I would like to share a story with you about my friend Yevgeni.

Yevgeni ran a small kiosk on the Left Bank of Mariupol, Ukraine. He sold gum and cigarettes from his little booth, out a small metal window overlooking Freedom Square. I would often stop and lean down to see his smile and buy a lukewarm Coca-cola on hot summer days while walking to the sea or the bus stop. He would be so excited to see me and my American friends.

Between the ages of 20 and 22 I lived on the Left Bank of Mariupol, Ukraine. I was entirely out of place as an American living there. I was coming out of a dark time in my life and the people of Ukraine took me in and revived me. It's where I learned to love. Babushkas invited me into their homes. They touched my cheek and poured me tea in a room that held nothing more than a table.
I helped with their orphans and witnessed, with a breaking soul, as people opened their hearts to others from a place we would call poverty.

I may regret sharing this, but I have a very personal story I would like to tell. I hope it doesn't get too long... Anyway...

I was 20 years old when I was sent to erase a man from existence and became haunted by him. I was going to college in Texas at the time and a group of us were contacted about a service project. The State needed a handful of young volunteers over the course of a Sunday afternoon and I was one of about ten that agreed to help.