Part III
"Of course," she replies as the group gathers together with enthusiasm at having their picture taken.
My intention was to gather pictorial memories of the conditions I was observing. These dear people were excited to have their faces memorialized, an opportunity rarely given in their lives. I happily take several shots of the group. I'll make copies of this photograph so they may each have one.
Natasha sets up her easel and flannel board on the other side of the room and begins to teach Bible stories. She sings songs with them � the Russian rendition of "This is the day that the Lord has made," and other familiar and unfamiliar praise songs. She then tells them the story of Jesus from His birth to His death and resurrection. I follow along with the pictures she creates with flying hands on the flannel board as she tells the story with the artistry and confidence of a seasoned storyteller and teacher. Even in a language I do not know, the story is compelling and I have no trouble following along.
Svieta and her little son regularly distract me. The love they have for one another is impossible to ignore. The little boy, with very fat, weathered red cheeks kisses his mamma repeatedly. She doesn't discourage him but instead returns sloppy kiss for sloppy kiss, pouring her heart out on this helpless babe in her arms. The next oldest child, an angelic little girl, toddles around, quietly and faithfully followed by the little puppy. Clothed in a fake fur jump suit with a hood, she reminds me of a forest creature from a fairy tale. She toddles over to the broken crib on her short fur-lined legs and gathers up all of the toys in her little arms and brings them over to one of the women on the bench. She invariably drops one or two on her way across the room, but patiently and carefully she picks each one up, rearranging the load in her tiny arms. My heart nearly breaks as I watch her carry and protect her entire world in her small embrace.
