One of the things I've enjoyed about our time in Târgu Mureș so far is the chance to meet and hear about people doing amazing things in this city and throughout Romania. Steve (the other CRWM missionary in the country, who lives in Târgu Mureș with his family) spends his time connecting and networking these Kingdom movements together, so through his connections we've been introduced to a growing group of people who love God and love His people and love this country. It's exciting.
Yesterday we went to the Youth With a Mission (YWAM) base here in Târgu Mureș to hear a bit more about what they do. (We were also scoping it out for my sister, who's considering spending time with YWAM during her gap year. Kendra, we give it our stamp of approval.) The base has an interesting history and does a lot of local outreach, but is currently most focused on music and worship. They bring in singer/songwriters, predominantly from Romania and Hungary but also anyone else who happens to be around, and record their songs, accumulating the best into worship albums. These monthly recording sessions happen at the coffeehouse in the basement of the base, which is also open for the use of visiting teams of YWAMers and whoever else may want to stop by. While there, we met a YWAM group from a base in the Netherlands. It was fun to be in a room with fascinating, Jesus-loving people from Belgium, Ireland, Holland, Romania, Norway, Nigeria, the U.K.... a tangible reminder that God's Kingdom is everywhere. Everywhere.
Jerry, one of the leaders of the Târgu Mureș YWAM base, gave an orientation to the group from the Netherlands that we got to hear as well, and I'd like to post a few of the things he said. I haven't done any research to back it up, but he's lived here for 12+ years (originally he's American), his love for this country is evident, and I trust him. So here are a few tidbits about Romania, a la Jerry. Errors in memory are mine, and I apologize.
Romania's population is shrinking. Though some of this is due to a lower birthrate (families of 5 or more kids were far more common a generation or two ago), most of it is due to Romanians leaving the country for the West. Anywhere in the West. After communism fell here at the end of 1989, almost everyone in their 20s packed up and searched for a job in Western Europe or North America, creating a huge generation gap. There are few people of that generation left here today, and the exodus is continuing. Because even highly-educated people, like doctors, are paid very small salaries here, Romania's experiencing a huge brain drain -- almost all the quality doctors, lawyers, professors, technicians, etc., go West to where they can make more money. In fact, because wages are so low here, many college grads move to Spain and get jobs picking strawberries, because they make more money picking strawberries in Spain than they can starting a career in their profession here. (Sound familiar, anyone?) They send much of the money back home to Romania, trying to supplement the terribly-small pensions of their aging relatives and the exploding costs of food and housing here.
Joining the EU was a good thing for Romania in many ways, but with it have come consequences. Though the EU has cut down the ridiculously gigantic government bureaucracy from Romania's communist days, it has not made the system necessarily easier to navigate. Romania is a Latin country and, like other Latin countries, is very much based on relationships. To navigate the government offices requires friendships and conversations and time, and perhaps a gift -- not exactly corruption, but an interesting question to ponder. Joining the EU has also made the cost of living much higher here, especially affecting the cost of food, although Romanian salaries and pensions have been slow in catching up. Romania also received an IMF loan a few years ago, but this money had strings attached too -- the IMF required pretty severe fiscal austerity measures on Romania's part in order for them to receive the money, which means that public sector jobs are currently not hiring. Period. (Our friend who is studying to be a midwife at the medical university here says there are zero prospects for her to get a job at a public hospital in Romania after graduating. Zero.) Pensions are apparently in danger of being cut as well, in order to meet the demands of the IMF loan. But does anyone know where that money has gone, or what it's been used for here in Romania? Not anyone I've talked to. The same is true for a lot of aid money from Western countries -- no one here knows where it goes, and they assume it's padding the pockets of politicians.
Speaking of politics: this past summer, Romania voted on the impeachment of its president. The vote didn't carry (but only because of extremely low voter turnout -- of those who did vote, the overwhelming majority voted to impeach him). Yesterday Jerry told us that he was glad the president wasn't impeached, which surprised me. But then he said that the man who would have replaced him is the head of the Communist party in Romania -- a party which is somehow growing in popularity, despite the horrific history of totalitarianism here. I've been reading a memoir about Romanian pastors imprisoned under communism, which I will write more about at another time. But for now, if you are praying for the country, please pray that this totalitarian mentality does not take hold again.
Which returns me to the beginning of this post (whew, sorry about the long International Relations tangent in the middle there!)... the Kingdom. Hope. Jerry has spent the last 12 years talking to young, educated Romanians, pleading with them to stay. The temptation to flee to the West, where salaries are higher and life seems easy and glamorous, is huge. Options for those of us from the United States are pretty much endless (or so they seem to those who aren't from the U.S., despite all we say about poverty and class and racism in the States). The reality is that our wealth is great, and that lure is huge. But Romania desperately needs its faithful to stay. This country needs them to "build houses and settle down; marry and have children; seek the good of the city" (Jeremiah 29). Romania needs its faithful to stay, to complete their education and innovate here, to plant the seeds of a healthy economy and a functional political system. It needs its hopeful, its dreamers, its faithful, to stay and speak against a politics of totalitarianism and corruption and destruction. Romania needs its Church to stay, to "rebuild the wall," and to believe that the Kingdom of God can be glimpsed, can be built, can be entered into, from here. It's everywhere, after all. And in the work of faithful people here, it's already visible. And that gives me hope.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Racism.
I'm hesitant to write this post, because writing on matters of race always makes me nervous. It's a topic that's so charged with pain both historically and presently, and a topic that's so often misspoken about, that I usually would shy away from writing about it in a place as potentially impersonal as a blog. A long conversation, a dialogue -- that I would love. So reader, please understand that that's what this post is -- a humble attempt to step into a dialogue that has long been running with people far more experienced and wise than I.
That said, here it is: a reflection on race in Romania.
In the United States, race and racism and related issues occupied my mind frequently. My first two years of college were spent on a dorm floor dedicated to anti-racism; the church Jack and I attended was intentionally and vibrantly (and sometimes painfully) multicultural; the neighborhood we lived in was full of issues of race and class and gentrification; and my work at the CRC Office of Social Justice often delved deeply into racism and other social issues. I am honored to have learned much from the Grand Rapids people who have long lived and dealt with the issues of race in that city -- members of CORR (Congregations Organizing for Racial Reconciliation), MSDO staff at Calvin College, and so on. I am by no means an expert, but I have learned to recognize the deep-seated prejudices in myself, to call them out and challenge them. I have also had my eyes opened to a myriad of ways in which systemic racism infiltrates every part of American society, granting me and other white people invisible privileges and withholding them from others. There is much I do not know, but I have learned, wrestled, cried -- and found, somehow, hope and passion for this issue, which is so very close to the heart of the God who unites us in His Kingdom.
So it's interesting to be in Romania, a place where everyone pretty much looks, well, white (to me, at least). But there are plenty of undercurrents here that remind me of the United States. Especially the way Romanians feel about the Roma.
Roma people, or Gypsies, comprise a sizable minority in Romania -- more here than in other European countries, though they live across the continent. Here in Târgu Mureș, they're easily distinguished by their clothing: the group in this area belong to a certain clan whose men wear hats similar to an American cowboy hat and whose women wear beautiful, long, colorful skirts. Many Roma people have slightly darker skin than the average Romanian, but to me they still look white, and I can't always pick them out. Roma people are generally assumed to be unsavory -- pickpockets at best, dangerous criminals at worst -- and their social exclusion is quite apparent. Though there are no formal laws (that I know of) prohibiting Roma from attending the same shops, schools, or churches as anyone else, the segregation is visible. All of the beggars we've seen here have been Roma, and daily we see Roma people picking through dumpsters, carrying enormous loads wrapped in cloth on their backs, often accompanied by disheveled children who are clearly not in school.
Obviously, the situation cannot be compared exactly to the systemic racism against African-Americans and other minorities in the United States, but I'm seeing a lot of similarities. When I talk to Romanians about the topic (which I do often, because I think it's fascinating and important), they often say things like, "Well, they're pickpockets, dangerous -- I feel unsafe with them around." "Of course I think we shouldn't discriminate against them -- they should be able to get jobs legally, but they just don't want to work." "They don't value education. The parents aren't educated, so they don't send their kids to school like we do." "I try not to be prejudiced, but I just can't help but notice them and think that way."
It makes me cringe, just as the racist generalizations in the States do -- and the statements are remarkably similar, aren't they? Here too, I want to cry out, "But why? How are you so sure? Do you understand the history, the systems that reinforce this reality? How dare you assume?" It's fascinating to be an outsider here and observe the situation -- in the U.S., I'm busy dealing with my own racism and prejudice and baggage and history of oppression. I'm not a neutral observer here, either, but Romania's history and prejudices are not mine, and thus the lens is different.
So what to do with all these observations? After all I've learned in the States, I am far from naively believing that any of this can be easily solved. But awareness and conversation and relationships and willingness -- those are the first steps, as always. As an outsider here, I'm not sure what part I can play in the conversation about racial reconciliation in Romania. But for now, I'll continue to observe and learn and pray. I know that reconciliation is close to the heart of God... and if He cares about it, then His people better pay close attention.
That said, here it is: a reflection on race in Romania.
In the United States, race and racism and related issues occupied my mind frequently. My first two years of college were spent on a dorm floor dedicated to anti-racism; the church Jack and I attended was intentionally and vibrantly (and sometimes painfully) multicultural; the neighborhood we lived in was full of issues of race and class and gentrification; and my work at the CRC Office of Social Justice often delved deeply into racism and other social issues. I am honored to have learned much from the Grand Rapids people who have long lived and dealt with the issues of race in that city -- members of CORR (Congregations Organizing for Racial Reconciliation), MSDO staff at Calvin College, and so on. I am by no means an expert, but I have learned to recognize the deep-seated prejudices in myself, to call them out and challenge them. I have also had my eyes opened to a myriad of ways in which systemic racism infiltrates every part of American society, granting me and other white people invisible privileges and withholding them from others. There is much I do not know, but I have learned, wrestled, cried -- and found, somehow, hope and passion for this issue, which is so very close to the heart of the God who unites us in His Kingdom.
So it's interesting to be in Romania, a place where everyone pretty much looks, well, white (to me, at least). But there are plenty of undercurrents here that remind me of the United States. Especially the way Romanians feel about the Roma.
Roma people, or Gypsies, comprise a sizable minority in Romania -- more here than in other European countries, though they live across the continent. Here in Târgu Mureș, they're easily distinguished by their clothing: the group in this area belong to a certain clan whose men wear hats similar to an American cowboy hat and whose women wear beautiful, long, colorful skirts. Many Roma people have slightly darker skin than the average Romanian, but to me they still look white, and I can't always pick them out. Roma people are generally assumed to be unsavory -- pickpockets at best, dangerous criminals at worst -- and their social exclusion is quite apparent. Though there are no formal laws (that I know of) prohibiting Roma from attending the same shops, schools, or churches as anyone else, the segregation is visible. All of the beggars we've seen here have been Roma, and daily we see Roma people picking through dumpsters, carrying enormous loads wrapped in cloth on their backs, often accompanied by disheveled children who are clearly not in school.
Obviously, the situation cannot be compared exactly to the systemic racism against African-Americans and other minorities in the United States, but I'm seeing a lot of similarities. When I talk to Romanians about the topic (which I do often, because I think it's fascinating and important), they often say things like, "Well, they're pickpockets, dangerous -- I feel unsafe with them around." "Of course I think we shouldn't discriminate against them -- they should be able to get jobs legally, but they just don't want to work." "They don't value education. The parents aren't educated, so they don't send their kids to school like we do." "I try not to be prejudiced, but I just can't help but notice them and think that way."
It makes me cringe, just as the racist generalizations in the States do -- and the statements are remarkably similar, aren't they? Here too, I want to cry out, "But why? How are you so sure? Do you understand the history, the systems that reinforce this reality? How dare you assume?" It's fascinating to be an outsider here and observe the situation -- in the U.S., I'm busy dealing with my own racism and prejudice and baggage and history of oppression. I'm not a neutral observer here, either, but Romania's history and prejudices are not mine, and thus the lens is different.
So what to do with all these observations? After all I've learned in the States, I am far from naively believing that any of this can be easily solved. But awareness and conversation and relationships and willingness -- those are the first steps, as always. As an outsider here, I'm not sure what part I can play in the conversation about racial reconciliation in Romania. But for now, I'll continue to observe and learn and pray. I know that reconciliation is close to the heart of God... and if He cares about it, then His people better pay close attention.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Immigration strikes again.
We just finished breakfast with Otilia, the lovely woman who hosts us here in Târgu Mureș, and I need to tell her story. Fry yourselves some potatoes and garlic (that's what we had) and pull up a chair.
Otilia has two children. Her daughter, Laura, still lives here in Târgu Mureș with her husband Alex -- we met them the other day, and they're lovely, friendly people. Her son lives in the United States, and she hasn't seen him in years. He went to college there, earned top marks all the way through, and was offered a job after graduating as a manager in some computer company. He was fortunately able to receive a visa (though apparently it took traveling all the way to New York) and now lives in Chicago permanently. Otilia said that he's wanted to go to America ever since he was a little boy -- and now he's there and loves it. His has truly been an American dream! He loves the beautiful music in American churches, he loves Chicago, he just loves America. He doesn't want to come back to Romania, because there are no jobs for him here. "What would he do here?" Otilia asked. "He wouldn't want to come live here with me; there is no work for him here."
But Otilia misses her son -- it was obvious from the way her voice would catch occasionally while she spoke of him, and from the frequency with which she mentions Chicago in daily conversation. She's a retired widow, a pensioner, without a computer or any other method of easy, cheap communication overseas, and she misses him.
Otilia and Laura went to Bucharest once to try and obtain tourist visas so they could visit their son and brother. They took an overnight train (it's at least a six-hour trip by car, so who knows how long it took on Romania's sometimes-shaky train system) and paid 100 dollars for an appointment at the U.S. consulate. And according to Otilia, without even looking at all the papers they'd brought, they were denied.
Tears began to fall as she protested, "I'm not a danger to America! I'm a pensioner; I only speak Romanian. I just want to visit my son." But because of the bizarre, antiquated, discriminatory U.S. immigration system, she cannot go to see him. She had apparently been told that she ought to enter the U.S. diversity visa lottery -- another expensive, time-consuming process with slim hopes of being picked. I didn't have the heart to tell her how slim her odds were if she tried that route.
So now I'm sitting here, lamenting. Before we came to Romania, my job was to work with the faith community for comprehensive reform of the U.S. immigration system. I thought I was leaving that work behind, for the most part -- but here it is again, the messed-up world of U.S. immigration, bringing tears of frustration and grief into the eyes of dear old Otilia. How unfair it is that my parents and Jack's parents will be able to come and visit us when they choose, without a problem -- and that Otilia cannot do the same for her son. What a lovely gift and privilege it will be for us when our parents come to visit. What a lamentable thing it is that Otilia and her son cannot experience the same joy.
Those of you who read this and are in the United States, please do all you can to help make the immigration system work in a more compassionate and common-sense way. And for this American girl sitting in her privilege in Romania, oh Lord, may You show me what to do. For now perhaps lament, prayer, and a call to the U.S. consulate in Bucharest may be the only options.
Otilia has two children. Her daughter, Laura, still lives here in Târgu Mureș with her husband Alex -- we met them the other day, and they're lovely, friendly people. Her son lives in the United States, and she hasn't seen him in years. He went to college there, earned top marks all the way through, and was offered a job after graduating as a manager in some computer company. He was fortunately able to receive a visa (though apparently it took traveling all the way to New York) and now lives in Chicago permanently. Otilia said that he's wanted to go to America ever since he was a little boy -- and now he's there and loves it. His has truly been an American dream! He loves the beautiful music in American churches, he loves Chicago, he just loves America. He doesn't want to come back to Romania, because there are no jobs for him here. "What would he do here?" Otilia asked. "He wouldn't want to come live here with me; there is no work for him here."
But Otilia misses her son -- it was obvious from the way her voice would catch occasionally while she spoke of him, and from the frequency with which she mentions Chicago in daily conversation. She's a retired widow, a pensioner, without a computer or any other method of easy, cheap communication overseas, and she misses him.
Otilia and Laura went to Bucharest once to try and obtain tourist visas so they could visit their son and brother. They took an overnight train (it's at least a six-hour trip by car, so who knows how long it took on Romania's sometimes-shaky train system) and paid 100 dollars for an appointment at the U.S. consulate. And according to Otilia, without even looking at all the papers they'd brought, they were denied.
Tears began to fall as she protested, "I'm not a danger to America! I'm a pensioner; I only speak Romanian. I just want to visit my son." But because of the bizarre, antiquated, discriminatory U.S. immigration system, she cannot go to see him. She had apparently been told that she ought to enter the U.S. diversity visa lottery -- another expensive, time-consuming process with slim hopes of being picked. I didn't have the heart to tell her how slim her odds were if she tried that route.
So now I'm sitting here, lamenting. Before we came to Romania, my job was to work with the faith community for comprehensive reform of the U.S. immigration system. I thought I was leaving that work behind, for the most part -- but here it is again, the messed-up world of U.S. immigration, bringing tears of frustration and grief into the eyes of dear old Otilia. How unfair it is that my parents and Jack's parents will be able to come and visit us when they choose, without a problem -- and that Otilia cannot do the same for her son. What a lovely gift and privilege it will be for us when our parents come to visit. What a lamentable thing it is that Otilia and her son cannot experience the same joy.
Those of you who read this and are in the United States, please do all you can to help make the immigration system work in a more compassionate and common-sense way. And for this American girl sitting in her privilege in Romania, oh Lord, may You show me what to do. For now perhaps lament, prayer, and a call to the U.S. consulate in Bucharest may be the only options.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Another new beginning.
We haven’t written for a while (sorry, Luke, and others who check this blog regularly!) But we’ve been busy, adjusting to a lot of changes, the main one being that we’re no longer in Lupeni! On Wednesday we boarded an early bus to Tîrgu Mureș, a larger city northeast of Lupeni where we will be living until April to do intensive language study. We were sorry to leave Lupeni, where we were already beginning to feel some connections to the people and place (plus, the Carpathians are gorgeous!), but we were both eager to begin language study in earnest. It’s a frustrating and lonely thing to not be able to communicate and get to know people, so we have been excited to start learning.
So here we are in yet another new city, trying to put down a few roots and really dive into our homework. (It’s been a few months since we’ve had homework… hopefully we haven’t forgotten how to do it!) We’re living in an apartment owned by a woman named Ottilia; she’s a lovely older woman who graciously rents a bedroom to us and offers to share her sarmale and whatever other delightful foods she has around. She speaks very, very, very little English, which is good for our Romanian practice, but definitely results in some laughter and confusion as we try to communicate! The Romanian-English dictionary is becoming a vital component of life here, that’s for sure.
For the most part, I think we are settling in well. We just had our first language lesson yesterday, a moment Jack and I had been looking forward to since our arrival in Romania, and now we’re a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount we don’t know. But oh well. This morning I stumbled across a verse in Psalms where God says, “Open your mouth, and I will fill it with good things,” and I was encouraged. Hopefully He’ll fill our mouths with the ability to pronounce sounds that our tongues have never considered before…
Tîrgu Mureș is an interesting place to live. It’s much bigger than Lupeni, and much more diverse. The population is about 50% Hungarian and 50% Romanian, with a much more visible Roma (Gypsy) minority, so many of the signs on shops are in at least two languages. All of Transylvania is sort-of “disputed territory” – it’s changed hands many times between Hungary and Romania through the course of history, and many Hungarians consider it their rightful land, despite its status as Romanian territory. There’s not always much love lost between the two groups of people, and even in Tîrgu Mureș there has been a history of ethnic conflict and power-snatching: for instance, when the Romanians received the city back from Hungarian possession after one of the world wars (my memory fails me on the timing here), they immediately erected a giant statue of Avram Iancu, a Romanian folk hero who led an uprising against Hungarians, in the main square. But at the same time, an early Hungarian mayor of Tîrgu Mureș is also highly esteemed, and much of the beautiful and well-preserved Hungarian architecture in the city is accredited to him, so a mix of the cultures does really exist here. There hasn’t been ethnic violence in over twenty years, and it’s a sign of hope, I think, for a future of reconciliation and coexistence in the rest of Transylvania too.
So this is our new home for now – beautiful, interesting, and full of delicious food. (We live dangerously close to two amazing bakeries and only a short bus ride away from shaorma shops galore!) We don’t have internet where we live, but the Michmerhuizens do, and thanks to their gracious hospitality, we will do our best to stay in touch while we’re here.
Much love to you all.
So here we are in yet another new city, trying to put down a few roots and really dive into our homework. (It’s been a few months since we’ve had homework… hopefully we haven’t forgotten how to do it!) We’re living in an apartment owned by a woman named Ottilia; she’s a lovely older woman who graciously rents a bedroom to us and offers to share her sarmale and whatever other delightful foods she has around. She speaks very, very, very little English, which is good for our Romanian practice, but definitely results in some laughter and confusion as we try to communicate! The Romanian-English dictionary is becoming a vital component of life here, that’s for sure.
For the most part, I think we are settling in well. We just had our first language lesson yesterday, a moment Jack and I had been looking forward to since our arrival in Romania, and now we’re a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount we don’t know. But oh well. This morning I stumbled across a verse in Psalms where God says, “Open your mouth, and I will fill it with good things,” and I was encouraged. Hopefully He’ll fill our mouths with the ability to pronounce sounds that our tongues have never considered before…
Tîrgu Mureș is an interesting place to live. It’s much bigger than Lupeni, and much more diverse. The population is about 50% Hungarian and 50% Romanian, with a much more visible Roma (Gypsy) minority, so many of the signs on shops are in at least two languages. All of Transylvania is sort-of “disputed territory” – it’s changed hands many times between Hungary and Romania through the course of history, and many Hungarians consider it their rightful land, despite its status as Romanian territory. There’s not always much love lost between the two groups of people, and even in Tîrgu Mureș there has been a history of ethnic conflict and power-snatching: for instance, when the Romanians received the city back from Hungarian possession after one of the world wars (my memory fails me on the timing here), they immediately erected a giant statue of Avram Iancu, a Romanian folk hero who led an uprising against Hungarians, in the main square. But at the same time, an early Hungarian mayor of Tîrgu Mureș is also highly esteemed, and much of the beautiful and well-preserved Hungarian architecture in the city is accredited to him, so a mix of the cultures does really exist here. There hasn’t been ethnic violence in over twenty years, and it’s a sign of hope, I think, for a future of reconciliation and coexistence in the rest of Transylvania too.
So this is our new home for now – beautiful, interesting, and full of delicious food. (We live dangerously close to two amazing bakeries and only a short bus ride away from shaorma shops galore!) We don’t have internet where we live, but the Michmerhuizens do, and thanks to their gracious hospitality, we will do our best to stay in touch while we’re here.
Much love to you all.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
A whole new world.
It's cold. I'm really not sure what the temperature is, but it makes my house's 60° (16C) from last year feel pretty warm. I'm wearing long underwear, pants, wool socks, warm slippers, a big, thick hoodie with the hood up, a thin hat under that, and finger gloves. We will get used to it.
It's also very hard to communicate with most folks here. Duh. They speak Romanian, I speak American English. But that doesn't really make sense until you're here, and suddenly, I can effectively communicate with about 12 or 15 people. Thankfully, I live with one of them (It is so good to do this with my wife. Friends and acquaintances from the same college are pretty good company in a different country, but Kelly? Mmm), and thankfully, we're being introduced to more. Our friend Graţi had us over for dinner last night with a few of her friends from IMPACT, and it was so so so good. We're making friends.
But my most persistent desire since we arrived in Romania has been to speak Romanian. We're going to be taking Romanian classes soon and we live all around it, and God has a delightful way of bringing good desires to fruition, and He's already made us good at learning languages, so I have confidence (picture Julie Andrews about to enter the Von Trapp estate...) that we will learn it and learn well. But these things take time, and I want to communicate now! Patience, child. It will come.
Today is the first really clear day that we've experienced in Lupeni, and I have never lived in so beautiful a place. I guess we can post a picture or two, but a picture will only communicate a small bit of this beauty. I think Kelly posted some from the semester she spent here, but if you're really curious, I suggest you come and see. Or visit Maine. Or Alaska. Or Washington. I love Ohio's forests and Michigan's fertile soil, but living in the shadow and majesty of the Carpathians is making me not want to ever live away from mountains. We shall see if this desire is fulfilled.
The change of living in a new place or with new people is always hard on me somehow, but I always either get used to it or the difficulty is eclipsed by the joy of living, or it simply goes away. Moving takes more than a journey, and the journey can be hard enough to cope with (I think we're getting used to the time difference and making up for shallow sleep on the plane). But I know now, after many moves during college, that with patience and faithfulness, the place and people always bring joy. And joy outlasts sorrow when we let it. So I'm very thankful that we can stay here for a while and let God root us here.
It's also very hard to communicate with most folks here. Duh. They speak Romanian, I speak American English. But that doesn't really make sense until you're here, and suddenly, I can effectively communicate with about 12 or 15 people. Thankfully, I live with one of them (It is so good to do this with my wife. Friends and acquaintances from the same college are pretty good company in a different country, but Kelly? Mmm), and thankfully, we're being introduced to more. Our friend Graţi had us over for dinner last night with a few of her friends from IMPACT, and it was so so so good. We're making friends.
But my most persistent desire since we arrived in Romania has been to speak Romanian. We're going to be taking Romanian classes soon and we live all around it, and God has a delightful way of bringing good desires to fruition, and He's already made us good at learning languages, so I have confidence (picture Julie Andrews about to enter the Von Trapp estate...) that we will learn it and learn well. But these things take time, and I want to communicate now! Patience, child. It will come.
Today is the first really clear day that we've experienced in Lupeni, and I have never lived in so beautiful a place. I guess we can post a picture or two, but a picture will only communicate a small bit of this beauty. I think Kelly posted some from the semester she spent here, but if you're really curious, I suggest you come and see. Or visit Maine. Or Alaska. Or Washington. I love Ohio's forests and Michigan's fertile soil, but living in the shadow and majesty of the Carpathians is making me not want to ever live away from mountains. We shall see if this desire is fulfilled.
The change of living in a new place or with new people is always hard on me somehow, but I always either get used to it or the difficulty is eclipsed by the joy of living, or it simply goes away. Moving takes more than a journey, and the journey can be hard enough to cope with (I think we're getting used to the time difference and making up for shallow sleep on the plane). But I know now, after many moves during college, that with patience and faithfulness, the place and people always bring joy. And joy outlasts sorrow when we let it. So I'm very thankful that we can stay here for a while and let God root us here.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Warm welcomes.
We are here! It's our second night in Lupeni, and huge snowflakes are drifting down from the sky. The mountains are already covered in snow, but walking home tonight from dinner with friends the whole word was being softly blanketed in a fresh new coat. Beautiful.
It's good to be here -- already full of wonderful surprises, beautiful things, joyful reunions (and happy introductions, for Jack). When we first got out of the car in Lupeni, ready to carry our four giant suitcases up the five flights of stairs to Apartment Lucy, we were met by Grati (FNO staff) accompanied by Ela, one of the girls in my IMPACT club a few years ago! A few minutes later, after much hugging and greeting, another one of the boys from my IMPACT club walked by. Grati quickly roped him into helping us lug our 50-pound bags up the stairs (of course), and he did -- graciously, smiling. Another wonderful gift.
And that's what it's been like for the past day and a half: gracious people, warm welcomes, beautiful things. I am so grateful. I shed my first tears when we arrived in Bucharest, because for the first time the leaving was real -- but tonight, with the warm ciorba and laughter of the evening fresh in my mind, and under the falling snow, I am simply glad to be here.
When we first left from Minneapolis, after a teary goodbye, our little United plane was passed by a giant Spirit plane, just as I thought we were preparing to take off. I leaned over to Jack and joked, "The Spirit's in the way!" He looked back at me and said, "Isn't that a good thing? That the Spirit goes before us?" So there we were, reminded that the Spirit of the Living God is huge and big and in the lead -- and we, united, are given the gift of being able to follow.
So here we go.
It's good to be here -- already full of wonderful surprises, beautiful things, joyful reunions (and happy introductions, for Jack). When we first got out of the car in Lupeni, ready to carry our four giant suitcases up the five flights of stairs to Apartment Lucy, we were met by Grati (FNO staff) accompanied by Ela, one of the girls in my IMPACT club a few years ago! A few minutes later, after much hugging and greeting, another one of the boys from my IMPACT club walked by. Grati quickly roped him into helping us lug our 50-pound bags up the stairs (of course), and he did -- graciously, smiling. Another wonderful gift.
And that's what it's been like for the past day and a half: gracious people, warm welcomes, beautiful things. I am so grateful. I shed my first tears when we arrived in Bucharest, because for the first time the leaving was real -- but tonight, with the warm ciorba and laughter of the evening fresh in my mind, and under the falling snow, I am simply glad to be here.
When we first left from Minneapolis, after a teary goodbye, our little United plane was passed by a giant Spirit plane, just as I thought we were preparing to take off. I leaned over to Jack and joked, "The Spirit's in the way!" He looked back at me and said, "Isn't that a good thing? That the Spirit goes before us?" So there we were, reminded that the Spirit of the Living God is huge and big and in the lead -- and we, united, are given the gift of being able to follow.
So here we go.
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