30 Electrical Outlets - $3-4 each
120 Light Switches
Plastic Windows - 4 windows (6 square meters each) $130 each
- 5 windows (13 square meters each) $150 each
10 Interior Doors $100 each
Gypsum board for corridor ceiling - 120 square meters
Wood board for floor - 5 cubic meters
We are hoping to be able to repair the first floor bedrooms of the orphanage. In order to complete this project we will need:
-6 doors
20 square meters of Gypsum board
300 kilograms of plaster
500 kilograms cement
5 sacks glue (for tiles)
Please email me at addingtonk@bellsouth.net if you are interested in helping fund these projects.
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“Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy.” Psalm 82:3
We've officially started the adoption process. We ask for your prayers & support as we rise to the Lord's calling.
About Me
"Defend the cause of the fatherless..." Isaiah 1:17
The Nance Group
Limba noastră
Republic of Moldova National Anthem
Limba noastră-i o comoară
În adîncuri înfundată
Un şirag de piatră rară
Pe moşie revărsată.
Limba noastră-i foc ce arde
Într-un neam, ce fără veste
S-a trezit din somn de moarte
Ca viteazul din poveste.
Limba noastră-i numai cîntec,
Doina dorurilor noastre,
Roi de fulgere, ce spintec
Nouri negri, zări albastre.
Limba noastră-i graiul pîinii,
Cînd de vînt se mişcă vara;
In rostirea ei bătrînii
Cu sudori sfinţit-au ţara.
Limba noastră-i frunză verde,
Zbuciumul din codrii veşnici,
Nistrul lin, ce-n valuri pierde
Ai luceferilor sfeşnici.
Nu veţi plînge-atunci amarnic,
Că vi-i limba prea săracă,
Şi-ţi vedea, cît îi de darnic
Graiul ţării noastre dragă.
Limba noastră-i vechi izvoade.
Povestiri din alte vremuri;
Şi citindu-le 'nşirate, -
Te-nfiori adînc şi tremuri.
Limba noastră îi aleasă
Să ridice slava-n ceruri,
Să ne spuie-n hram şi-acasă
Veşnicele adevăruri.
Limba noastra-i limbă sfîntă,
Limba vechilor cazanii,
Care-o plîng şi care-o cîntă
Pe la vatra lor ţăranii.
Înviaţi-vă dar graiul,
Ruginit de multă vreme,
Stergeţi slinul, mucegaiul
Al uitării 'n care geme.
Strîngeţi piatra lucitoare
Ce din soare se aprinde -
Şi-ţi avea în revărsare
Un potop nou de cuvinte.
Răsări-va o comoară
În adîncuri înfundată,
Un şirag de piatră rară
Pe moşie revărsată.
A treasure is our language that surges
From deep shadows of the past,
Chain of precious stones that scattered
All over our ancient land.
A burning flame is our language
Amidst a people waking
From a deathly sleep, no warning,
Like the brave man of the stories.
Our language is made of songs
From our soul's deepest desires,
Flash of lighting striking swiftly
Through dark clouds and blue horizons.
Our language is the language of bread
When the winds blow through the summer,
Uttered by our forefathers who
Blessed the country through their labour.
Our language is the greenest leaf
Of the everlasting forests,
Gentle river Nistru's ripples
Hiding starlight bright and shining.
Utter no more bitter cries now
That your language is too poor,
And you will see with what abundance
Flow the words of our precious country.
Our language is full of legends,
Stories from the days of old.
Reading one and then another
Makes one shudder, tremble and moan.
Our language is singled out
To lift praises up to heaven,
Uttering with constant fervour
Truths that never cease to beckon.
Our language is more than holy,
Words of homilies of old
Wept and sung perpetually
In the homesteads of our folks.
Resurrect now this our language,
Rusted through the years that have passed,
Wipe off filth and mould that gathered
When forgotten through our land.
Gather now the sparkling stone,
Catching bright light from the sun.
You will see the endless flooding
Of new words that overflow.
A treasure will spring up swiftly
From deep shadows of the past,
Chain of precious stones that scattered
All over our ancient land.
Limba noastră-i o comoară
În adîncuri înfundată
Un şirag de piatră rară
Pe moşie revărsată.
Limba noastră-i foc ce arde
Într-un neam, ce fără veste
S-a trezit din somn de moarte
Ca viteazul din poveste.
Limba noastră-i numai cîntec,
Doina dorurilor noastre,
Roi de fulgere, ce spintec
Nouri negri, zări albastre.
Limba noastră-i graiul pîinii,
Cînd de vînt se mişcă vara;
In rostirea ei bătrînii
Cu sudori sfinţit-au ţara.
Limba noastră-i frunză verde,
Zbuciumul din codrii veşnici,
Nistrul lin, ce-n valuri pierde
Ai luceferilor sfeşnici.
Nu veţi plînge-atunci amarnic,
Că vi-i limba prea săracă,
Şi-ţi vedea, cît îi de darnic
Graiul ţării noastre dragă.
Limba noastră-i vechi izvoade.
Povestiri din alte vremuri;
Şi citindu-le 'nşirate, -
Te-nfiori adînc şi tremuri.
Limba noastră îi aleasă
Să ridice slava-n ceruri,
Să ne spuie-n hram şi-acasă
Veşnicele adevăruri.
Limba noastra-i limbă sfîntă,
Limba vechilor cazanii,
Care-o plîng şi care-o cîntă
Pe la vatra lor ţăranii.
Înviaţi-vă dar graiul,
Ruginit de multă vreme,
Stergeţi slinul, mucegaiul
Al uitării 'n care geme.
Strîngeţi piatra lucitoare
Ce din soare se aprinde -
Şi-ţi avea în revărsare
Un potop nou de cuvinte.
Răsări-va o comoară
În adîncuri înfundată,
Un şirag de piatră rară
Pe moşie revărsată.
A treasure is our language that surges
From deep shadows of the past,
Chain of precious stones that scattered
All over our ancient land.
A burning flame is our language
Amidst a people waking
From a deathly sleep, no warning,
Like the brave man of the stories.
Our language is made of songs
From our soul's deepest desires,
Flash of lighting striking swiftly
Through dark clouds and blue horizons.
Our language is the language of bread
When the winds blow through the summer,
Uttered by our forefathers who
Blessed the country through their labour.
Our language is the greenest leaf
Of the everlasting forests,
Gentle river Nistru's ripples
Hiding starlight bright and shining.
Utter no more bitter cries now
That your language is too poor,
And you will see with what abundance
Flow the words of our precious country.
Our language is full of legends,
Stories from the days of old.
Reading one and then another
Makes one shudder, tremble and moan.
Our language is singled out
To lift praises up to heaven,
Uttering with constant fervour
Truths that never cease to beckon.
Our language is more than holy,
Words of homilies of old
Wept and sung perpetually
In the homesteads of our folks.
Resurrect now this our language,
Rusted through the years that have passed,
Wipe off filth and mould that gathered
When forgotten through our land.
Gather now the sparkling stone,
Catching bright light from the sun.
You will see the endless flooding
Of new words that overflow.
A treasure will spring up swiftly
From deep shadows of the past,
Chain of precious stones that scattered
All over our ancient land.
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“Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy.” Psalm 82:3
My Blog List
Books I've Read and Suggest
- Toddler Adoption by Mary Hopkins-Best
- Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew by Sherrie Eldridge
- Attaching In Adoption by Deborah D Gray
- Parenting the Hurt Child by Gregory C Keck and Regina Kupecky
- Parenting Your Internationally Adopted Child by Patty Cogen
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