This is my last chance!

By Marina Dolbina
Moscow Street Patrol

We got to know Sergey two years ago at the railway station in Moscow . He was 17 years old then. Dirty, ragged, wearing broken boots, runny nose. His eyes were empty and desperate, a chasm before him. Today things are differently, he is on our Yaroslavl farm in rehabilitation. This is Sergey's story:

From the nine years at home I only remember my mom and dad's constant arguments. I didn't even know what they were always arguing about. The arguments turned into fights. I was terrified that something would happen – but if I screamed because I was afraid, I would get the beating.

Then my mother died of a heart attack and my father ended up in prison. I was left alone and ended up on the streets for the first time.

It was fun at first, when everything was allowed on the streets: smoking, drinking, huffing. But little by little, everything changed. The worst things were the beatings, when both “my people” and “the others” were beating me.

I wrote a letter to my aunt in Baku . I thought that to honor my mother, she would take ma off the streets. But she replied: “I am sorry, there is no room, I have a husband and the children.” I continued living on the streets, I slept on the stations, in the attics and in the cellars.

At the age of 14 I ended up in the hospital because of a skull fracture. I had been sniffing glue and I saw my mother across the street. It was a hallucination, but I got really frightened, ran to escape, and I hit my head really badly into something. Things got worse after that, my vision started to get burry.

I went to the Yaroslavl farm, because I had received so many invitations to go there. Within two weeks, my “bum instinct” started to work again, and I wanted back on the streets with others to drink and do drugs. I had lived on the streets for so long, that when my feet landed on the familiar railway station, it felt like I had returned home. Why did I ever leave here, I thought.

Another year passed, and I ended up in the hospital again because of appendectomy, and then into a psychiatric hospital, where I was sedated, etc.

I was finished. It felt as if my whole life had passed and I had not seen anything good. I was ill, beaten and scarred, totally alone and nothing good was even in sight.

I started to attend the congregation meetings and think what I would do. Finally there was only one word in my mind: “ Yaroslavl .” I went to the Mission Possible offices, told them my situation, and apologized. I asked that they would believe in me once more and take me back. I would not leave this time.

I am now on the farm. Pray for me; this is my last chance. I want my life to change, and I want to serve God. I believe that God will help and will even give the rehab center leaders patience with me.

Translated by Jari Vesterinen, Jamtrex Language Services