Foreign Exchange Siblings

The fire was small and orange, caged in by a rectangle of bricks, but its light was warm and rich and free. It waltzed on faces that were becoming familiar. Five of us sat in this light, trying to know each other without sharing a thought. Tom and I spoke very little Russian, the three girls spoke very little English. And it was only the five of us in the middle of a Ukrainian forest.

Vika was the first to speak, her words like a held breath released. “We sing for you?” A question to which the only answer was yes, enthusiastically yes, with heads nodding. Vika began a song, the other two followed. It was beautiful.

The words, if there were any, escaped me but the tune was unmistakable. The three orange, dancing faces sang a song of praise to the God that the five of us together called Father. Melodies and sweet harmonies, their words encrypted to my ears but their hearts lain open before me as picture books.

Tom and I thanked and praised them for their performance.

Vika: “Now you sing.” How could we say no?

We began a duet of the same song that the girls had just finished so beautifully. Their flickering faces showed us that the connection was complete. We, the five of us, knew each other because God had first known us, adopted us, and shaped us.

Because we called upon the same Father, the words that we called with ceased to matter.