A Different Kind of Happy

There are different levels of happiness. There is the kind of happiness you feel when you eat waffle fries smothered in Chick-fil-a sauce. There is the kind of happiness you feel when Taysom Hill runs in for the touchdown. There is the kind of happiness you feel when you ace that biology final you have been cramming for. And the list goes on and on: summer nights, chocolate, volleyball, stargazing, and caramel popcorn. You get the picture.

Then there is a special kind of happiness--the kind that only comes around once in a while. It is the deep, swirling, start at your head and end in your toes kind of happy. And all is well in the world. Do you know the feeling?

It is this kind of happy.  

Or this kind.

This kind too.

 

This kind of happiness does not come around all that often. At least I didn’t think it did. Don’t get me wrong, I am a pretty happy kid. But until I came here, those moments when I felt the “special” kind of happiness seemed rare.

Well, that kind of happiness doesn’t seem so uncommon to me anymore. Those moments, those perfect moments of complete happiness, they happen quite often here in Romania. I don’t know exactly why. Perhaps there really is something to this “happiness in serving” theory. Maybe its because I am surrounded by adorable kids all day. Maybe it is because I feel closer to God now more than ever, and that brings happiness. Perhaps it is a combination of all three. All I know is that I am so so incredibly happy here.

Let me tell you about a few of my most recent happy moments. These are the kind of moments that just fill my heart right up to the brim.

There is an older boy in the orphanage here; we will call him Al. Al just turned seventeen and has a bright, happy personality. Al is confined to a wheelchair and is unable to talk, but he is very aware and quite intelligent. I do not get to see him often because he is not in my assigned room in the orphanage. Well, a few days ago I took my boy Dee out to play in the backyard of the orphanage. There were probably ten other children back there, including Al. As the other children ran and played together I watched Al sitting in his wheelchair. I had a tinge of sadness come over me as I watched him observe, his frail body unable to participate in the games. I walked over to Al and took both of his hands in mine. I started singing Taylor Swift “Crazier” and we danced together. Well, sort of. He squeezed tightly to my hands as I swung our arms back and forth and spun myself in circles.

Al beamed up at me and I felt it. I felt that special kind of happy. And for a moment all was well in the world.

Just a few days later I was in the hospital with a little eight-year-old boy named Rob (at least for the sake of the story). I am not sure what exactly happened to him, my Romanian isn’t good enough to understand the story, but he has severe burns completely covering both of his legs. They are wrapped in gauze but the burns are still visible. Well, despite his situation Rob is still a happy, smiley little boy. That particular day I had brought a beach ball with me to the hospital. I blew it up and me and Rob, along with a couple other interns, started hitting the ball back and forth to each other. After a while the fourteen year old boy in the next bed joined in. Rob would hit it hard at someone’s face and laugh. Someone would hit it further then they meant to and we would hurry to hit it again before it hit the floor. All of us were giggling so hard.

In that crammed, stuffy hospital room I felt it again. I felt the special kind of happiness.

Ok last story. I have written before about the little boy in my orphanage room named Dee. Well, he is a pretty wild seven year old but I absolutely adore him. Every day Dee and I play “Ninu-Ninu” together, which is how he says police. The game basically consists of him putting me in imaginary handcuffs and locking me in an imaginary cell by the bathroom. For the next twenty or so minutes I pretend to escape and he catches me and puts me back in jail. Great fun eh? Haha so the other day we were playing police and somehow I ended up sitting on the floor. As Dee got down to put me in handcuffs again he rubbed against my stomach and I giggled. (I am ridiculously ticklish. It’s a problem.) Well, this small discovery was pretty exciting for Dee and he started tickling my stomach until I was crying from laughing so hard. He thought it was just hilarious.

And there it was again. The overwhelming, perfect kind of happiness.

I used to associate happiness with relaxation. I would push through a few hard days knowing that on Saturday I would be able to take it easy. Well, I am just finishing a bout with a nasty cold and my last few days have been jam packed with relaxation. It’s really not all it is cracked up to be. All I want is to be back with my kids laughing and singing and playing Ninu-Ninu.

Being miserable is really no fun at all. May I suggest that you look for those moments in your life when you feel the absolute happiest. Look for the moments when you feel that special kind of happiness. And then, fill your life with whatever it is that made you feel that way. Is it holding your new baby niece? Great! Hold her more often. Is it singing in a local choir? Great! Do that. Maybe it is spending time in the mountains. Then you need to spend more time in the mountains. See the trend here?

Fill your life with whatever makes you happy. And I mean really, really happy. (I am not encouraging you to eat Chick-fil-a for every meal).

But Carlie, what about work and school and bills and food poisoning and potholes? We don’t have TIME for this kind of thing!

My answer? Well, as my extremely wise mother says, “You have all of the time in the world and you get to choose what to do with it.”

There are approximately eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours in every year. That is a lot of time to fill. Work and school are both important. So are doctor’s appointments and test reviews. But may I suggest that you fill in all of the little gaps and holes of time with things that bring you the most happiness.

It’s a beautiful way to live. 

I Am Not Their Savior

About three years ago I watched a short video in my Human Development class at BYU. The film showed footage of an orphanage in Romania where dozens of children lived. The conditions were poor and there were not enough workers to care for all of the children. They were neglected and underfed.

That’s when the dream started. I dreamed of going to that place to care for those children. I wanted to free them from the life that they were living and give them something more. I dreamed of holding them and rocking them and singing them family lullabies. I felt that my love would be enough to change their lives forever.

I finally made it to Romania this summer, planning to live the dream I had created years ago. Almost two months ago I went to the orphanage for the first time. The people of Romania have worked hard over the last couple of decades to improve the conditions of the institutions in their country. The orphanage is now much nicer and there are wonderful workers there who dedicate much of their lives to helping these children.

While important improvements have been made, the children in the orphanage are still desperate for love and attention. When I first arrived here I naively assumed that my love and care would change these children forever. I thought that I would somehow be able to lift them from this sad life they had been given.

I had the same picture for the children in the hospital.

Each day we go to a local children’s hospital and care for children who have been abandoned by their parents or whose families live far away and cannot stay there with them. There are, on average, about fifteen children each day. We change a lot of diapers, hold sick infants, blow bubbles, color in coloring books, change clothes, and try to make the children smile.

Again, when I first started working at the hospital I thought that I was going to change the lives of these children.

The longer I am here I realize that this is not necessarily the case. What we are doing here in Romania is important and definitely helpful.

But I am not their Savior.

There is someone who can take away all of the pain that these children feel, but it isn’t me. There is someone who will lift them from their current situation and fill their lives with light, but it isn’t me. There is someone who will love them unconditionally every second of every day that they live, but it isn’t me. It is Him.

Jesus Christ is the only one who can truly save these children. They have been given so little and their lives seem so empty but I know that Jesus Christ is, very literally, their Savior.

John 16: 33 “… In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

I do not know why these children have had to live their lives without families. I do not understand why a mother would abandon her child. I do not know why these precious children must suffer so much because of the choices of others. But I do know that Christ will not forget them or abandon them.

Isaiah 49:15-16

 “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.”

“Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.”

I know that Christ is aware of the children in this small orphanage in Romania. I know that he is aware of every child in the hospital. He loves them dearly. Someday they will be with Him and they will experience the joy and love and light that were not given to them here.

Now, does that negate everything that we have done and are doing here? Does that mean that none of us should ever try to help others because there isn’t really much we can do anyway?

Heavens no. We do all that we can. We try to live our lives as Christ would. As believers, we have a responsibility to spread His love and light.

I plan to give my whole heart to these children. I plan to love them all day every day while I am here. I know that what we are doing here is making a difference. We are giving these children a small piece of the love that a family would provide. We are doing what we can to care for their physical and emotional needs. That is important.

For three months the lives of these children will be a little different than usual. They will get more kisses than usual and they will spend more time in the arms of people who love them. That is a gift worth giving.

But in the end, it is Christ who will truly save these children. 

And I know that He will.