I'm lying on the floor holding Dumitru, a 2 year old blond, blue-eyed boy with a devilish grin, overhead flying him like an airplane. We make airplane noises and he repeats after me, "avionul." After he lands, Lavinia and Vasilica each want their turn. The TV in our small playroom is showing a Disney Sing-Along while in another corner Laura, a Romanian graduate student and volunteer, pulls out some blocks and Legos for the children. We're in the toddler room of the Secþia Distrofici, or Failure to Thrive section at the Dr. I.T. Nicolaescu Hospital in the village of Tutova, Romania. In a little while the children will eat lunch, brush their teeth, and take a nap. 

We gather around a picnic table outside in the garden-like hospital campus and discuss the morning's events with our Romanian team leader, Mihaela. After a delicious lunch and a nice walk along the village road it's back to work as the children wake from their naps. I push them on the swings, take them on walks to visit the hospital garden and farm and take them to the gated entrance where they enjoy watching the passing bicycles, cars, horses and pedestrians. Sometimes people will stop and come over to talk to us. This is a small rural village and local residents know about the American volunteers who come. Today a 12 year old girl and her friends stop to chat. One speaks a little English, but is embarrassed by her mistakes so I surprise her by asking some questions in Romanian. This breaks the ice, and soon we're discovering what 12 year olds do for fun in Tutova, and which beaches we like best in America.

A horse-drawn caruba, ubiquitous around here, passes by. "Calul!" shout the children. I'm glad I made an effort to learn some Romanian in the year before coming here, and I take every opportunity to teach them new words in their native tongue. It's fun! The children in the Tutova hospital range in age from a few weeks to nearly 3 years. Some truly have special needs and medical problems, but for most the diagnosis is simply the poverty into which they were born. Families around here struggle to live and raise children on less money each month than my electric bill. These are not orphans or abandoned children. They're not even failure to thrive children. A more accurate description would be "ready to thrive", because they do so when given love, physical and mental stimulation and encouragement. I chose to spend two weeks vacation as a volunteer with Global Volunteers because I though their philosophy was right on; that is, that local people know best how to solve their problems and that outsiders serve best by serving under their direction. Thus, the hospital asked for help in providing love and nurturing to the children because they couldn't afford enough paid staff. We multiply the loving hearts and caring hands of the Tutova people.

Our team is composed of 13 extraordinarily talented and accomplished individuals who came for the same 3 reasons: to make a difference for the children, to engage in a special cultural exchange experience and to learn something about themselves. Inspired by the children, by the staff, and by each other the team becomes very cohesive and dedicated. I developed affection for this country in the course of adopting our daughter Vanessa two years ago. We became close friends with her foster family and I have brought Vanessa with me this time for a reunion. She stays with them in Bucharest, about 4 hours away, during the week, and I return on the weekends. Together we have the greatest of all opportunities to experience and understand another culture- by living it. I know enough Romanian to manage around town and to start conversations, and I'm amazed at the response I get. How thrilled and surprised they are that anyone would want to learn their language! How they open up to me, and how wonderfully we connect even if I only understand half of what is said. Once that connection is made, it's likely you've just made a friend. Dr. Delia, the hospital director, really impressed me. My training in medicine in the USA would not prepare me for her job. A very elegant, educated and humble woman, her charge to provide medical care to this community in the face of economic and political obstacles is met by her resourcefulness.

In addition to the section in which we work, there is a pediatric and an adult section. She takes me on a tour one afternoon, and we discuss her many needs. Nothing can be taken for granted, and she prioritizes her wish list. Should we buy more reagents for the chemistry instrument or yoghurt for the toddlers? How many physicians do I know, I wonder, who must consider in one afternoon lab results, the electric bill, and crop yields? I feel like I'm stepping back in time here, but what would I do in her shoes? Built in 1910, each of the sections is a separate one story building, set among fruit trees, hedges and flowering gardens. Our building looks and feels more like a day care center than a hospital, with brightly painted walls, murals of storybook characters, carpets, and open windows. There are lots of toys, clothes, shoes and games. There is a new industrial size washer and dryer for the mountains of laundry, mostly cloth diapers, facing the staff daily. Almost all of this was donated, and many volunteers bring things with them. Do we make a difference? Are you kidding? Imagine two dozen children and only 5 staff members-fewer on weekends.

Imagine how many fewer lullabies, tears wiped away, pushes on the swing, and how much less cuddling. Imagine too few hands to feed two year-olds except by bottle, no one to gently repeat what will be their first words or to help them take their first step. This week two of the children went home with their parents. One had been here nearly a year, the other for two. Andreea was one of my toddlers, the oldest at nearly three. Just as I arrived first thing in the morning, there she was with her parents and big sister, ready to leave. Happy for them, but sad to see her go, I tried to explain to her father what a wonderful little girl she is. He and his wife nod, agreeing, and gush out their praise for all of their children (Andreea is their sixth). "We are poor", he says, "but we never abandon our children." I'm speechless, wondering about her future.

We all discuss it with Mihaela at dinner, and agree that this is a success story. The hospital fulfilled its mission, and the bigger questions are really not our call to make. Not all of these children will go home. Some will never be visited by their parents. Even small distances are prohibitive. Some will move on to foster care and perhaps later will be reunited with their families or adopted. But right now we fill up the kiddie pool and let them splash around. Later the preschool teacher comes and teaches the children one on one.

She is one of five paid staff positions supported by Global Volunteers, and worth every penny. I leave Dumitru with her and take Lavinia and Vasilica out to play. We count things and share an orange. I try to think of how may words they can learn about an orange: "suc", "portocale";, "dulce." It's difficult to explain why a father of seven would spend two weeks of vacation time, several thousand dollars, and travel thousands of miles into the Romanian countryside to push a kid on a swing. You could do that at home! Once you've done it, though, you know why. I've touched many lives, and many others have touched mine, and we've made the world a smaller place. I've worked elbow to elbow with local Romanians on something important to them, and they are now my friends and I have a place there. I've learned and I've served. It's what Global Volunteers calls waging peace. Our team followed 31 previous teams, and another will follow us in a week. The children of Tutova will be loved. That is all they asked of us.