Infinitely More

by Krutov, Alex; Davis, Jackie

  During 2002 I continued to work odd jobs, mostly as a translator, tour guide, and errand boy for missionaries. The Harbor gave me purpose, but not a paycheck. During one of those errands I met a woman with the unusual name of Punkin Durio. As was my habit when meeting new American friends, we exchanged contact information. Punkin was planning a return visit to St. Pete in a year or so and I was more than happy to help make arrangements for her. Meeting Punkin would turn out to be one of those chance encounters that was not a chance encounter.

  Punkin, I discovered, was a real missionary hero. She was in Russia heading up a group that was touring the country showing the Jesus film (a ministry of Campus Crusade for Christ). This single mother of two grown boys did such work for eleven years, traveling to some of the most dangerous places on earth so that people could hear—and see—the story of Christ.

  In June 2003, she returned to Russia as promised. I was back in St. Pete for the summer and I accompanied her and her twenty-person team for several days as we presented the Jesus film to refugee camps, orphanages, and other places.

  At the end of that trip, Punkin had everyone write notes of encouragement to the other members of the team. She really struggled with what to write to me. She kept getting the sense that the Lord wanted her to offer to be a mother to me. She decided to sleep on it.

  When she woke up, Punkin was even more certain that the Lord wanted her to offer to be a second mother to me (Sue Gregg being the first), so she wrote the letter.

  We were both surprised when we exchanged our notes that morning, as my note to her was very similar to the one she had written me. We both agreed that the Lord wanted us to have this special relationship.

  The Lord has a wonderful sense of balance and completion. In my life I have had two mothers abandon me: my birth mother and my adoptive mother. Now, as of that morning in June 2003, He had seen fit to give me two new mothers, Sue and Punkin, who have both been true to their promise to always be there for me.

  Chapter 23

  A generous man will prosper; he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed.

  —Proverbs 11:25

  In November 2002 I was headed back once again to the U.S.A. I celebrated Thanksgiving with Melinda’s family at her brother Chuck’s house in Columbus, Ohio, and I was about to get a chance to meet the family and see the place I would call home for the next few years.

  I had heard a little bit from the Catheys about the family that had agreed to take me in, but I didn’t know what to expect. I did know, though, that with every family I had stayed for any length of time, I had experienced some level of problems. I knew from my instruction from Mark that I needed to humble myself, but I was still struggling to learn how. I had grown up with no experience of living in a family. From my limited experience living with American families, I knew that Americans have high expectations, but I also knew they didn’t always share those expectations with me; it was my responsibility to figure them out and then to meet them. I was not fearful of the family, the Davises, but I entered this new family opportunity with some level of concern that this would be just one more demonstration of my inability to meet expectations.

  College, on the other hand, was a different matter. Of that I was very fearful! It had been almost seven years since I had done any school work. To say I was apprehensive is putting it mildly.

  I met the Davises on Thanksgiving weekend of 2002. Melinda and I joined them for dinner on Saturday night at their home in Columbus. The Davis house had been built in 1817 and was a “fixer-upper” when they moved into it in 1986. By 2002 three of their five kids had moved out on their own. Jackie, the mother, explained to me that they always felt that “our big, old house was a blessing from the Lord for us and we committed early on to allow Him to use it as a refuge for others as He saw fit.”

  Now it was my turn to be blessed by the Davises and their “big, old house.” The Davises were not wealthy, except in the things that really mattered: faith, hope, and love. In those things they were positively rich, and I was about to be blessed by that wealth.

  Melinda’s brother Chuck had explained to Jackie and her husband Bill that, “A young man from Russia is coming to Columbus to attend Franklin University for two years to get his associate’s degree in Business. He needs a place to stay.” They agreed to host me for two years, beginning in December 2002 and I moved in just after Christmas.

  The Davises gave me the largest of their spare bedrooms and I quickly found a home for my possessions. It would be nice to have a place to call my own for a while. I was told that I was not to consider myself a guest in the house, but to make myself at home, helping myself to anything I needed.

  School got underway and I took my studies seriously. At twenty-five, I was older than many of the students, and I saw college as my job, what God had for me at that time. Jackie, a former English teacher, was a big help to me as I worked on all of my papers. I could speak English well—most people comment that they don’t even notice an accent—but I had never had to commit those words to writing like I did at Franklin. To write a short email to a friend is one thing, but in college I was expected to write paper after paper, and they would be graded! Jackie did her best to teach me English grammar, my biggest shortcoming, along the way.

  Two of the Davis kids were still living at home. Ben, nineteen at the time, was living in the house’s basement apartment with his buddy Jay, who was going through a rough time in his life and needed a friend and a place to stay. The Davises’ daughter Rebekah, twenty-one, was also living at home for a while, after finishing her own two-year associate’s degree.

  From my immigrant’s perspective, I thought Ben and Bekah were selfish, lazy, and spoiled. I never said anything, but my lack of patience for post-high school American kids trying to figure out what to do with their lives was probably pretty obvious to the Davises. It didn’t help that Ben and Bekah were always having friends over and constantly leaving a mound of dirty dishes in their wake. Jackie no doubt smiled to herself, realizing that her two youngest weren’t the only ones under her roof who had some growing up to do when I moved in. I initially got along better with the three older kids, Natalie, Lara, and Sarah, who were not living at home. Today, I have a great deal of respect for both Ben and Bekah, and a wonderful relationship with all of the Davis clan.

  I became a big fan of the United States Postal Service. Every day I would run down the driveway to get the mail as soon as the mailman delivered it. I would separate the piles for each household member and would inform them what was in their pile before they even got to it. It irritated me how indifferent they were to their mail! The worst was when I would see Jackie throw some into the trash without even opening it—I opened everything addressed to me, even “junk” mail. When they asked me, after several months, why I was obsessed with the mail, I explained that for eighteen years of my life I had never gotten a personal piece of mail. An envelope, addressed to me, regardless of content, was an affirmation that I mattered to someone. I was glad when Jackie told me that my appreciation for the little things in life—things like the mail, hot showers, having a washer and dryer, your own bathroom—have helped all of them to be more grateful.

  Very early on I asked Bill and Jackie to please tell me if I ever said or did anything to hurt or offend them. I also asked them to communicate any expectations they had of me. With that, I settled into quiet observation for a time. It soon became clear to me that the Davises are a very close-knit family. Bill and Jackie are very connected with their kids and grandchildren.

  Growing up, I often thought of the parents I never had, but I had given little thought to the family I never had. I loved becoming a part of the Davis family. In addition to their closeness, I was surprised how down-to-earth, relaxed, and free-flowing they were. Friends and family would come and go from the house all the time—not formal, scheduled events, just comings and goings. It was a fun, relaxing atmosphere unlike anything I had ever experienced.

  It had been my ex
perience, thus far, that in general, Russians had fewer friends than Americans, but those friendships were much deeper. In my mind, Americans tended to have friendships a mile long but an inch deep, whereas Russians tended to have friendships an inch long but a mile deep. Americans, I thought, were more open and inviting and polite, but the spark may go out just as quickly as it was lit, or the depth of the relationship never gets much beyond the politeness. Russians, on the other hand, tend to be much more reserved and skeptical and cold, but once they connect with each other, it would take something very major to sever that relationship. I will admit that those observations may be oversimplified, but they were very real perceptions to me, nonetheless. In a very short period of time, the Davis family dispelled those notions. Their relationships were both long and deep.

  In addition to their younger kids, I also became friends with the older three Davis children. In fact, their daughter Sarah and her husband Nathan even adopted Russian twins. They named the boys Riley and Kaden. Much to my surprise, they gave Riley the middle name of Alexander, in my honor. The adoption process gave the whole family a firsthand experience with Russian orphanages and strengthened our growing bond even more deeply.

  Twenty-two months old when they were adopted, the twins did not know how to chew and swallow solid food. There was no time in the orphanage for the workers to sit and feed the many hungry infants; the children were taught at a very young age to handle their own bottle. Once they learned to chew, they would chew and chew and chew a bite of food, but they had no grasp of understanding how to swallow it.

  Poor little Riley was pretty sickly. His crossed eyes, coupled with his skinny frame and inability to eat, made his wheezing and coughing all the more pathetic. In that first year in America, he spent more than his fair share of time in ambulances and emergency rooms. After months of breathing treatments at home each night, he had surgery to remove his tonsils, along with several surgeries to correct his lazy eye. He is now doing great and looks quite distinguished in his glasses.

  I have no doubt that little Riley would have ended up in the orphanage for sickly kids, confined his entire lifetime to a crib and would likely not be alive today to see his seventh year of life.

  Helping Sarah and Nathan with their adoption was just the beginning of the Lord using me in that role in America. Throughout my time in the U.S. the Lord has repeatedly brought people my way who were in the process of trying to adopt from Russia, and, often, those who have already adopted, who desperately need assistance and encouragement. At just about every gathering of believers in which I find myself to tell my story, there is someone who knows a family that I “just have to meet.”

  The older the child is, when adopted, the more complex the problems and the greater the challenges. My life story illustrates that well, and it has been a real privilege for me to assist in whatever ways I can. But that has been a pastime to my larger purpose for The Harbor.

  Three fortunate boys from Russia. Even though it’s several years old, I love this picture. That’s Riley on the left and Kaden on the right

  Chapter 24

  How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you.

  —Psalm 31:19

  While I may have been in my mid-twenties during my college career, in many ways I was experiencing childhood for the first time. I’m sure that’s the way it came across to the Davises as I would sometimes act just plain goofy. At the mall with some of the grandkids I would take off, running down the mall pushing the stroller, giggling along with the grandkids at the speed at which the stores streamed by us. When I wrestled with the grandsons, I would have as much fun as they would. It wasn’t just when the grandchildren were around, either. I was known to be a terror with grocery carts in the stores and parking lots, often attracting stares from other customers.

  The Davises never reprimanded me for my silly behavior. They always pointed it out, and often teased me about it, but somehow they sensed that it was a necessary part of my growing up. There was no way for someone to go back and rock me to sleep, but rocking one of the grandbabies to sleep seemed to help fill some of the gaps from my own childhood. In many ways, the Davis grandkids, with their childish, imaginative play, were instruments of healing for me. Being around such a family made me all the more passionate about helping folks adopt children from the orphanages in Russia.

  There is a phenomenon with orphans, at least for those who grew up in an orphanage, that goes contrary to expectations: a sense of entitlement that comes from years of someone else providing for you. Never mind that their core needs of love and affection were never met, or that their provisions were secondhand, ill-fitted clothing and shoes, or that their showers were cold. Their perceived needs were always met by someone else—and not anyone close to them, either, but by an impersonal “them.” Similarly, there is a concept with orphans known as “silent love”: their inability to express appreciation. They were never taught how to show appreciation or express affection.

  I could readily recognize this in others. In all my work with the orphanages, and for all that I provided to them, my reward was seldom any outward appreciation. Admittedly, this was sometimes discouraging, but I had to constantly remind myself why I was doing what I was doing. It takes a long time for orphans to show love and appreciation to anyone. Looking back on my own eighteen years in the orphanage system, Melana was the only person to whom I could show any love or appreciation. It was an eye-opening experience for me when I first noticed little kids in America saying “please” and “thank you” and showing appreciation and affection to adults, more foreign to me than the language.

  I am sure that people were baffled at how picky I was when I first came to America (and still am, to some degree), but I attribute it to this sense of entitlement ingrained in orphans. For someone with few possessions and no income, my tastes were decidedly expensive. I would rather do without than settle for something less than the brand-name, expensive, labeled clothes and shoes.

  At the same time, though, the Davises were also surprised to see how meticulous I was with my things. I frequently washed my tennis shoes. My Gap jeans hung, laundered and creased, in my closet like dress pants. I was more into quality than quantity, and I tended to that quality with diligence.

  That diligence carried over to chores, as well. I found out later that one of the reasons why Ben and Bekah so seldom did their dishes when we were all living at the house was because they could never do them to my standards. I had an irritating habit where, if they rinsed a dish and put it in the dishwasher, I would re-rinse it and reload it “correctly.”

  My know-it-all attitude and pride continued to be thorns in my flesh, something I constantly need to bring before the Lord. I would like to think I have gotten better at them, and I probably have, but still there are times when loving friends have had to take me aside and do as Mark Cathey did, telling me I need to work on my humility.

  Jackie Davis has an interesting perspective on my growth in this area. She says that my first real, extended experience of living with family has given me the opportunity, for the first time, to not have to prove anything to others. I didn’t have to prove myself to her family. That unconditional love has given me the security we all need in order to live humble lives. I praise God for that, and continue to ask Him to continue to make me more like Him, rather than the selfish, “entitled,” know-it-all orphan of my youth.

  Ever since the possibility of an American education came my way when the Hugheses first offered it to me, it was my great goal. For seven years I had been waiting for another chance. When the Franklin University opportunity came up, I knew that it was going to be my last one. I had blown my chance before; I could not do it again.

  Mark and Melinda Cathey tried to alleviate the pressure. They told me they did not expect me to get all A’s and B’s. They knew it would be hard for me, but they wanted me to enjoy the experience, too. Yet, I still
put incredible pressure on myself. I would have preferred the four-year degree, but the timing wasn’t right. The ministry could not afford the funds and they needed my full-time efforts as soon as possible.

  Every day for two-and-a-half years (except for summers) I rode the bus to and from campus. I worked very hard and studied a lot. My classmates would often tease me that I studied too much and worked too hard. It was probably for that reason that I hated group projects—there were too many “slackers” who wouldn’t contribute. Franklin is a commuter school so we didn’t have the typical, traditional campus life. It was just as well: I was there for one purpose, to get my degree.

  That day finally came in August 2005. I graduated from Franklin University, magna cum laude, with an associate’s degree in Business Management. It was a very big day for me, a real milestone in my life. It was a long, long way from being a little boy in Russia, living on the streets of St. Petersburg.

  The Davises put on a big celebration, and I mean big! Of course, the entire Davis clan was there. Melinda Cathey came in from Minnesota. Her husband Mark couldn’t attend, but Melinda’s brother Chuck came. That was significant since it was through Chuck that I got to live with the Davises. Rich and Sue Gregg came in all the way from California, and Punkin would not have missed it. I was nervous because, for the first time, the two women I called “Mom” would meet each other. Sue and Punkin are both wonderful, godly women and they bonded immediately; I need not have worried. Perhaps most significant to me, John Hughes, my original host on my first trip to America, accepted the Davises’ invitation and was present for the celebration as well. His wife Thompson was sorry she was unable to attend, but I was thrilled to see John once again. It was a great opportunity for everyone to meet and get to know each other a little. It was both awkward and amazing for me to have them all in the same room at the same time.