Science, Fiction or a Miraculous Reality? (or, But who do you say I am?)

We look for inspiration in all sorts of fun places. You might say we've always got our sensors set to detect anything that might help us understand life around us a little better. Sometimes that's in the form of understanding how things just are. Sometimes it's in how they might be. Sometimes a look into past thoughts about today might give us a clue as to what we might expect for tomorrow. Forgive me. Recently, Jenya and I have been on a little Sci-Fi kick, with a twist. A series called Prophets of Science Fiction has proved very interesting, exploring the many seemingly crazy ideas that Sci-Fi authors have written about that ended up coming true. But of course, along with it comes consideration of the very ways in which we think about the future.

Arthur C. Clarke, we learned, famously declared three laws of prediction.

1. When a distinguished but elder scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.

2. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

3. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

George did a nice job in his post, "Numbers Numb", giving us a glimpse into that feeling back in 1994, considering the extent of the needs of Orphans. Even just considering the number of Orphans in this world is enough to scare one off, and then when you look at their specific needs, it can be heartbreaking. Then again, looking at an individual, and his or her specific circumstances, can both be easier to wrap our minds around and more inspiring to our hearts.

For me, in my first visit to a Russian orphanage, way back in 1998, I was struck by a young boy named Artyom who, though in an institution for orphaned kids with mental challenges, took me by the hand and toured me around his room, the hallways, and other parts of the building naming various things in English. From beds/dressers (see photo) and my own camera to stickers on lockers of butterflies and zebras and moonbeams, his guided tour was in my own native tongue. Where did he learn so much English, I asked. "Bon Jovi!" he exclaimed! I think back on that day often, and with a great deal of appreciation for what that little boy taught me.

Though my Bride-to-be's work with these kids had been going on for a few years already, and though many blessings had already come of her's and her colleagues' dedicataed work, I still entered that orphanage more overwhelmed by "the problems" that were so emphasized by all the social scientists than by the hope that Jenya clearly had and that obviously drove her in this work. The numbers - the percentages of these kids who would end up with this kind of life or that - it was all wrapped up in my pocket as I walked in the door. But the faces, the personalities, the joy and the obvious potential, and even just simple human value of each one of these precious kids was all I could walk out with.

When this burden was first put on the hearts of Jenya, George and Katya, they naturally looked to the experts, the scientists, for a proper understanding of the full extent of the problem. Of course it helped to put a label (or name) on the precise nature of this situation that they had a mind to address, but oh, thank God they also opened their hearts to the caregivers who in difficult circumstances gave their all for the kids, to friends and loved ones for support, to God for hope and courage and faith to believe they could make a difference, and to the individual kids He placed before them for that connection that let them see not just what must, but what could be done.

The scientists could only identify what was happening to the kids as they progressed through the system (really just being cared for while they waited to be dumped out)… Effectively, a very bad prognosis without much hope for a cure. They were right about the possibility of limits for these kids. They were wrong about the impossibility of changing that. But those who cared enough to imagine better, to write a little fiction in their hearts about each and every kid's potential, and to venture a little way past the limits, ended up making the impossible a reality. We don't use the word "magic", of course, but rather "miracle", and rightly so!

I was also struck by a post from Rebecca. As I read the title, "Older Orphans" I was already reflecting on the problem of what to call these people we strive to serve. In a blog post or newsletter or grant proposal, or even in just speaking of our work in meetings or simple conversations, it becomes necessary to give a name to this group. I think "Older Orphans" is a pretty good one. Rebecca did a great job on the topic, including, like a bonus question, the idea of "graduating" (I like to say "aging out", except when I want to be ironic). For me, though, the most important part might be that the question remains constantly on our minds. To have settled comfortably on a name to call these kids (or to describe what happens when their orphanage time is up) is useful and allows our minds to move on to the work at hand, but I think it's the faces, personalities and simple smiles of these precious fellow children of God we've met that inspires our hearts to dream a little more, and to never be quite comfortable with any label short of their individual names as they grow into the people God created them to be.

My little buddy Artyom was adopted soon after we met, and I can only pray that somehow, somewhere we'll meet again, and that his life (I believe in Switzerland) will have been beyond our wildest imaginations. But for those left behind and in our care, because of that ability to look past the limits both in those early days and every day since, to understand what science said but give it the only respect it deserved (to be bypassed), we now are blessed to witness the miracles that have happened and continue to manifest.

There's another fun thing this Arthur C. Clarke once said, something to the effect that a person predicting a future of as little as twenty years from now will most certainly be laughed at. Only whether now or later is a question. If he/she predicts accurately, they'll be thought a fool now, for it will seem impossible, and if they predict anything remotely believable, they'll surely have grossly underestimated and be laughed at later.

Roughly 19 years ago, a few friends turned their hearts and minds away from the short-sighted science of what was happening to these young people, and instead opened their hearts to dream of these beautiful smiling faces, looking up to them full of supposedly false hope, growing up to simply do well enough in life to return to help with the next generation. Guess what? They're now laughing at their own previous lack of imagination as they watch these young men and women far exceed anyone's daringest hopes for them. They looked at them and said not, "This is an orphan who will age out of this institution unprepared for life and face a certain doom", but instead learned their names and came alongside them as friends to help them along their way. (I'm amazed, sometimes, at how Jenya so easily speaks of so many by name, and know that I couldn't possibly remember them all without spending as much time with them as she does.) There is still much to do, to be sure, and still the challenge remains to continue to imagine more than we think possible, and still the promise remains for nothing short of miracles.

I would encourage anyone who finds even the slightest warmth in their hearts towards these young people to dig just a little deeper and imagine what might be done. Perhaps you might find a positive hope that is almost certainly right. Perhaps you might find a thought of impossibility that is very definitely wrong but fixable. How might we take even just a step past a perceived limitation and do something we thought impossible? What miracles await if we do? How might we reach beyond what we're doing and actually come face to face with these young people? How might the repercussions of such simple steps ripple through time and space, changing lives and revealing miracles… Will we shudder in fear of the sadness that might be their plight, or will we simply begin by learning their names and seeing where it takes us? It's quite simple, really. Who will we say they are?

Kerry J Haps