Ce fac "sectantii " pentru Bastardostan
Sweet Sleep for orphans
By KELLI HEWETT TAYLOR
Staff Writer
Second of three parts
On a cold Sunday morning in January 2003, talk of a church mission trip left Jen Gash haunted by the faces of 700 orphans she had never met, in a country she had never heard of.
''They said it and I knew I was supposed to be there,'' said Gash, 30, an executive assistant to Mayor Bill Purcell. ''I said, 'I'm going to Moldova. Where is it?' ''
She hadn't seen any pictures, but didn't need to. The numbers alone from the former Soviet state, now considered Europe's poorest country, were appalling.
''It was the sheer number,'' said Gash, a former nanny. ''It was a sea of faces of people who had no parents, who had nobody to hold them or love them or teach them. There's something very gripping in that image to me.''
Within a year, this single woman, now a member of Brentwood Baptist Church, raised $30,000 for children at the Internat II orphanage in Moldova's capital of Chisinau. She began replacing the orphans' urine-stained, bug-ridden, 1950s-era beds.
And she launched her own bed-building project. By hiring older orphans to build the beds there, she hopes to help protect older children from being recruited for mafia work or forced into prostitution.
All this, and Gash still doesn't speak the language (Romanian).
Hurdles such as language haven't slowed Gash down since the first day of that first mission trip in July 2003.
The stench
Gash's group walked into the large brick-and-concrete orphanage buildings with bars on the windows. Dark hallways led to small, cramped rooms where six or eight children lived. Gash saw a pile of squalid mattresses in a corner, with a stench that made her hold her breath.
''You were smelling the kids and smelling the living conditions,'' Gash said. ''It was hot, and so it kind of cooked the smell: kids that wet the bed, body odor. It was a deep, dirty smell.''
Later, she met the children, who smelled exactly like their rooms.
''Some of the kids smelled so bad that you breathed out of the side of your mouth,'' Gash said.
Every day, the children inhaled and slept in the stench and soaked it in. Then they clamored to touch and hug the American missionaries, who quickly realized they had to just ''go with it.''
''At the end of the day, you couldn't tell where your stink started and theirs stopped — it was great,'' Gash said with a grin.
'Where to start?'
The problems there were overwhelming.
''I didn't know where to start first,'' Gash said. ''Everywhere you looked, something needed doing or somebody needed to be held or something needed to be fixed. I had to stop in prayer and ask God, 'What do you want me to do?' ''
The answer was to build new beds for the orphans.
''When you are a child that grows up not knowing if anyone loves you, your bed is the closest thing you have to a hug,'' Gash said. ''When they pull up those filthy blankets, that's the closest they get to nurturing. It shouldn't be something that hurts them or makes them sick.''
Gash — who has a girly-girl love of good sheets, towels and blankets — couldn't live with that thought.
Days later, Gash returned to Nashville and launched the bed-building campaign, collecting a $30 donation check on her first day back.
She named the program Sweet Sleep, inspired by the prayers of another mission team member, a new mother who asked God to bless the orphans with ''sweet sleep.''
A friend from Sunday school class created a Web site. Gash wrote emotional e-mails and sent photos of her experiences. Almost every time she spoke of it, she wept.
Word spread. Prayers flew. Money arrived.
Gash formally set up her program with the help of workers with the nonprofit, faith-based Children's Emergency Relief International, or CERI, an arm of the Baptist Child & Family Services in San Antonio, Texas. A small team has worked with Moldovan children for several years.
So far, Sweet Sleep has put in 64 new beds, mattresses, pillows and sheet sets, for about $100 each.
Government officials don't interfere because needs there are so great.
''They don't inspect the orphanages; if they did, they would shut them down,'' Gash said.
Local orphanage leaders now know ''the girl with the beds'' is there to help.
Building beds
It hasn't all gone smoothly. For example, the first bed-builder botched the order for the first four beds — and made off with her money.
Gash refined her plan to manage the construction herself. She also began a training program for some of the older orphaned children — who might otherwise be left with no skills — and was able to pay them for some of the building jobs. She has worked to overcome the skepticism of some locals there, who are convinced many orphans are ''retarded'' and can't work with the public or hold down jobs.
In August, Gash led her own mission team there. Seven Middle Tennesseans journeyed with her.
''It has changed my life and my priorities,'' said Marilyn Swing, 55, a member of Woodmont Hills Church of Christ.
Children asked to call Swing ''mother'' after just three or four days.
''We want them to be able to face the world and know they have an important place in God's plan,'' Swing said. ''You just take it one child at a time.''
Swing, who has spent most of her life supporting U.S. missions work, now sponsors a 14-year-old Moldovan girl named Maria with $30 a month, through Sweet Sleep.
What the kids say
The Moldovan children can't believe that Americans, people halfway around the world, care enough to visit, send warm clothes for winter or even write them.
Gash and her volunteers stay in touch with the children through CERI staffers, who regularly help translate notes and send them via e-mail.
''I really cannot describe how happy I was when I saw my bed! I was shocked!'' says Victoria Chireeva, 15, in a translated e-mail sent earlier this month. ''I am and will be the happiest person in the world!''
Ina Ionascu, 16, had a similar reaction. ''You really filled our lives with much happiness and joy!'' Ina says in a translated e-mail. ''Although we are many miles apart, God is able to keep us connected. Thank you!!''
Sergiu Batca, an older orphan whose age wasn't available, says, ''To be honest the bed that I had was small and uncomfortable. On this bed that I have now can sleep two or three kids!! It's amazing!''
Risky futures
At 16, the children can be forced out of their orphanage to make room for others.
CERI statistics show that up to 70% of the orphaned girls in Moldova are in danger of forced prostitution, while 70% of the boys are at risk of joining the local mafia or being jailed for other illegal activities. About 10% of the teens kill themselves soon after being displaced.
''You can't understand the conditions they live in,'' Gash said. ''It is in a different league.''
Some children have told Gash they would rather live anywhere — even in an orphanage — than return to their abusive or alcoholic families. Others' families are too poor to take them back in, and the ''orphan'' stigma limits their chances for jobs.
Despite the sadness, Gash is uplifted, having found purpose through her new work.
''Before, happiness was in a great shoe sale or a nice road trip,'' she said.
Orphans at work
Next month, Gash is Moldova-bound, on a seven-week, unpaid leave of absence from the mayor's office. She will oversee her new project, as the first two orphan boys begin work as paid, apprentice bed-makers for Sweet Sleep.
Gash has arranged home- and money-management classes for the two Moldovan teens, supervised by American workers.
''They are working for Sweet Sleep now, staying somewhere safe,'' said Gash, who has organized personal U.S. financial sponsors for each of the two boys.
Gash plans to continue raising money and using it to build more beds and hire more children. She is now organizing a sewing operation to hire girls to make sheets, pillows and pillowcases for the beds.
Gash plans to expand to help as many of the nation's other 12,000 orphans as she can.
''I think people are really connected more'' spiritually, Gash said. ''People are seeking relationships and realizing they are called into doing more. People always have that struggle of wanting to do something with their lives.''
Gash no longer feels that life struggle.
''I have seen these kids' lives changed,'' she said.
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