Dorina

It’s been several weeks since I last wrote, and while so much has happened, there’s also a quiet sense that things have settled into a rhythm. The newness of being here has worn off, and now, it simply feels like life with all its joys, its routines, and its challenges.

I’m now more than halfway through my commitment, and I can already feel how quickly the remaining time will pass. There’s a strange tension between wanting to hold on to every moment and realizing how fast it’s all slipping through my fingers. But in the midst of it all, I’ve been learning to find contentment in the here and now. Not in the excitement of arrival or the anticipation of what’s next, but in the quiet, sometimes ordinary middle. The part where things aren’t brand new anymore, but where real life unfolds.

Some days are filled with joy the unmistakable “God moments” while the other days bring the kind of difficulty that reminds you: life is life, no matter where you are in the world. That truth has settled in deeply lately whether here or back home, we all face days of beauty and hardship. We all need the same daily reminder: to fix our eyes on Jesus and trust Him with our steps, our struggles, our life.

One part of my time here that continues to move me is the orthopedic program. A few weeks ago, several buses arrived at the Hope Center, and out poured dozens of children with leg deformities. I remember watching them come in. It was clear some of them resistant, cautious, carrying the weight of years of stares, of difficulty, of difference. And yet, the strength in them was unmistakable. The strength it takes to live with legs that don’t look or work like everyone else’s… it’s humbling.

Now, some of those same kids are returning post-op, their legs straightened by surgery. Many are still in full casts, needing help with stairs or just getting around. But even through that, there’s something truly beautiful happening: these children are being given the gift of normalcy. A chance to walk through life a little more freely, to simply be kids. 

It’s made me reflect on how easily we take things for granted—like the ability to walk on straight legs. That’s something most of us never even think about, but seeing it through the eyes of these children has changed that for me. Their gratitude, their resilience, their transformation—it’s something I won’t forget.

So as life carries on here, as days pass and routines deepen, I hold on to these reminders. To be fully present. To find contentment not just in the big moments, but in the daily ones too. To trust that Jesus meets us in both the stillness and the storm. And to remember that sometimes, the most powerful transformations are the ones we almost miss, it’s not until we choose to stop, look closer, and give thanks.

I hope to share photos of some orthopaedic kids soon once they are released. 

Thank you once again for all your support and prayers