Fireworks!!!

For some time now, Da Nang has been preparing for their annual international fireworks competition. Bleachers went up along the river, gardens were manicured, boats were decorated--the city was a buzz of excitement. As the date neared, we discussed how great it would be if the children could enjoy the festivities. Eager for the kids to share in the fun, we came up with a plan for both orphanages to see the show. Thirty-four children and four caregivers stayed at our house last weekend. It isn't quite as crazy as it sounds--half came Saturday night and the other half last night--but it was a houseful nonetheless!

Saturday afternoon, 20 children and 2 caregivers from Dai Loc squeezed into a van bound for Da Nang. They arrived at our house around 4:00...which is pretty nigh supper time for this crew! The caregivers helped me prepare some noodles while the group explored the house. When I went to hunt everyone down, some were looking at pictures, some playing cards, some napping, some listening to music on the computer, and some jumping on the bed (for kids used to bamboo mats on wood slats, a bouncy mattress is a lot of fun!). Needless to say, they made themselves right at home!

After supper we watched a movie and snacked. As time passed everyone became more and more impatient. "Boom!" one of the boys said to me, gesturing explosions. Two girls came up and repeated, "Han River, Han River!". The plan was to leave at 7:00, but by 6:30 the group was too excited to sit still any longer. Everyone loaded back into the van and headed for Tony and Cindy's house, where we met up with volunteers and the Brewer crew and headed out on foot.

The first night's fireworks were spectacular. Our group was too far away to hear the music or see the ground show, but the dazzling lights above drew gasps and cheers from the children. At the end of the night, a tired but very happy troop filed back into our house.

Now the sleeping situation...as you might imagine, we were in tight quarters. Most of us slept on bamboo mats on the floor (which would not be unusual for Vietnamese children, but is not comfortable for American adults; after two nights of that, I'm a bit sore). After their late night I had expected the children to sleep in, but the earliest-risers were up and moving at 5:30 Sunday morning. Ugh.

Breakfast was across the street with "The Noodle Lady". We watched another movie then took a walk to the beach. It was too cool for swimming, but the kids had a blast catching crabs, drawing in the sand, and getting their feet wet. They posed for several pictures, and I promised to print them out and bring them with me during our next visit.

After lunch, a nap, and some hair styling, we said goodbye to the first group and prepared for the second.

The schedule was the same for the second group, but the weather was not. Steady rains meant we needed ponchos, and it seemed to dampen spirits as we made our walk to the river. But things weren't too gloomy--the rain had deterred the crowd, and many of the bleachers were left empty. After a little convincing from one of our volunteers, we were allowed to bring the children right down in front to see the show! To hear the music and get the full effect...well, we were mesmerized.

Everyone went home at 6:00 this morning, and Enoch and I promptly reclaimed our bed and slept most of the day away. :-) What a weekend!

Thy

Thy came into our lives in a most unusual way. One Saturday afternoon I was working on the computer when I received a call from my friend Dawn. Dawn was enjoying coffee at a Western restaurant when a Vietnamese lady entered with a young girl. The lady told the restaurant owners that she had found Thy beside the river. The 11 year old girl, whose home is over an hour away, was wandering unfamiliar streets in search of work. Her family could not afford to care for Thy so they sent her away.

Thy lived with us for over two weeks. While we worked to track down her family and then to get her into an orphanage, we started to bond with the sweet girl. Over and over I told myself, "This is a temporary thing. Thy isn't going to stay with us. She can't stay with us. Don't get attached." Of course that is easier said than done.

For Thy, her time with us must have seemed quite strange. Up until several weeks ago, she had lived in a leaky one room house with seven other people and only one bed. She ate mostly rice. She had to stay home from school because her family couldn't afford uniforms and school fees. She ran from her father, who was violently abusive when he came home drunk.

Then Thy found herself with "rich" foreigners, a young couple with weird customs, an unfamiliar language, and strange food. But there were certain perks to Thy's new living situation. She got new clothes, toys, and books. She had trips to the arcade, the movies and the beach. I can't imagine all of the emotions that must have been rumbling around inside of the tiny thing--fear, joy, anger, confusion, satisfaction, loneliness....talk about a roller coaster.

All the while, I found myself totally inadequate to handle the situation. My friends reminded me that even though I don't speak Vietnamese and I don't have a degree in counseling, I do have love. And when you're hurting, what you really need is someone to love you.

Right now, Thy is transitioning into a nearby orphanage in Danang (I say "transitioning" because it has been a difficult process), but in early 2010 she will be back under our care. Orphan Voice is renovating an orphanage only five minutes from our house. Our office will be relocated there, so we'll be able to see Thy and 30 of her friends every day. We are calling the orphanage "Promise House"; for Thy and others like her, we pray that it will be used to fulfill the Lord's promise to give His children "a hope and a future".

More Blessed

It has been almost three weeks since Ketsana hit central Vietnam and Enoch and I are still busy with disaster relief. During the days following our noodle delivery along the banks of flooded rivers, we hiked deep into the mountains to bring food to those who had lost everything. Last week, we delivered tin to 25 families whose roofs had either blown off or collapsed under powerful winds. Our organization is funding repairs on a vocational school in Danang whose focus is underprivileged and orphaned children; we hope that their classes will resume next week. Tomorrow we head out to investigate another area to see what the needs are and how we can help; we've been told that the entire village was wiped out by flooding. Three weeks after the storm, the needs are still great.

On our trips into the mountains, many broke down in tears describing their experience--how they hid under furniture as the roof and walls crumbled and how they despaired when their supply of rice was ruined by the rapidly falling--and then rising--water. One lady cried when we gave her a box of noodles, but the tears were from a joyful heart. We were the first to help her, she said; we gave her hope. She related how her husband had been away at his mother's funeral since before the storm, and she had no one to help her rebuild. Each night, she covered her bed and her children's bed with tarps, and they huddled under the plastic to keep dry. The typhoon may be over, but this is the rainy season in Vietnam.

One of the most touching experiences happend on our visit to an ethnic minority group in an isolated area. Though we were delivering noodles to typhoon victims, this ended up being a very different sort of trip. After huffing and puffing through the jungle up the side of a mountain for a good hour, we reached the top. Enoch and I were the only two westerners in our group--and for most of the village, we were the first white faces they had ever seen. Probably the most affected by our visit was a 116 year old woman. A family member gently lifted her from the hammock where she lay and carried her to the door so that she could meet her unusual guests. Enoch showed her the box of noodles, and she investigated each packet carefully. The elderly lady watched us, smiling, asking questions in her native language (which wasn't Vietnamese). When it was time for her to return to the hammock, she refused. First, the lady said, she wanted to touch the white girl...and she wanted the white girl to touch her. So I crouched closer and held out my arms as the lady gently rubbed and squeezed and felt each one, then ran her fingers through my hair. After a moment, she rolled up her own sleeves and motioned for me to do the same. When she was satisfied, the tiny woman smiled broadly, laughed gently, and nodded her head toward me in a Vietnamese gesture of thanks and respect. The encounter was precious.

Lessons learned years ago take on new meaning with the experiences of life. Truly, it is more blessed to give than to receive.

Typhoon Ketsana

Well, we have had an interesting week. On Monday, things got quite stormy around here. We lost our electricity and water and moved into the Brewer house about 1/2 mile inland. The situation escalated throughout the next 24 hours, and a powerful typhoon named Ketsana hit on Tuesday. The high winds and heavy rains destroyed homes and claimed lives. As of October 1st, 5,800 homes in Vietnam have collapsed as a result of Ketsana and another 163,000 have lost their roofs. 92 people have been confirmed dead and 19 are still missing. In other countries affected by the storm, hundreds more have lost their lives and hundreds of thousands are homeless.

In a nearby district, flooded roads have left many families stranded. Today, Enoch, Duc and I bought 100 boxes of noodles to distribute. We had some difficulty reaching the families--the first road we tried was flooded, and we had to turn back. Several miles into our second route, we came to a portion of road that had beeen swept away by the waters. Again, we turned back. On our third try, we made it to a river where we were able to rent a boat. Traveling down the flooding river, we tossed boxes up to stranded families. Others waded through knee-deep mud to reach us. Children and adults ran beside our boat as we traveled and crowded toward us in desperation when we stopped. The experience was overwhelming. This morning, I worried that we wouldn't be able to find 100 families in need. This afternoon, I despaired because our supply was not nearly enough.

Tomorrow we hope to try again

Hue

During the last couple of weeks, our time has been divided between Danang and Hue. Dat's mother, Ut, is still in the hospital in Hue. Ut has been diagnosed with liver cancer and is waiting on surgery, but the doctors now think that her heart may not be strong enough for an operation. Regardless, we serve a God who heals--please remember Ut.

Hue is not far from Danang on the map, but a stretch of mountains seperates the two cities. The road between Danang and Hue is famous as one of the most scenic roads in all of Vietnam--Hai Van Pass. Hai Van Pass is the highest pass in Vietnam--in fact, its name means "Sea Clouds". The narrow, winding roads pose a challenge to travellers, so we used several modes of transportation before finally tackling the pass on motorbike. Our first trip was via taxi. The second time we took a less expensive but considerably slower option--the train. (In the picture above, Dat, Duc, Jillian and Enoch are playing a Vietnamese card game on a sleeper car from Hue to Danang.)

This Wednesday we went to Hue via motorbike, but chose to go through Hai Van Tunnel instead of over the mountain. As a safety precaution, motorcycles are not allowed in the tunnel (if you've ever experienced Vietnamese traffic you most certainly understand) so we paid a small fee to load our bikes on a trailer and take a bus through the tunnel.

We must have been feeling brave on Friday, because when we returned to Danang we made the full journey over the pass on motorbike. Our climb was rewarded with breathtaking views.

Thank you for your prayers for Ut and Dat.

With Love,

The Eubanks

International Children's Day

Monday June the 1st was International Children's Day. We had a big celebration at the Dai Loc orphanage, complete with a blow-up slide, juggling, face-painting, music, balloon animals, nail painting, a yummy meal and a movie. The kids loved it...and so did we!

The days that followed were spent with a team from CBN. We showed them around our projects and spent an afternoon in Hoi An (called "Ancient Town" by the Vietnamese), a beautiful little tourist attraction close to Danang.

During the visit from CBN, Tony, Cindy, Duc, and our visitors met some of the people we help in Hiep Duc, a district in Quang Nam. They were approached by a woman asking for help. The woman shared that she is very sick with cancer; she needs an operation but does not have the money to pay for it. Since she had no hope of living and no relatives, the tiny woman asked that Orphan Voice care for her child after her death.

Orphan Voice is doing what we can to help this lady. We brought her and her son, Dat, to Danang, then on to a cancer center in Hue. She is in the hospital now for testing, and we hope she will have an operation next week. She has already received the greatest gift--she is now our sister!

We (especially the 5 Brewer girls) have had a unique opportunity to sow joy into Dat's life. Even though he has to be going through the hardest experience of his young life, he is seeing movies, playing games, and sightseeing. On the day we took his mother to the hospital in Hue, we visited the Forbidden City of Hue and an amusement park. Dat rode the bumper cars over and over. For that moment, at least, he was happy.
Please remember Dat and his mother. We'll keep you updated.

With love,

Marissa

(The top picture shows a child enjoying the blow-up slide; the second picture is of our little parade--all of us, the Eubanks, Brewers, and the team from CBN toured Hoi An via cyclos; the last picture is of Dat and Marissa in the Forbidden City of Hue.)