I need a way out. Under Mama Maria’s “loving” leadership, the Family is not supposed to force people to marry anymore, but I know my refusal will be seen as one more sign of my unyieldedness, justifying eventual punishment.
As the pressure mounts, God gives me a way out—a new Family mission field. The latest Mama Letters contain prophecies from Jesus calling for missionaries to go to Russia and save the souls who have been lost in darkness for decades. With the fall of communism, the economy has collapsed, plunging the country into poverty. The people are desperate for humanitarian aid, and for the first time, missionaries are welcome.
As I read page after page of prophecy, I’m deeply moved. For the first time, I feel God’s calling, something I always heard the adults talking about, a strong pull on my heart. Instead of letting me suffocate in Japan, God has opened a window to freedom, a way out. I will go and help.
I hear from Josh that Nehi and Caleb have moved to Russia with Aunt Faithy, who is leading the humanitarian aid effort. She is even working with USAID to get food into the far reaches of Siberia. She is much better than anyone they have on staff at actually getting the shipments to their destinations without losing them to bribes and corruption. It seems like another sign; my resolve is set.
Chris is almost frantic when I tell him, pleading with me not to leave. “I have to follow God’s call,” I tell him.
He can’t argue with that, but he assumes I’ll be gone only a few months. “I’ll wait for you,” he tells me.
Cowardly, I let him think I’m coming back. Perhaps I will, after I get this out of my system.
Once I make the decision, everything seems to fall into place, further confirming this is God’s will. Caleb will help me get my visa through their contacts in Siberia. I just have to make my way to Russia. I am flattered when the parents of three of the kids I have been teaching offer to pay my airfare in thanks for all the progress their girls have made.
Where God guides, He provides!
22
Meeting the Prince
As soon as I land in Russia, I feel the stark contrast to Japan. I had grown accustomed to sterility and order, but even in the airport here, everything is covered with dirt. The air is full of it. I feel the grit in my nostrils and almost wish I had a Japanese face mask. The building has cracks; the elevators don’t run; the paint color is unrecognizable. Nothing is new.
I look out the window. The Soviet buildings are enormous and a lot more spread out than in Japan; the streets are three times as wide and filled with noise. Moscow looks like chaos.
In the confusion of the arrivals area, I see my eldest brother, Nehi, waiting to greet me with his trusty camera bag slung over his shoulder. We have our first hug in eight years. He leads me to his van, and on the drive over to the Home, he tries to catch me up on what to expect.
It takes hours to do things, he says. You always seem to be waiting. But that’s normal here. People would be very surprised if something—airplanes, ships, buses, trains—happened on time.
The mentality of the workers—store personnel, ticket agents, flight attendants—is not one of service, either. They are often brusque or have the attitude of “You can just wait until I’m finished with what I’m doing, then maybe I’ll see to you.” Nehi tells me he’s even heard that it’s not uncommon for the tram operator to announce that he won’t be stopping at the next station because it’s almost his break and he is going straight to the stop where he can get his hamburger.
As we approach a residential area, he whispers to me with a twinkle in his eye that we are first going to the Home where Davidito is staying. He and a few people from WS have been traveling through Russia for the last two months, secretly visiting the Homes in this new mission field to give Davidito a chance to see how the rest of the Family lives. This is the end of the trip, and he’s flying out of Moscow to rejoin Mama Maria’s Home who knows where.
Nehi parks the van in front of a nondescript Soviet apartment block. My eyes are peeled wide, staring at everyone as we enter the plainly furnished apartment. I don’t see anyone who looks like Davidito, but I hear someone say the group will be leaving for the airport soon. The tension is tightening in my chest. I can’t get so close and miss him! I start walking through the large apartment, peeking into rooms and knocking on closed doors. I normally wouldn’t do this, but I’m determined to meet the boy I’ve read about my whole life—the one who took our place in Grandpa’s heart and life.
I come to the last closed door and knock softly. There is no answer, so I slowly push it open, expecting another disappointment. Beyond the bed, I see a dark-haired young man standing by the window, staring out into the bright sunlight reflecting off the concrete streets.
“Hi,” I venture.
The man turns. Perhaps I have the wrong person; he looks nothing like the boy from the Kidz True Komics. He looks about my age, though not as handsome as the boy in the drawings. He’d dropped out of sight from the Letters in the last few years, so I know next to nothing about what his life is like now.
“I’m Faith,” I try again. “Ho’s daughter.”
His face lights up with recognition. “I’m David.”
We smile for a moment.
Then he returns to staring out the window. I walk to stand next to him, feeling like an intruder. His pain and sadness are palpable.
“What are you thinking?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t want to go home,” he blurts out.
I’m shocked to hear this. In the Komics, Grandpa’s house is a kind of heaven.
“These last few months, traveling, meeting other young people, have been wonderful,” he continues in a whisper.
Suddenly, I see his life in a new way. Trapped. Staying in one Home with little contact with anyone outside of it. My heart aches for him; he seems so lost. There is nothing either of us can do, though. He has been called home by Mama Maria and must obey.
He glances sideways at me. “I always envied you guys.”
I blink in shock; it’s all I can do to keep my jaw from hanging open. Throughout my life, I have both envied and begrudged Davidito for his position in the Family, for being Grandpa’s chosen heir. How could he possibly be envious of us, of me and my siblings at the Farm? I never even got to meet Grandpa.
“I would read the stories about the Macau Farm and all the animals, and I begged my parents to let me visit you. But they always said no.” He looks even more dejected, his gaze never leaving the window.
“I have an idea!” I say brightly. “Why don’t I tell you stories from the Farm until you have to leave?”
Davidito looks at me, a spark of interest in his eyes. We sit next to each other on the bed, the only piece of furniture in some stranger’s room. As I launch into descriptions of the Farm, he closes his eyes like he’s trying to picture it. I sense waves of sadness like a blanket around him. I want to break through them. I don’t know how I know it, but he needs comfort, touch, like Jondy did when he was a baby.