As some of you know, Jack and I have spent the last two months searching for an alternative visa solution in order to stay in Romania, now that Romanian laws have changed and no longer permit long-term volunteers to renew their visas for more than a year. Thankfully, with a quick trip out of the country and lots of conversations with our church here, we've found a solution: a religious workers visa, which could be good for up to five years.
Basically, receiving this visa would mean we are technically in Romania under the auspices of Centrul Crestin Betel, the small Gypsy Pentecostal church we attend here in Lupeni -- not through New Horizons Foundation. Practically, we are already doing activities with the youth and community of the church in addition to our work at NHF, so little would change, except that perhaps we would try to increase that work a bit. The church is really hungry for Christian education and discipleship training for its youth, so involving them in the work of New Horizons is a great fit anyway -- and through our CRWM connections and otherwise, we're doing our best to help the church network with Romanian ministries that might have tools that meet this congregation's needs. It's exciting, and deepens the relationship with this local church, which is something we've been hoping and praying for for a long time.
But the process is on a pretty strict timeline. On Monday we finished collecting our documents and sent them up to Oradea, where the denominational headquarters sits, via the Romanian postal service. As I write this on Friday morning, we haven't yet heard that the documents have arrived. Hopefully today. Then, the denominational head needs to write a formal request to the Ministry of Religious Affairs for us to be volunteers with the church, and that request (plus the other documents) needs to be sent on to Bucuresti. Once the Ministry of Religious Affairs receives the pile, they need to approve the request and send it all back with a formal declaration of approval. Once we finally get all that (hopefully by the 25th of May!), then we can head to the county seat in Deva and the immigration authorities there to file through the normal process -- proving we don't have contagious diseases, paying many fees and taxes, showing proof of insurance and housing and volunteer activities, etc., etc.
The tricky thing is that you are supposed to head to the county seat on your 60th day in the country, so that you can receive your visa by day 90 (the last day to legally stay in Romania without a visa). For Jack, May 25th is day 60. (For me, it's a little later since I was gone in Haiti longer.) But before Jack can head up to Deva to file with immigration, he has to receive the documents back from the Ministry of Religious Affairs... and so it's a waiting game while we hope and pray, crossing our fingers that the post moves quickly, that the piles on desks are short, and that the Holy Spirit works mightily even within the Romanian bureaucracy.
We should be fine, so there's no need for any of you to worry on our behalf. Everything is perfectly above-board and legal, and there is no real need for concern. But I can be a control freak sometimes, and trusting what feels like our fate to the hands of the Romanian postal service and some unknown bureaucrats makes me a little nervous. But we've been praying that God would make it clear to us, eventually, whether He wants us to stay in Romania longer... so I guess this could be a pretty clear sign! Just kidding. Really, though, the reason I wanted to explain this whole process is because we really would love to have you praying. Please pray for speedy returns, for easy approvals, for all the necessary documents to be where they need to be in their proper forms (there aren't really clear lists of what documents are necessary, so...). Pray for the whole visa process, that it would go smoothly and in a timely manner. And in the meantime, please pray that we would be present here, thankful for the chance to serve with this church and this organization, and making the most of every day.
Thanks.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
A video for you.
Hi there friends.
This is a video made by Michael and Claudia Elzinga, two volunteers with Christian Reformed World Missions, who went on a world-wide trip to make videos of what CRWM people are doing all over the world.
This is the video that they made about Romania. It nicely explains the context in which Kelly and I and many other people live in Romania, and why we do what we do here. And it features a few of our colleagues from FNO!
http://vimeo.com/82623987
This is a video made by Michael and Claudia Elzinga, two volunteers with Christian Reformed World Missions, who went on a world-wide trip to make videos of what CRWM people are doing all over the world.
This is the video that they made about Romania. It nicely explains the context in which Kelly and I and many other people live in Romania, and why we do what we do here. And it features a few of our colleagues from FNO!
http://vimeo.com/82623987
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Short skirts and beautiful bellies.
We attended another baptism today -- or at least, attended part of it. Jack was feeling pretty ill and spent much of the day in bed, so we left the party earlier than we had hoped, sorry to have to miss the celebrations. As some of you might remember from the first infant baptism we attended in Romania, these are a really big deal. The ceremony is small and happens at the Orthodox church with only a small group of friends and family, but the after-party is huge -- three or four separate meals served over the course of 8 hours, punctuated by dancing and drinking and all sorts of revelry. (Our experience with baptisms at the Pentecostal church we attend is a totally different story, though similarly jubilant... more about that another time!)
Today, an interesting thought struck me at the baptism after-party, one that surprised me a little. First of all, let me explain the context of the party: it's in a local restaurant's dance hall, and there's a lot of alcohol, a lot of dancing, and a lot of tight, short dresses. At first glance it looks like... well, as some would put it, "a den of sin." (Harumph.) But the celebration is of something holy, or at least that's what it's supposed to be -- a celebration that this little baby (the little baby who is fast asleep in the corner as the music booms over the loudspeakers) -- that this little person is somehow created and chosen by God. And so we celebrate, because that's an amazing and miraculous and wonderful thing! So we dance, and eat, and dress our finest. Whatever that finest may be.
I will admit, usually Romanian party styles are not my thing. The whole tight fit/short hem/sheer fabric combo so common on the streets of Lupeni has taken a bit of getting used to after 20+ years in predominantly-Christian circles in the American Midwest. But today at the baptism, I couldn't help but smile at it. Sure, a few of the outfits were a little much. But it takes some courage for a new mother to put on a short, tight dress and to dance with her best friends for hours celebrating the new life of her son. There were many women with magazine-perfect bodies there, but there were women with bodies of all shapes and sizes as well. And I don't know... as much as I believe there is an important place for modesty, I also think there is a place for accepting and even celebrating healthy bodies in all their wonderful diversity. So it makes me smile to see middle-aged women in tight dresses, dancing and eating, their stomachs bouncing with laughter -- stomachs that are less than "perfect" from pregnancies and child-rearing and the beautiful normalcy of aging. I dunno. In my observation of American culture, in which I was raised, we seem to treat modesty as a problem only for those who fit a pretty narrow definition of beauty. Everyone else is told to hide, cover, or tuck -- the issue of 'decency' has a whole different slant (usually implying "eww, hide that!") for those with rolls. So sure, maybe there are some conversations about modesty that need to happen here in Lupeni too. But at least they seem to be a little more equal-opportunity. And somehow that's refreshing to me.
Personally, I am still convinced that modesty matters, particularly for Christians. But I am equally convinced that honoring these temples -- these God-given and God-created bodies -- matters, regardless of their shape. (I'm not talking about health here; I am talking about the fact that most of us, even with healthy lifestyles, have curves and bumps in places that don't fit on magazines.) And to be honest, sometimes I think 'modesty' ends up as a convenient excuse for the body shaming that happens with so many of us... and maybe it would be better, more freeing, if every now and then we would wear a short skirt (cankles and tummy and all!) and just dance and laugh and celebrate. In these bodies. Looking our finest. Whatever that finest may be.
Today, an interesting thought struck me at the baptism after-party, one that surprised me a little. First of all, let me explain the context of the party: it's in a local restaurant's dance hall, and there's a lot of alcohol, a lot of dancing, and a lot of tight, short dresses. At first glance it looks like... well, as some would put it, "a den of sin." (Harumph.) But the celebration is of something holy, or at least that's what it's supposed to be -- a celebration that this little baby (the little baby who is fast asleep in the corner as the music booms over the loudspeakers) -- that this little person is somehow created and chosen by God. And so we celebrate, because that's an amazing and miraculous and wonderful thing! So we dance, and eat, and dress our finest. Whatever that finest may be.
I will admit, usually Romanian party styles are not my thing. The whole tight fit/short hem/sheer fabric combo so common on the streets of Lupeni has taken a bit of getting used to after 20+ years in predominantly-Christian circles in the American Midwest. But today at the baptism, I couldn't help but smile at it. Sure, a few of the outfits were a little much. But it takes some courage for a new mother to put on a short, tight dress and to dance with her best friends for hours celebrating the new life of her son. There were many women with magazine-perfect bodies there, but there were women with bodies of all shapes and sizes as well. And I don't know... as much as I believe there is an important place for modesty, I also think there is a place for accepting and even celebrating healthy bodies in all their wonderful diversity. So it makes me smile to see middle-aged women in tight dresses, dancing and eating, their stomachs bouncing with laughter -- stomachs that are less than "perfect" from pregnancies and child-rearing and the beautiful normalcy of aging. I dunno. In my observation of American culture, in which I was raised, we seem to treat modesty as a problem only for those who fit a pretty narrow definition of beauty. Everyone else is told to hide, cover, or tuck -- the issue of 'decency' has a whole different slant (usually implying "eww, hide that!") for those with rolls. So sure, maybe there are some conversations about modesty that need to happen here in Lupeni too. But at least they seem to be a little more equal-opportunity. And somehow that's refreshing to me.
Personally, I am still convinced that modesty matters, particularly for Christians. But I am equally convinced that honoring these temples -- these God-given and God-created bodies -- matters, regardless of their shape. (I'm not talking about health here; I am talking about the fact that most of us, even with healthy lifestyles, have curves and bumps in places that don't fit on magazines.) And to be honest, sometimes I think 'modesty' ends up as a convenient excuse for the body shaming that happens with so many of us... and maybe it would be better, more freeing, if every now and then we would wear a short skirt (cankles and tummy and all!) and just dance and laugh and celebrate. In these bodies. Looking our finest. Whatever that finest may be.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Floored.
Sometimes the way people reflect the image of God just floors me.
As many of you know, the organization we work for (New Horizons Foundation) is currently faced with many of the natural problems that come with success. NHF does amazing work with youth in Romania, and that work has been noticed and appreciated -- and rightly so! -- by experts the world round. It's Good work, life-giving work, work that makes me smile and skip as I walk home from an evening IMPACT meeting or hang up from a Skype call with leaders in Nicaragua. But NHF's growth, like the growth of any organization, requires some changes -- in management structures, in sustainability, in governance and oversight, in leadership. It happens to every organization. It's natural, and a sign of Good things past and the promise of Good things to come. But in the meantime, it's hard.
So Jack and I have wrestled with this throughout the last year -- witnesses to the pain and struggles of a teenage organization hitting puberty. We don't have any answers, so we pray and complain and ponder and journal and complain and pray some more. But what to do when you're new, and a foreigner, and you don't have any expertise? It's easy to diagnose problems. It's a lot harder to fix them.
Well. In comes the amazing providential working of the Holy Spirit. (You can tell I'm astonished right now; I almost never use the word 'providential'!) So. A few years ago, I was asked to be the student representative on the presidential search committee at Calvin College. I didn't know at the time what saying yes to that meant, other than a lot of confidential meetings, a ton of extra reading during the months of my senior thesis, and working with important adults who impressed and intimidated me. But through it all we were guided by this really kind, gentle man -- a consultant whose expertise was beautifully entwined in his gentle, empowering, thoughtful nature. Rob's work left an extraordinary impression on me. He probably knew from day one what the issues at Calvin were, all the things we needed in our next president, and how to heal as a community from the division that plagued us. But -- in such a gentle, Jesus-like way -- he simply walked alongside us, gently probing, asking us questions in a way that provoked but never frightened, challenged but never attacked. It sounds silly to say, but he was one of those people who just exuded love. And sneaky, gentle brilliance. Extraordinarily so. Anyway, we eventually finished the search process, Michael Le Roy came to Calvin, I graduated from college, life went on. I had learned a lot through that year-long process, about organizational structure and management and leadership and committee work and confidentiality and putting the needs of a community ahead of your own desires. I was proud and grateful for the opportunity and everything I had witnessed and learned. And that was that.
But recently I was thinking about NHF and suddenly had the idea to find Rob's contact information and just ask him if he had any advice for an organization in this tricky stage of expansion. Little did I know that he would respond with such extraordinary generosity and kindness. Jack and I just hung up from a Skype call with him, and I am just thankful. Floored, really. That God would fill His people and equip them to help and encourage one another in such remarkable ways... I'm really moved. That God would put the pieces in place, at such a time and with such remarkable coincidences... I am astonished. And that He would fill one of His servants with such gentleness and compassion and insight... I can only say, well, wow, and thank You.
So tonight I am encouraged. It will be a long road, and who knows what will happen in our next few years here, with Rob or without him. But for now I am just thankful that God cares about this organization, and that He provides the right people at the right time... and that they speak to us in His words, with His love, His peace.
Whew. I am so, so thankful.
As many of you know, the organization we work for (New Horizons Foundation) is currently faced with many of the natural problems that come with success. NHF does amazing work with youth in Romania, and that work has been noticed and appreciated -- and rightly so! -- by experts the world round. It's Good work, life-giving work, work that makes me smile and skip as I walk home from an evening IMPACT meeting or hang up from a Skype call with leaders in Nicaragua. But NHF's growth, like the growth of any organization, requires some changes -- in management structures, in sustainability, in governance and oversight, in leadership. It happens to every organization. It's natural, and a sign of Good things past and the promise of Good things to come. But in the meantime, it's hard.
So Jack and I have wrestled with this throughout the last year -- witnesses to the pain and struggles of a teenage organization hitting puberty. We don't have any answers, so we pray and complain and ponder and journal and complain and pray some more. But what to do when you're new, and a foreigner, and you don't have any expertise? It's easy to diagnose problems. It's a lot harder to fix them.
Well. In comes the amazing providential working of the Holy Spirit. (You can tell I'm astonished right now; I almost never use the word 'providential'!) So. A few years ago, I was asked to be the student representative on the presidential search committee at Calvin College. I didn't know at the time what saying yes to that meant, other than a lot of confidential meetings, a ton of extra reading during the months of my senior thesis, and working with important adults who impressed and intimidated me. But through it all we were guided by this really kind, gentle man -- a consultant whose expertise was beautifully entwined in his gentle, empowering, thoughtful nature. Rob's work left an extraordinary impression on me. He probably knew from day one what the issues at Calvin were, all the things we needed in our next president, and how to heal as a community from the division that plagued us. But -- in such a gentle, Jesus-like way -- he simply walked alongside us, gently probing, asking us questions in a way that provoked but never frightened, challenged but never attacked. It sounds silly to say, but he was one of those people who just exuded love. And sneaky, gentle brilliance. Extraordinarily so. Anyway, we eventually finished the search process, Michael Le Roy came to Calvin, I graduated from college, life went on. I had learned a lot through that year-long process, about organizational structure and management and leadership and committee work and confidentiality and putting the needs of a community ahead of your own desires. I was proud and grateful for the opportunity and everything I had witnessed and learned. And that was that.
But recently I was thinking about NHF and suddenly had the idea to find Rob's contact information and just ask him if he had any advice for an organization in this tricky stage of expansion. Little did I know that he would respond with such extraordinary generosity and kindness. Jack and I just hung up from a Skype call with him, and I am just thankful. Floored, really. That God would fill His people and equip them to help and encourage one another in such remarkable ways... I'm really moved. That God would put the pieces in place, at such a time and with such remarkable coincidences... I am astonished. And that He would fill one of His servants with such gentleness and compassion and insight... I can only say, well, wow, and thank You.
So tonight I am encouraged. It will be a long road, and who knows what will happen in our next few years here, with Rob or without him. But for now I am just thankful that God cares about this organization, and that He provides the right people at the right time... and that they speak to us in His words, with His love, His peace.
Whew. I am so, so thankful.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Haiti.
Just a few words... then pictures, as they're more eloquent anyway.
Haiti. Mountains beyond mountains. Torrential rain at night, smothering heat in the day. Traffic beyond traffic, snarled and noisy, jolting in eroded roads made worse with every downpour. Flowers vibrant above the dust-colored, newly-constructed houses. Tent camps and shacks for earthquake survivors, still, two years later. Electricity flickers, obnoxiously for those of us (me) with no battery in our laptops -- but grateful for electricity and internet at all, in a city where so much was destroyed so recently. Beautiful mansions hulking on steep hilltops, perched overlooking the city and the nearby ocean. Amazing participants at the training, smart and committed and faithful and questioning. Games and laughter and sweat and discussion. Rice and beans with tomato-onion sauce, fish and chicken, sweet potatoes and fried plantains. Delicious.
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Haiti. Mountains beyond mountains. Torrential rain at night, smothering heat in the day. Traffic beyond traffic, snarled and noisy, jolting in eroded roads made worse with every downpour. Flowers vibrant above the dust-colored, newly-constructed houses. Tent camps and shacks for earthquake survivors, still, two years later. Electricity flickers, obnoxiously for those of us (me) with no battery in our laptops -- but grateful for electricity and internet at all, in a city where so much was destroyed so recently. Beautiful mansions hulking on steep hilltops, perched overlooking the city and the nearby ocean. Amazing participants at the training, smart and committed and faithful and questioning. Games and laughter and sweat and discussion. Rice and beans with tomato-onion sauce, fish and chicken, sweet potatoes and fried plantains. Delicious.
So much fun in games... including this trust game.
Communication games.
Haiti, welcome to the IMPACT international youth movement!
From the guest house where we stayed.
Port-au-Prince.
Tap-taps. Public transit like you've never seen.
A bit of a jolt to come around a corner to this sort of enduring destruction.
Beautiful colored homes on a hillside in Petion Ville (greater Port-au-Prince).
Fellow trainer Tibi and I with Abbel, one of our translators.
IMPACT Haiti!
Nicaragua.
Because a picture is worth a thousand words, I'm going to put up some pictures from the IMPACT training in Nicaragua instead of smothering you with stories. But a few words for Nicaragua: it was hot, full of gallo pinto (rice & beans) and homemade corn tortillas and amazing fresh juice. It was full of energy and laughter and games with our fabulous, funny, intelligent participants. And it was full of learning for me as a trainer, as international IMPACT coordinator, and as a person. I am so thankful.
Now for the pictures!
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Now for the pictures!
Lots of games and laughter at the training.
Small groups discussing the characteristics of Nicaraguan youth.
Teambuilding games, including the human knot!
Two participants came from Honduras to participate in the training.
Two of the participants came all the way from Mexico!
...and the rest of the group was from Nicaragua!
Now for the touristy pictures: check out the colorful public transit in Managua!
Oh, the bliss of hammocks.
On our one free day after the training, we went to the beach. :)
A cathedral in Leon.
A view from downtown Managua... you can see Lake Managua, one of the
largest lakes in Central America!
Everything so colorful: a plaza in Managua.
The lovely lovely ocean.
Relaxing after six days of nonstop training...
then on to Haiti to do it again!
Home sweet home.
Hey there, y'all.
It's been a long time.
As most of you know, I (Kelly) have been in other climes for the last few weeks -- namely, Nicaragua and Haiti, leading IMPACT International trainings. The trip was wonderful and successful -- full of enthusiastic training participants and great hope for the future of the IMPACT program in these new places -- but I have to admit, I am really glad to be home. I love working on IMPACT International (most days) ;) and seeing this youth movement spreading into new cultures and languages, growing and morphing organically, taking on new shapes and faces and colors in each new place. The work is challenging and complex and some days, a little overwhelming. But actually being there, meeting the leaders who will be directly implementing the IMPACT program in their home communities and languages and churches, was so exciting and rewarding. A good reminder of why the budgets and spreadsheets and Skype meetings are worth it.
But now it's time for me to remember why I am here -- in this little apartment in this little coal-mining town in the Carpathians. Last night I returned to the girls' group I have been attending this winter and spring, a gathering of young women from the Pentecostal church across the street. We meet weekly to talk about being a woman and being a Christian and what all of that means at the age of 15 in small-town Romania. (Talk about some interesting cultural contextualization, since the book we're using is translated from English and written from an American evangelical woman in the 1980s!) I hope to write a few posts about stories from that group later, because some amazing things have happened in those Tuesday evenings. But for now, I am just rejoicing to be back, and to remember why I live in Romania, and not in an airport. It's so good to speak Romanian again, even if Spanish grammar keeps falling off my tongue in these first few days of transition. To taste freshly-squeezed juice, even if it's not from local tropical fruits. To gather together with these women whose names I know, whose stories I am learning, whose hearts I treasure. It's so Good.
And tonight we have IMPACT, me and Jack and Tibi and all our kids, and I can't wait to see them all again. I am excited to play together, to tell them about the tropics (can they even imagine?), to show them pictures of Haitian tap-taps and Nicaraguan beaches. I am excited to hear about the project they've dreamed up for this community, in these lovely mountains. It will be Good.
And it is Good -- oh so good, does it even need saying? -- to be back with my husband. What joy.
So despite the jet lag, and the groggy mornings, and the weird dreams and exhaustion that are plaguing this first week back -- it is Good, Good, Good to be home. Because for now, this is home -- and I am rapidly remembering why it's here.
It's been a long time.
As most of you know, I (Kelly) have been in other climes for the last few weeks -- namely, Nicaragua and Haiti, leading IMPACT International trainings. The trip was wonderful and successful -- full of enthusiastic training participants and great hope for the future of the IMPACT program in these new places -- but I have to admit, I am really glad to be home. I love working on IMPACT International (most days) ;) and seeing this youth movement spreading into new cultures and languages, growing and morphing organically, taking on new shapes and faces and colors in each new place. The work is challenging and complex and some days, a little overwhelming. But actually being there, meeting the leaders who will be directly implementing the IMPACT program in their home communities and languages and churches, was so exciting and rewarding. A good reminder of why the budgets and spreadsheets and Skype meetings are worth it.
But now it's time for me to remember why I am here -- in this little apartment in this little coal-mining town in the Carpathians. Last night I returned to the girls' group I have been attending this winter and spring, a gathering of young women from the Pentecostal church across the street. We meet weekly to talk about being a woman and being a Christian and what all of that means at the age of 15 in small-town Romania. (Talk about some interesting cultural contextualization, since the book we're using is translated from English and written from an American evangelical woman in the 1980s!) I hope to write a few posts about stories from that group later, because some amazing things have happened in those Tuesday evenings. But for now, I am just rejoicing to be back, and to remember why I live in Romania, and not in an airport. It's so good to speak Romanian again, even if Spanish grammar keeps falling off my tongue in these first few days of transition. To taste freshly-squeezed juice, even if it's not from local tropical fruits. To gather together with these women whose names I know, whose stories I am learning, whose hearts I treasure. It's so Good.
And tonight we have IMPACT, me and Jack and Tibi and all our kids, and I can't wait to see them all again. I am excited to play together, to tell them about the tropics (can they even imagine?), to show them pictures of Haitian tap-taps and Nicaraguan beaches. I am excited to hear about the project they've dreamed up for this community, in these lovely mountains. It will be Good.
And it is Good -- oh so good, does it even need saying? -- to be back with my husband. What joy.
So despite the jet lag, and the groggy mornings, and the weird dreams and exhaustion that are plaguing this first week back -- it is Good, Good, Good to be home. Because for now, this is home -- and I am rapidly remembering why it's here.
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