade of red that felt like it would be the new permanent color. I kept my eyes pointed straight into the sink and poured more focus into scrubbing than ever before in a vain attempt to forget about my moronic mishap.  The whole time I kept silent. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so embarrassed.

Then my sulking was broken by Anya nudging me with her shoulder. I reluctantly looked up to that familiar soft smile greeting me, comforting me, that same smile that greeted me many times all those years ago back in Ivanovo.

“Did you know that I did not know how to use the microwave when I got here?” She asked, glancing back towards the sink. Now she had my attention.

“What do you mean? You just hit the time and press start,” I said, confused.

“Just after I moved in, I was home alone while mom was out. I was reheating food for lunch. I put my fork in the microwave with it,” She smiled sheepishly without looking up.

“You microwaved a fork?!” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mom had to get a new microwave. And you think that the smell was bad tonight.” Her eyes lifted from the sink to meet mine with a huge grin across her face now, “You do not have anything on me.”

We both laughed aloud and continued swapping stories while scrubbing ash off various pieces of the oven. My face quickly returned to normal color and my breathing to normal pace. I knew from the moment she started telling her story of the microwave, Anya knew what I was feeling and wanted to make me feel a little less stupid. Though I was pretty surprised at how well it worked.

Round two with the cookies (yeah, I had more cookie dough and was determined to try again), went infinitely more smoothly thanks to Anya providing a real cookie sheet. Susan returned to join us, and as she indulged in her first chocolate chip cookie of the night, she laughed and asked: “Did you hear about the time Anya microwaved a fork in here?”

I laughed and nodded while glancing at Anya, who despite her laughter, turned a tiny bit flush herself.

“Oh yes,” Susan continued, “It took weeks for this house to air out after that incident I honestly didn’t think it ever would. When I walked in I thought she had burned the house down.”

I laughed again, more grateful than anything that my host, whom I had met only days before, was completely forgiving of the idiot who caught her oven on fire.

Susan praised my cookies (the second two batches at least). “You know Anya, I think these are even better than the ones we always have,” she said.

It was enough for me to declare the venture a success. I doubt Anya had imagined me setting her mom’s kitchen on fire when she listened to me brag about my chocolate chip cookies on Skype months before. But the end result was pretty damn delicious.

“So…you have to write about  tonight once you get back home. You will tell this story won’t you?” Anya asked before retiring to bed.

“Ugh…” I groaned at the thought, “Yeah, I’m going to have to do some major swallowing of my pride to write about tonight, but I’ll see what I can do.”

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Different Paths

Posted on April 6, 2012 by Shawn

It has been a while since a story has found its way onto the 10 Stories blog and it is about time to remedy that situation. Many factors have been involved in the layoff, not the least of those being the project moving rather slowly the past few months as I work towards returning to Russia. However, there are some things to update, such as the factors in the long span between 10 Stories posts. And the time will never be better to ramp up the stories than this week. That’s because Roseburg’s local newspaper, The News Review, will be running a large feature story on the 10 Stories Project this Sunday. The reporter has been in contact with me for weeks now while writing the article, and I’m excited about how it turned out. I hope those in the Roseburg will read the article in the Sunday April 8 edition, and for anyone else who would like to read it, I’ll be sure to post a link to it on The News Review’s website.

Aside from the simple lack of events to report, the other issues involved in my break from 10 Stories posts concerned a reevaluation. You see, as I mentioned in a previous post, after returning from visiting Anya in Virginia, the trip forced me to reassess the project. I’ve been through so much soul searching about what I want out of 10 Stories and how I hope to accomplish the goals. Thankfully, I have reached a point where I feel better about the project and the direction than I have since initiating the venture. If you are utterly confused as to what I’m ranting about, don’t worry; I’ll clear it up.

While visiting Anya, we obviously discussed my journey to find to find the other nine kids. To that point, the goal hear the stories of those kids growing up in the orphanage, and inspire others with those tales to help kids growing up in similiar situations. The project had big aspirations. We wanted to use photos, video, audio, even pod-casts to cover the project and the stories. I decided to give public presentations about 10 Stories where I could and try raising resources to support the project. However, Anya decided she did not want to tell her story of growing up in the orphanage, and was skeptical that many of the other kids would either.

At first I felt lost. When our plane landed back in Oregon, I had the heart wrenching feeling my dream was going to fall apart before I ever got back to Russia or saw any of the other kids. After all, I had written and said many times the main goal of 10 Stories was to hear the accounts of their time in the orphanage. It took me a bit to realize how shortsighted I was being.

10 Stories began as an idea implanting itself in my head before I had even stepped on the plane to leave Russia in 2004, and in seven years, the idea dwelled there, never far from my thoughts. That idea had nothing to do with hearing their stories of growing up in the orphanage, raising money, or inspiring hundreds of people. It was a much more simple idea. It was about ten kids who unexpectedly came into my life and changed it in ways I could never imagine; it was about how after seven years without even knowing what had become of them, they were changing it. It was about how much I missed them. I wanted to find them, to see what had become of them since we had last seen each other, and to know how they had grown and changed. Finally, I wanted to write the story of my journey following my dream; I think it’s a story worth telling, and that is what I will do.

So here are the changes. Before now, the focus of 10 Stories was on the blog and telling the stories of the kids. We had planned to use various mediums to help tell the stories including audio interviews, video, and photos. When all was said and done, I had hoped to maybe turn my experiences and/or their stories into a book. Simply, the focus was on the blog, and the book an afterthought that could happen down the road. That wasn’t how I originally envisioned 10 Stories, and I’ve come to believe that, through successes and disappoints alike, God has been trying to tell me for months that I had lost my focus. I had a few other motivations for changing the focus of the project as well, but those will have to wait for the book, not all of the story will be written on this blog.

From now on, telling the story of how I met each of these kids, how much the impacted my life, and my journey to reunite with each will be my main focus. That is the book I am writing, and thus far, writing those stories has been the one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. The blog from now on will serve as a small glimpse into the book and the story within. I will still post updates on the search, and provide some photos of the progress. Most importantly though, the blog will exist as a platform to post certain stories and excerpts taken straight from the book I am writing, making it a small preview of the full story I hope to tell.

On that note, I would like everyone to know that I haven’t been sitting on my butt doing nothing while contemplating the future of 10 Stories. I have, in fact, been sitting on my butt writing. In the past few months, I have made more progress on the book than any other span of time since I began the project. However, the stories I have written recently are not ones I will be posting to the blog. It’s horrible and selfish of me, I know, but for many reasons I won’t be delving into here, you’re just going to have to wait for the finished book to hear many of the stories, including those recently completed.

But here’s what I can do: Two stories are almost finished, one of them from my reunion with Anya in Virginia and the other from the camp where I met the kids. The first should be finished by the time the News Review’s feature runs on Sunday, and the other shortly after. And I will post both of them to the blog.

Early into The 10 Stories Project, Justin and I discussed making as many posts as one a day, and though I never even began to approach that goal, posting at regular intervals was something I strove for. Now I will post stories, whenever they are finished, and I don’t plan to rush anything. I may post less, but I believe that they will be much more entertaining and fulfilling stories, which, hopefully, will be published in the near future as part of a much larger, and more incredible, story.

And once again, I am so thankful to everyone for the love and support you’ve offered for this project and for being a part of this story.

 

-Shawn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Pressing On

Posted on January 13, 2012 by Shawn

As I am often reminded of in a project such as this, with so many unknowns, it’s impossible to plan for everything, even though we try. More than once, I have planned things to happen a certain way and those plans were completely turned upside down. But you just gotta roll with the punches and keep pressing on. Sometimes these unexpected obstacles turn into blessings in disguise. Our journey to Virginia was no exception. In fact, it was the greatest example of this yet. I will get into more details about this in a later post, once I’ve worked out the changes I’m making in 10 Stories, but I just wanted to touch on the topic a little.

Though our trip to Virginia was a more incredible experience than I could imagine, it also
turned out differently than we had planned. Some things didn’t go as expected and some didn’t work out, which is ok. In fact, I believe God was trying to open my eyes a bit to let me know that some parts of the project were getting too much focus, while more important parts were falling by the wayside. But, like I said, I will get into that more in a few days.

With the trip to Virginia behind us, 10 Stories is moving our focus to Russia and preparing for the next step. We’re still working on getting the Virginia pictures edited and will hopefully start posting them within the next few days. Until then, there have been a few significant developments in the project this week.

First, the very morning after returning from Virginia, I received a phone call from a reporter at The News Review (the local newspaper in Roseburg). The paper plans to run a feature story about the 10 Stories Project that will cover both our trip to Virginia and our preparations to return to Russia. From talking to the reporter, it sounds like it will be a pretty significant and lengthy story featuring pictures from our trip as well. I spent over an hour being interviewed by the reporter yesterday. and she intends to interview Justin and a couple others involved with the project as well. I’ll keep you updated on when the story might run, but keep an eye out in The News Review for any of you that read the paper.

Secondly, I received an email later last night from Elena at the ministry center in Ivanovo. It’s been nearly a month since I sent off the letters to the six grads I have yet to contact, and she wrote to say she has gotten in touch with several of those grads and given them my letters. Elena said that they are currently working on their responses and have asked that I send over pictures of myself for them.

Both developments this week are pretty exciting and I hope you keep checking back as I will keep everyone updated. Finally, this coming week I am going to try to get another story from our Virginia trip posted for all to read.

 

-Shawn

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Anya

Posted on January 3, 2012 by Shawn

 

 

Anya and I meet in person for the first time in seven and a half years.

We stood at carousel three of Dulles International Airport baggage claim with nothing to do but wait. Seven and a half years I had waited, but the familiar voice on the other end of the phone assured me that wait would only last a few more, grueling minutes.

Anya Boytsova at 14-years-old is part of nearly all my fondest memories from the Ivanovo camp. She made sure of it, though today she denies it up and down. I remember an outgoing, silly teenage girl who had a smile spread across her face at nearly all times. Barely out of high school and always being a quiet teenager, lacking in self-confidence, I felt completely in over my head when I arrived at the camp. Anya was one of two people who quickly ended that. Her constant buoyancy and genuine interest and concern for everything I said–no matter how uninteresting it actually was–erased any doubts I had about how the kids would react to me. It helped me to be myself around everyone else at the camp.

Nearly every evening at the camp, the kids flocked to a gazebo for their “discos,” which basically resembled a middle school dance we’d see here in the States. I hated dances, which was understandable since I was (and still am) an abysmal dancer. Several of my closest American friends on the trip felt the same way and rarely showed their faces at the discos, which had been my original plan as well. Anya would have none of that. With her irresistible enthusiasm and not-so-subtle insistence, Anya ensured that I spent every evening dancing away at the discos, and I will always be grateful for that. All of the kids from my group went to the discos, and I will never forget the hours I spent there with them.

Anya wasn’t all jokes. One of my most vivid memories of her is one of many occasions that her and another camper would strike up an in-depth conversation with me. From the first day, Anya pressed me with questions about my life, my dreams and my faith, and she was quick to share about her own. On this particular day, Anya and Liza sat face to face with me beneath the shade of a tree to hide from the late afternoon sun. With Vera translating, they quizzed me about my plans for the future, and what I wanted to become in life, alternating between stone faced seriousness and fits of giggles–which I’m sure were at my expense. Finally, I asked both of them what their greatest dream in life was. Anya’s response came quickly. She wanted to learn English, perhaps become a translator, because she wanted to use it to help other kids.

Later that evening, I asked each of the ten kids to introduce themselves and tell their ages, in English, to the camcorder I had brought on the trip. Anya wasn’t in the room when I made the request. Many of the others looked to Vera for assistance and slapped their foreheads as they realized they made a mistake. Anya strode into the room after all the others were finished with no idea what was going on. Vera took only a second to explain it to her when Anya stretched her hands above her as if bored with with such a simple task, and beaming, said in flawless English, “My name is Anya, and I am 14.”

Anya's mom, Susan, watches the reunion.

I don’t believe Anya Boytsova has changed as much in seven years as she would like me to think. And I am so happy for that. Anya was the first of the 10 Stories orphans that I found, and only one of two I have actually spoken to (her brother Kolya being the other). In my first conversation with her (via Skype) eight months ago, Anya talked to me for hours in beautiful, if not perfect, English. I learned as well that, while in Russia, she had been volunteering at the Ministry Center in Ivanovo, helping to counsel orphan teens. She may kill me for saying it, but Anya is as silly as ever, and has even added a very sarcastic quality to that silliness. Or perhaps that was always there, but now I can actually understand it.  Whether it’s a tiny smirk she’s attempting to hide, or a her huge grin when her efforts at acting serious completely break down, Anya seems to always be a second away from flashing that signature smile.  It’s an invaluable quality I fell that she will always underestimate. Anya may not be quite as quick to break out her smile today, but she still  flawlessly brightens everything around her.

That’s what I waited for now. Seven years of hearing nothing, eight months of Skype conversations and phone calls, and now two agonizing minutes standing at a baggage claim carousel, waiting. And then the wait ended. Anya Boytsova walked around the corner, her eyes searching carousel three. When she caught sight of me I saw that familiar smile beam wider than ever and knew that it was

Anya and I's first meeting since the Ivanovo camp.

matched by my own.

“I’m telling you, when I see you I’m going to give you such a big hug, you won’t have any air left,” Anya once said over Skype, as we planned the dates for my visit. She did not disappoint.

-Shawn

 

 

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No Return

Posted on January 2, 2012 by Shawn

The warning on the door read: “No reentry after this point.” An obvious statement, but it was enough to make me pause for the briefest of moments. This was it. The point where my seven-year-long dream would truly come to fruition. I hadn’t slept in nearly two days, having drove all through last night to make to the the Portland airport, nor had I eaten anything in about 16 hours. But the throbbing headache from lack of food and pure exhaustion dissipated as I read the sign, like a shot of adrenaline had just been stabbed into me.

Rewind three days.

 

All the preparations for the first 10 Stories trip had gone smoothly up until this week, and then I walked into a minefield. It started Wednesday evening, as I lounged on a couch during some downtime at work. Seconds before coming to work, I had decided to to bring my laptop with me, and was last minute shopping for a camera flash when my phone rang. My friend Peter Benton’s frustrated and quivering voice sounded from the other end. “Shawn, did you leave your laptop or anything at your house?”

 

“No, I brought it with me, Why?” I responded, thoroughly confused.

 

“I came by earlier and left my computer here. When I got back just now, your back door was wide open, and I heard people running out of the house. And now my computer is gone.”

 

No. My stomach lurched at the thought. This couldn’t possibly be happening, not now. I told Peter to call the police and left work early to go deal with the break-in. I didn’t wait for the police to show up before going into the house, not advisable, but in my state of rage, I hoped someone was still in there. My eyes scanned the back room, where we kept most of our expensive electronics, and I was temporarily comforted by the fact that much of it remained undisturbed. Maybe Peter had interrupted them early enough that they were only able to grab a couple things. But as I cautiously searched each room, I noticed closets and cupboards flung wide open. I entered my room and my legs nearly dropped out from under me at the sight.

 

“No, no, no, no!” I pleaded to no one in particular and heard Peter groan behind me, but it didn’t matter. In the middle of my bedroom floor my camera case lay upturned and empty. All of my camera equipment that had been laid out in preparation for the trip to Virginia, totaling over $1,100 had gone out the back door with the intruders. That’s not to mention the numerous laptops, other electronics and jewelery that we would soon discover had been taken from my friends and roommates, who had left the house for barely more than an hour.

 

I grabbed the empty camera bag and flung it against the wall, my fist and a few choice curse words followed. Peter simply stared in shock at the sudden turn the evening had taken. I now had two days to replace a thousand dollars of equipment.

 

That was when I realized how blessed I am. My friends rallied around me. In the next two days, they scrambled to offer some cameras and equipment to replace those stolen. A former professor of mine, Peter’s mother, lent her Canon Rebel camera, very similar to my own. Our webmaster, Pat Neil supplied his camcorder, tripod and microphone, while 10 Stories editor Iam Pace met me at 1:30 a.m. on my way to Portland to ensure we had a small HD video camera. By the time my plane left Oregon, we had replaced much of the stolen equipment.

Until now there was always opportunity to give up, but now The 10 Stories Project waited for me directly behind that door.

 

Justin arrived the airport a touch late, but still with plenty of time to board the plane. That was until the United Airlines staff decided they wanted to make him wait 15 minutes at the desk before performing the 30 second task of checking his bag. Maybe my exhaustion was causing me to exaggerate, but they seemed determined at every turn to make us miss our flight. At 5:55 a.m. We turned a corner and saw a security check line a mile long. Our flight left at 6:24, there was no way we would make it. As we joined the line, I paced back and forth, wringing my hands and muttering under my breath. All this just to miss a flight. I couldn’t believe it.

 

Then finally, the United Airlines staff came to our rescue. A worker asked about our flight and, when she saw how little time there was, she rushed us to the front of the line. Still, after the near strip search from TSA, we were pressed to make it to the gate. I sprinted down the tunnel, sweating profusely under my three layers. I held my pants up with one hand, since I had decided that putting my belt back on would take time I didn’t have. As they gave the final boarding call, we halted panting in front of the gate. Minutes later, I flung myself down in my seat and watched the crimson sky grow brighter with the coming sunrise, and the lights of Portland disappeared below me. Exhausted, I sighed so deeply that I think I may have been holding my breath for days. 0 The past two days had seemed like a month. Neither flight served food, and our short layover in Chicago had us rushing straight for another gate without the thought of a meal, but by now, that all seemed insignificant. We had navigated the minefield. We had finally made it.

 

Now I stood staring at the warning on the door leading to Dulles International Airport’s main terminal. This was the point of no return. Until now there was always opportunity to give up, but now The 10 Stories Project waited for me directly behind that door. I stared at the sign for a fraction of a second. Then the corners of my mouth spread wide in a smile. All the exhaustion, frustration, hunger and doubt instantly melted away and, without hesitating, I threw the door open and continued on.

-Shawn

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Eastward Bound

Posted on December 6, 2011 by Shawn

After months of planning, rearranging schedules and planning some more, The 10 Stories Project’s first trip is finally official! As you can see from the picture, Justin and I have purchased our plane tickets into Washington D.C. We’ll be leaving December 31 and will be in Virginia/Washington D.C. until January 5. The 10SP team is working on getting the audio, video and photography equipment we need so we can give you Anya’s story in best way possible. Additionally we’re trying to contact some individuals in the New York area who specialize in working with Russian orphans, and we hope to interview one of these individuals about their work in the field.

While we are gone, I will be constantly updating followers via Twitter and Facebook, so if you haven’t yet followed/liked us please be sure and do that to follow along with our reunion with Anya. I’ll also be posting updates and pictures on the blog as often as I can find an internet connection during our trip, so make sure to check often while we’re in Virginia. More updates will follow as the next leg of the 10 Stories Project draws closer, and I’ll be telling another story from the 2004 Ivanovo camp in my next post, so stay tuned!

 

-Shawn

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Thankful

Posted on November 24, 2011 by Shawn

Elena Bolshakova. I’d heard her name mentioned several times already. George Steiner recommended talking to her when Justin and I met him at the Portland Starbucks. Anya worked with her in Ivanovo, and her mom, Susan, also suggested suggested I seek her help. There wasn’t much question from the beginning, I would need Elena’s help on this project. Some months ago, I wrote Elena a letter, and with six of the orphans still left to find, her response couldn’t have come at a better time.

Now, on a day where everyone across the country is pondering over all the things they have to be thankful for, I have ten more things to add to my list.  And it’s all thanks to Elena.  I have been blessed with so much more than I deserve, I hardly know where to begin.  However, this year I have an opportunity beyond anything I ever dreamed before in The 10 Stories Project.  Today I am especially thankful for Elena, because it is only through her help that I have blessed yet again in my search for the kids.  Because of Elena, I have six things for which to give thanks.

On a day where everyone across the country is pondering over all the things they have to be thankful for, I have ten more things to add to my list

Elena is the director of Children Hopechest’s ministry center in Ivanovo, which serves to help and minister to graduates of the local orphanages. Elena works with orphans all over Ivanovo, and, according to George and Susan, would most likely know the remaining six grads of my group and be able to contact them. So I emailed Elena to explain the 10 Stories Project to her and ask if she could help find the rest of the grads. Just days later, I received her response.

Elena first mentioned that, though she was now director of the ministry center, she first began working as a translator for CHC at a summer camp in 2004. She wrote that she was an interpreter for a Texas woman named Rosanna, who was part of a team of 19 Americans. I immediately recognized the name. When we went to Russia in 2004, our Oregon team was joined by five others from a church in Texas. One of those people was Rosanna. I looked through some of our pictures from the camp and found those of Rosanna’s group. Sure enough, Elena, the director of the ministry center, whose name I had been hearing for weeks as the person who could be the most instrumental in contacting the remaining kids, was at the camp. Though I didn’t know her well, I had met her and worked with her while in Russia. That tiny bit of familiarity, rather than having to ask some random person who had never heard of me, was encouraging.

Elena’s letter only got better from there. She revealed that she knew the four grads I had already located well, and if I sent her the names of the rest they would work to contact the others. Over the next few weeks we wrote back and forth, and recently I opened my inbox to find an email that floored me.

Elena’s short letter informed me that she had found all six of the remaining grads and had given them the general idea of the project. She included an attachment with some basic updates on each of the orphan’s lives. Finally, she said that if I would write letters to the grads and send them to her, she will translate the letters, give them to the kids, translate their responses and send them back to me. In a few simple letters, Elena had opened a line of communication with all of the remaining kids, and helped the search take the greatest leap ahead since I found Anya months ago.

I’ve already finished one letter and am working hard on completing the other five soon. Among other things, the letters will give each grad the details of the project and ask them if they will be willing to share their stories when I visit Russia next summer. Once they are completed, I will most likely post my letters in their entirety for you to read. Additionally, when a grad agrees to be part of the project and share his/her story, I will write a post about that grad and share a bit about their lives recently, much like I have already done with Anya and Kolya (and hopefully provide recent pictures as well).

So, this Thanksgiving I thank God especially for Elena and the opportunities he has given through her.  The opportunity to, after seven years, hear from all ten of the grads.  I pray that in the very near future I will be able to share the willingness of the remaining grads to tell their stories, and write about my first contact with them in seven years.

-Shawn

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Breathless

Posted on November 12, 2011 by Shawn

Hello, and welcome back to The 10 Stories Project! Due to starting a new job and moving into a new home, I was forced to take a short hiatus from writing posts, but fear not, 10 Stories has been making steady progress, and some of our greatest advances have come in the past month. So, sit back and take a deep breath as the 10SP team gears up to take the project to the next level.

First, here are some of the nitty-gritty details about next stage of The 10 Stories Project.

On December 31st, my older brother, Justin, and I will fly to Virginia to meet Anya again and stay with her and her adoptive mom, Susan White. While there, we hope to meet some of the people who gave so much time and love to all of the orphans at the Detski Dom #1 orphanage. Since neither Justin nor I have traveled to the east coast before, Anya plans to visit Washington D.C. with us, and she hopes for us to celebrate the New Year in New York City, which I hear is a pretty cool place to be during the New Year. And, of course, Anya will tell us her story of growing up in the Ivanovo orphanage, the first of the ten stories. Justin and I will also bring audio, photo, and video equipment to best capture Anya’s story and share her experiences with you.

Thus, we come to the financial state of 10SP. At this point, the project has been blessed to have amazing and generous supporters who, along with the garage sale fundraisers over the summer, have given enough support to fully fund the Virginia trip. We have set up a bank account specifically for 10SP with two outside people monitoring the account in addition to Justin and me, to make sure all expenses are directly for the project. We are also beginning the process of making 10SP into a non-profit organization, which is a much longer and more complicated process than I had originally anticipated. Gaining non-profit status takes time, and we are working on another way that will allow donations to be tax deductible even before 10SP gains non-profit status.

The 10 Stories Project still needs help financially for the journey to Russia, but I will discuss our financial situation in an upcoming post and how you can help if you feel led to do so.

In the past few weeks, I have been working on 10 Stories with such a head-down and determined attitude that the excitement of the journey began to get lost in the project. It was only yesterday, when I officially received the days off work needed for the Virginia trip, that I stopped think about and fully appreciate how far the project has come. And, when I did, the thought left me breathless. It seems hard to imagine that it was only seven months ago when I sat watching the rain from a cramped room and made the decision to try and find the ten grads. If you had told me then that I would be ringing in the New Year in New York City with one of those grads, I would have laughed in your face and most likely accused you of being under the influence of some sort of hallucinogen.

The first leg of our journey is underway, and in a few short months Justin and I will be visiting Anya and hearing her story. However, arranging the trip to Virginia isn’t the only progress made on 10 Stories in the past few weeks. The search for the other kids has taken huge leaps forward, and there’s been major developments regarding each and everyone one of the nine remaining grads. That progress will be the subject for my next post later this week, so stay tuned.

-Shawn

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Oh Sweet Surprise

Posted on September 13, 2011 by Shawn

Kolya poses for a picture one afternoon at the Ivanovo camp.

The familiar melodic string of computer generated beeps cut into whatever dream I may or may not have been having like a hot razor. I jumped up in bed, snapped awake by the computer sitting open on my desk a few feet away. Still blurry eyed and not completely coherent, I tried to comprehend for what possible reason I could have been so rudely awakened. Trying to rub the sleep from my eyes, I looked at the clock. It was almost 4 a.m. I had fallen asleep almost four hours ago with the lights still on and computer still running. Now that computer decided to sing me a horribly annoying, and loud, tune in the form of the Skype ring tone. Still, it was hard to be completely irritable since I knew there was only one person who would dare wake me with a Skype call at four in the morning. Not bothering to get out of bed, I reached over to grab my laptop and lazily dragged it over to me. I set the computer on my lap and clicked to answer the call just before it stopped ringing.

 

No one was there. Four in the bloody morning and I was being greeted by an empty room on a computer screen; I’ve killed for less. Suddenly, Anya flew onto the screen in a blur.

“Oh, Shawn! So sorry, I had to leave my computer for a sec. Oh, but I have such exciting news!” Anya’s ecstatic words spilled out at a hundred miles per hour, so fast that my nearly comatose brain could barely keep up. It obviously was not 4 a.m. in Russia. Still, I couldn’t help but smile at Anya’s bright grin and wildly enthusiastic demeanor. I had no idea what was important enough to call at this hour, but I was excited for it nonetheless.

“Sounds great, what’s the news?”

“Kolya is coming!” I had barely finished my question when Anya flashed all of her teeth and bounced up and down in excitement.

Kolya (left) with a friend in Ivanovo.

“What? Right now?!” The hour and lack of sleep forgotten, my enthusiasm suddenly matched hers.

Anya’s twin brother Kolya, another of the orphans who inspired 10 Stories, visited his sister fairly often, and Anya had been trying to arrange for me to meet Kolya over Skype for almost a month. I hadn’t seen nor spoken with Kolya since the camp more than seven years ago. Now he was minutes away.

Suddenly Anya leapt up and rushed out of view once again. She returned with the second of the 10 Stories orphans in tow.

Kolya Boytsov graduated from Detski Dom #1 in 2007 at the age of 17 (one year after Anya).  He started studying at a tech school to become a mechanic, then transferred to another tech school for fixing sewing equipment, where he studied for a year. In 2009, he decided to transfer to a third school and continue studying to become a mechanic. Kolya graduated from the tech school in June earlier this year.

Another recent picture of Kolya in Ivanovo.

 

Later this month, Kolya plans to enlist in the Russian army for a year, after which he hopes to find a job as a home repairman. Outside of school and work, Kolya loves a variety of sports, especially soccer, volleyball and basketball, and he enjoys going out dancing with his friends.

Kolya was only able to talk on Skype for a few short minutes, but being able to speak with the another of the ten orphans had me grinning giddily from ear to ear.  Above all, Kolya happily agreed to share his story for The 10 Stories Project, the second to do so. Like when I first spoke with Anya, it took some time for the shock to wear off and the reality to sink in. It was almost seven years to the day since returning from the Ivanovo camp when I spoke to Kolya, and, once again, a sense of validation washed over the wholeproject. Finding all of these kids seemed, more than ever, like a reality.

Another recent picture of Kolya in Ivanovo.

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Of Sunflower Seeds and First Meetings: Part 2

Posted on August 25, 2011 by Shawn

This is the second post of a two-part story telling of the first time I was introduced to the kids of 10 Stories.  Be sure to first read Part 1 if you haven’t yet.

 

Sunlight streamed into the cramped room from a sliding glass door that lead to the back balcony, making it considerably less dreary than the stairwell. Faint voices drifted through both doors, but the room was empty. Lena stepped forward and shouted something in Russian. There was a flurry of movement outside and a smile spread across my lips as three girls rushed inside from the balcony. I stood face-to-face with those three giggly sunflower seed bombers. Lena spoke in Russian to the three, who stood smiling sheepishly, still suppressing the giggles that had flowed freely on the balcony.

 

A view of the camp from the balcony of a room next to where my family group was staying.

Lena turned to me and pointed to the girl on the left. She was the tallest of the three, with long sandy hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back, and what seemed like a permanent grin etched into her face. The girl rolled her eyes and pursed her lips in an obviously fake display of embarrassment. She voiced something in Russian to her companions, emphasizing every word with an enthusiastic hand gesture as she spoke. She was anything but shy and already appeared to be joking and laughing with me in Russian, with her big grin aimed directly at me.

 

“Shawn, meet Anya,” Lena said.

As Anya stepped forward to shake my hand, she spoke to me again in her amiable and assured voice, stirring up a fresh wave of of giggles among the trio. Lena turned to the second girl, who immediately stifled the laughs that Anya had caused. She stood slightly shorter than Anya, with her dark red hair held back in a ponytail. Only a warm and friendly, but serious, smile remained on her face. She cocked her head slightly and just gazed at me silently for a minute with thoughtful eyes, as if she was sizing me up to make sure I would suffice for a family group leader. After a few grueling seconds, her smile widened to flash her teeth in approval.

“And this is Liza,” Lena continued.

Liza moved to shake my hand, and continued to gaze curiously with eyes that appeared far beyond the maturity level of a typical 15-year-old. Her smile broadened and face soften as we were introduced. She uttered something in Russian to me then turned back to say something to Anya, which caused the two burst into fresh fits of giggles, and caused me to turn beat red without even knowing what she said.

The third girl shifted anxiously as Lena turned to introduce her. She stood more than a head shorter than Liza and Anya with dark brown hair cut short against her head. Freckles dotted a face that gazed toward me with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. She was obviously somewhat younger than Liza and Anya, and she didn’t seem to share the other two’s extroverted nature when it came to meeting strangers. Anyone who has read the blog may recognize her, and if not you’d just have to scroll up to the blog’s banner.

“This is Nastya, our youngest,” Lena said.

I smiled as wide as I could to try and alleviate Nastya’s concerns and introduced myself with Lena translating. She smiled back nervously and replied so low no one could hear. Before anything else could be said, there was a rush of shouting and stomping back out on the stairs. Two boys barreled into the room and stopped in front of me, panting for breath. Seconds later a third, younger boy, followed. My group of kids had already been all around me for the past hour, I suddenly realized. The two ping-ping players stood before me followed closely by their spectating friend.

“Ah, and here are Kolya and Viktor,” Lena announced enthusiastically as the first two boys charged into the room.

She had barely finished when Viktor strutted confidently up to me with a such a serious look plastered on his face, I struggled to tell if he was simply playing games or not. Much to my amusement he quickly proceeded to bombard me with questions that I couldn’t comprehend while he stood inches from my face. Viktor’s tall, lean frame almost matched mine despite being four years younger. He always had a curious yet determined look about him, as if every little thing was the most interesting thing in world, and he would make sure he was right in the middle of every situation.

Next to him, the athletic Kolya also strode up and grasped my hand as we were introduced, already beginning to work on some sort of secret handshake for the two of us. His features and demeanor so closely resembled Anya’s that I knew immediately the two must be siblings.

“And meet Dima,” Lena said, prodding the third boy forward.

Viktor (far right) and Kolya _ with translators Ilya and Yulya play ping-pong as Dima (far left) spectates.

Like Nastya, Dima was quite a bit shorter, and obviously somewhat younger than the rest. Dima latched onto Lena’s arm nervously, but stared in wide eyed fascination and managed a single enormous grin that showed every one of his teeth.

Lena turned to the front doorway and shouted again. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then there was a scuffling in the adjacent room, and three more girls appeared in the doorway. On seeing me, two of them quickly filed into the cramped room, finding space by jumping onto one of beds. The third walked straight up to me, stopped, and stared for what was only a few seconds, but seemed like an hour. It was impossible to decipher what she was thinking as huge clear blue eyes seemed to gaze at me in wonder on an otherwise blank face.

“Yulia,” was all Lena said with a smirk, nodding at the girl standing toe-to-toe with me.

Suddenly Yulia shook her head comically, shoulder length brown hair flying everywhere. She turned to the others, gestured at me, and in a loud, confident voice cracked several jokes which had everyone, including Lena, chuckling. My face felt like fire and probably looked just as red with the embarrassment at whatever she said. She jovially danced over to the bed to join her friends.

Lena called over the last two girls, who looked at each other skeptically before coming. The first stepped forward while she continuously struggled to brush her vibrant strawberry-blonde hair off of her freckled face. She prodded the floor with her toes and giggled nervously as Lena introduced her.

“First, meet Elza…” Lena gestured at the girl.

The other fidgeted back and forth and played with her long, brunette hair. The girl gave nothing away, she didn’t appear nervous like Elza or Nastya, but hesitated none the less. Then she moved forward to shake my hand, but her serious face hardly changed, and she remained silent.

“…And Anzhela. And, with that, you have now met your group,” Lena concluded, nodding at the nine kids I would be spending the next three weeks with.

Liza and Anya watch a game of volleyball from atop the umpire's chair.

I nervously sat on a bed with my nine kids clustered around me and told them about myself well asking some questions of my own. Liza and Anya shamelessly bombarded me with questions, greatly lifting the tension I felt, while Yulia continued to occasionally crack jokes, piling it right back on. I produced a set of ten wooden name tags each leader was to give to their kids from my backpack, and we set about using colored sharpies to create name tag perfection.

Twenty minutes into the project as I gave Nastya some pointers on her name tag, Anya leapt up excitably and shouted, “Luba!”

All eyes turned to the doorway, where Vera burst through with another girl in tow. Vera greeted me and immediately set about giving hugs to each of the kids. Then, as if suddenly remembering her manners, she turned to the tall, raven haired girl standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Shawn, I would like you to meet Luba. She apologizes for being late.”

Luba smiled shyly and uttered an inaudible string of Russian that spilled out under her breath as quickly as she could possibly manage. Luba could find the will power to glance at me for only a few seconds at time before locking her eyes downward like her feet were the most interesting things in the world. She shook my hand in a split second before hurrying restlessly over to sit next to Elza.

And just like that, Luba made ten. I felt about as awkward and out of place as humanly possible among the ten teenagers, but in the few short minutes with them I was already feeling a change. Liza rushed over to me and proudly showed off her completed name tag as if this strange American’s approval over her small strip of wood and string already meant the world to her.

With each passing second my apprehension melted away and I began to feel like a rhyme and reason filled the room. Perhaps I may actually be exactly where I was supposed to be, and exactly who I was supposed to be with.

 

-Shawn

 

 

 

 

 

 

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