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.
Monday, April 28, 2014
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.
Friday, March 21, 2014
More adventures.
Hi friends. Sorry you haven't heard from me in a while.
I'm writing this while sitting in a room in Iași, Romania, that belongs to a guy who works for the Orthodox Church office that covers the Moldova and Bucovina areas of Romania. Tomorrow, I'll be heading to Chișinău, the capital city of the Republic of Moldova. I'll explain.
About three weeks ago, Kelly and I hopped into Ilie's (my boss) car to go to Deva, the county seat, to renew our residence permits. We had the papers necessary, we were doing it on time, and our accountant, Ibrian, had already called ahead to ask if the county police's computers were up and running (if you remember a year ago, software malfunctions prevented us from applying for residence permits on our first try). It's an hour and a half drive, so we don't go to Deva often. Just for business.
As soon as we arrived, Ibrian went to the county police station to ask if we had authorization to begin the process. He was unsure if we would be able to since we hadn't paid health insurance to the county since last March. When we tried, the insurance people told us that we weren't in the tax system, so we couldn't pay. When we asked the tax people, they asked, "Well, how can they not be in the system?" Ibrian's question for them was, "Yeah, how could they not be in the system?" He was amazed that they were so adamantly refusing to take money. "I mean, we're trying to pay them!"
I don't know.
He came out of the police station and said, "Okay guys, bad news." I figured this meant we had to return to the Jiu Valley and pay our insurance there before we could even think about applying. But I was wrong. "They told me that the law just changed, and that you can't hold a permit for volunteering purposes for more than one year now, and since all the papers we have are for you to be volunteers, they aren't helpful anymore. We have to find another way to get a permit for you."
I was disappointed, but I had almost expected something like this. An impediment in our process of prolonging residency. I mean, it's an awfully difficult and expensive process to get even a visa to enter US territory for a Romanian, so why should we expect it to be a simple process for us? Even so, at least they could have told us about the law change before we went there and prepared all the papers. A small headache.
The bigger headache was now, what do we do? Our permits were going to expire in three weeks, and we didn't have enough time to try to apply again before they did. If we were caught with expired permits, we'd be, at the least, kicked out of Romania for 6 months, and probably fined on top of that. What made this urgent was that Kelly was scheduled to go to Nicaragua and Haiti for three weeks, right as our visas were expiring, to do some IMPACT trainings. What if she was caught with an expired permit in the Bucharest airport? We were really worried for a few days until we got the facts.
Kelly's trip would actually be great. We have to be out of the country when our permits expire so that we're not violating out legal stay. After that, we're just like any old American who wants to get into Romania, who has 90 days from their entry point to either apply for longer residence or leave. The only thing then was to figure out where I should go.
Ilie and I had a meeting in Durău, in the north-east part of Romania, scheduled for this week, so I figured my best bet is going to the Republic of Moldova, just another 100 kilometers or so east. This meeting was with two guys and a woman (who used to work at VIATA, actually) to talk about building ropes courses for their camps in Durău and in Nemțișor, by a big monastery. Ilie and I stayed in the monastery in Durău the night, ate there, went with these guys to Nemțișor and ate at the monastery there, and then talked about the ins and outs of adding a ropes course to their activities. The Orthodox network of monasteries made an impression on me - it seems that within a day's drive, but maybe even as close as an hour away, there is a place with people who are willing to receive you, feed you, put you up for the night, talk, show their place's history. The Church was receiving us, and I felt taken care of.
A crazy thing is that the Nemțișor Monastery has on its grounds one of Nicolae Ceaușescu's hunting lodges still on it. It's a nice, modest building with a good terrace for viewing the terrain and comfortable rooms. But I walked in a place where the dictator used to walk. Stood on his balcony. Made fun of his lodge having bugs inside it. I never thought I'd get to do something like that.
Vlad, one of the guys we were meeting with, offered to put me up at his place while I'm in transit to Rep. Moldova. He's not much older than me, and we had a good conversation this morning about childhood development through challenge, and how the pain or shame in our lives is an agent of improvement by God's hand. Again, I've been received.
And now, I will hopefully go on to be received again by our friend Rachel, whom we met at an IMPACT training last May. She works with Word Made Flesh in Chișinău, and I'll stay with her and her husband Vitali, a Ukrainian, for the few days I'm there. Incidentally, if Vitali's nationality made you think about the unrest and confusion in Ukraine, read about the developments the Russian annex of Crimea has done to heightened concerns of a similar thing happening in the Republic of Moldova and Transnistria (http://www.europeanvoice.com/article/imported/russia-to-annex-transdnistria-/80127.aspx). This concern caused Romania's president and Rep. Moldova's president to have a talk about Moldova speeding up its process of joining the EU. Let's all pray this annexing and protesting keeps violence to a minimum, or non-existant.
There's my story. Hopefully, Kelly and I will have no problems coming back into Romania and applying for Religious Work permits through our church. We'll keep you all updated.
I'm writing this while sitting in a room in Iași, Romania, that belongs to a guy who works for the Orthodox Church office that covers the Moldova and Bucovina areas of Romania. Tomorrow, I'll be heading to Chișinău, the capital city of the Republic of Moldova. I'll explain.
About three weeks ago, Kelly and I hopped into Ilie's (my boss) car to go to Deva, the county seat, to renew our residence permits. We had the papers necessary, we were doing it on time, and our accountant, Ibrian, had already called ahead to ask if the county police's computers were up and running (if you remember a year ago, software malfunctions prevented us from applying for residence permits on our first try). It's an hour and a half drive, so we don't go to Deva often. Just for business.
As soon as we arrived, Ibrian went to the county police station to ask if we had authorization to begin the process. He was unsure if we would be able to since we hadn't paid health insurance to the county since last March. When we tried, the insurance people told us that we weren't in the tax system, so we couldn't pay. When we asked the tax people, they asked, "Well, how can they not be in the system?" Ibrian's question for them was, "Yeah, how could they not be in the system?" He was amazed that they were so adamantly refusing to take money. "I mean, we're trying to pay them!"
I don't know.
He came out of the police station and said, "Okay guys, bad news." I figured this meant we had to return to the Jiu Valley and pay our insurance there before we could even think about applying. But I was wrong. "They told me that the law just changed, and that you can't hold a permit for volunteering purposes for more than one year now, and since all the papers we have are for you to be volunteers, they aren't helpful anymore. We have to find another way to get a permit for you."
I was disappointed, but I had almost expected something like this. An impediment in our process of prolonging residency. I mean, it's an awfully difficult and expensive process to get even a visa to enter US territory for a Romanian, so why should we expect it to be a simple process for us? Even so, at least they could have told us about the law change before we went there and prepared all the papers. A small headache.
The bigger headache was now, what do we do? Our permits were going to expire in three weeks, and we didn't have enough time to try to apply again before they did. If we were caught with expired permits, we'd be, at the least, kicked out of Romania for 6 months, and probably fined on top of that. What made this urgent was that Kelly was scheduled to go to Nicaragua and Haiti for three weeks, right as our visas were expiring, to do some IMPACT trainings. What if she was caught with an expired permit in the Bucharest airport? We were really worried for a few days until we got the facts.
Kelly's trip would actually be great. We have to be out of the country when our permits expire so that we're not violating out legal stay. After that, we're just like any old American who wants to get into Romania, who has 90 days from their entry point to either apply for longer residence or leave. The only thing then was to figure out where I should go.
Ilie and I had a meeting in Durău, in the north-east part of Romania, scheduled for this week, so I figured my best bet is going to the Republic of Moldova, just another 100 kilometers or so east. This meeting was with two guys and a woman (who used to work at VIATA, actually) to talk about building ropes courses for their camps in Durău and in Nemțișor, by a big monastery. Ilie and I stayed in the monastery in Durău the night, ate there, went with these guys to Nemțișor and ate at the monastery there, and then talked about the ins and outs of adding a ropes course to their activities. The Orthodox network of monasteries made an impression on me - it seems that within a day's drive, but maybe even as close as an hour away, there is a place with people who are willing to receive you, feed you, put you up for the night, talk, show their place's history. The Church was receiving us, and I felt taken care of.
A crazy thing is that the Nemțișor Monastery has on its grounds one of Nicolae Ceaușescu's hunting lodges still on it. It's a nice, modest building with a good terrace for viewing the terrain and comfortable rooms. But I walked in a place where the dictator used to walk. Stood on his balcony. Made fun of his lodge having bugs inside it. I never thought I'd get to do something like that.
Vlad, one of the guys we were meeting with, offered to put me up at his place while I'm in transit to Rep. Moldova. He's not much older than me, and we had a good conversation this morning about childhood development through challenge, and how the pain or shame in our lives is an agent of improvement by God's hand. Again, I've been received.
And now, I will hopefully go on to be received again by our friend Rachel, whom we met at an IMPACT training last May. She works with Word Made Flesh in Chișinău, and I'll stay with her and her husband Vitali, a Ukrainian, for the few days I'm there. Incidentally, if Vitali's nationality made you think about the unrest and confusion in Ukraine, read about the developments the Russian annex of Crimea has done to heightened concerns of a similar thing happening in the Republic of Moldova and Transnistria (http://www.europeanvoice.com/article/imported/russia-to-annex-transdnistria-/80127.aspx). This concern caused Romania's president and Rep. Moldova's president to have a talk about Moldova speeding up its process of joining the EU. Let's all pray this annexing and protesting keeps violence to a minimum, or non-existant.
There's my story. Hopefully, Kelly and I will have no problems coming back into Romania and applying for Religious Work permits through our church. We'll keep you all updated.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Pizza parties.
Last night, Jack and I hosted 20 kids from our IMPACT club for a pizza party at our home.
For those of you who have visited Apartment Lucy, you'll know this was quite a feat. Our apartment isn't very big, with reasonable seating for about 6 in the kitchen and 8-10 in the living room (including sitting people on the bunk beds). But the IMPACT kids had been clamoring for a pizza and movie evening, and as the only leaders with a functioning oven, we were it.
It was really fun, actually. At 5:30 precisely we heard the sound of laughter and footsteps coming up the stairs, and soon there were 20 pairs of shoes littering the entryway, smiling faces and talkative preteens passing olives and canned corn and sheep cheese onto the kitchen table. We quickly assigned tasks, setting the kids to work chopping and spreading sauce onto the five pizza pans we'd procured from friends, and soon the kitchen was abuzz with laughter and conversation and queries: how should we chop these mushrooms? Where is the grater? Could you please pass the ham?
Eventually the preparation frenzy passed, and we slipped the pizzas two-by-two into the oven. As the smell of dough and cheese filled the apartment, we played a crazy game of Fishbowl, Jack slipping out periodically to pop new pizzas into the oven. (We made 10 pizzas, by the way. I used every single bowl in our apartment to hold the dough as it was rising.) Finally we ate, smacking contentedly as we balanced paper plates on our laps (we don't have anywhere close to 20 plates) and doused our pizza in ketchup (...it's a Romanian thing). Eventually we settled down to watch Frozen with Romanian subtitles, squeezed on to the bunkbeds and couches in our little living room, full and happy.
It was really fun. Tiring and messy, but fun. (I still haven't remade the bunkbeds in the living room -- they were such coveted locations that the sheets and pillows all got ripped off and thrown around, and I just haven't mustered the energy to start untangling yet.) Jack and I agreed, once again, that we weren't ready to have kids quite yet -- at least not 20 of them at once, and definitely not a dozen between the ages of 11 and 13. But despite the slightly-overwhelming-chaos of the whole evening, we really had fun. We're learning a lot about how to be good youth leaders -- how to provide space for fun but still maintain safety and authority, how to look out for their minds and their hearts. It's tiring, and maybe a little bit more than I bargained for -- but I'm glad for it. And super glad that this learning curve contains so much pizza.
For those of you who have visited Apartment Lucy, you'll know this was quite a feat. Our apartment isn't very big, with reasonable seating for about 6 in the kitchen and 8-10 in the living room (including sitting people on the bunk beds). But the IMPACT kids had been clamoring for a pizza and movie evening, and as the only leaders with a functioning oven, we were it.
It was really fun, actually. At 5:30 precisely we heard the sound of laughter and footsteps coming up the stairs, and soon there were 20 pairs of shoes littering the entryway, smiling faces and talkative preteens passing olives and canned corn and sheep cheese onto the kitchen table. We quickly assigned tasks, setting the kids to work chopping and spreading sauce onto the five pizza pans we'd procured from friends, and soon the kitchen was abuzz with laughter and conversation and queries: how should we chop these mushrooms? Where is the grater? Could you please pass the ham?
Everyone working!
Mm... Romanian-style pizza (though we conveniently left off the eggs...)
Kelly with Roxana, Adina, and Eliza, after the crowd had cleared.
Eventually the preparation frenzy passed, and we slipped the pizzas two-by-two into the oven. As the smell of dough and cheese filled the apartment, we played a crazy game of Fishbowl, Jack slipping out periodically to pop new pizzas into the oven. (We made 10 pizzas, by the way. I used every single bowl in our apartment to hold the dough as it was rising.) Finally we ate, smacking contentedly as we balanced paper plates on our laps (we don't have anywhere close to 20 plates) and doused our pizza in ketchup (...it's a Romanian thing). Eventually we settled down to watch Frozen with Romanian subtitles, squeezed on to the bunkbeds and couches in our little living room, full and happy.
Some of the boys on the top bunk...
It was really fun. Tiring and messy, but fun. (I still haven't remade the bunkbeds in the living room -- they were such coveted locations that the sheets and pillows all got ripped off and thrown around, and I just haven't mustered the energy to start untangling yet.) Jack and I agreed, once again, that we weren't ready to have kids quite yet -- at least not 20 of them at once, and definitely not a dozen between the ages of 11 and 13. But despite the slightly-overwhelming-chaos of the whole evening, we really had fun. We're learning a lot about how to be good youth leaders -- how to provide space for fun but still maintain safety and authority, how to look out for their minds and their hearts. It's tiring, and maybe a little bit more than I bargained for -- but I'm glad for it. And super glad that this learning curve contains so much pizza.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Pickles in the stairwell (and other thoughts on neighborliness).
Our stairwell smells like pickles.
Just to clarify, there are no pickles there -- it's actually our neighbor's woodpile. For some reason the wood they burn in their stove to heat their apartment is extremely pungent, and it really, really, really smells like pickles from the instant you hit the second floor on up. But it's not that bad -- funny, really, and a better alternative than the more typical dank-mold-stench that wafts from the basement of most apartment blocs.
Anyway, that's not really the focus of this post. As many of you who read this blog know, it has been one of our consistent prayers and dreams to get to know the neighbors in our stairwell -- those eight apartments we pass by on the way to our own, the last apartment on the top floor. Our neighbors directly across the hall have been a source of a bit of sadness and stress for me, as they are quite standoffish and unfriendly, and tend to leave their trash/shoes/bicycles/wood/couch/ladders/etc. scattered across the landing in front of our door. But we're making progress on that front -- we're taking turns putting in new lightbulbs when the landing goes dark, and nodding in acknowledgment of each other on the street. Each time feels like a little victory for me.
Our downstairs neighbors, though -- they've been much more friendly! It's not typical in Romanian culture to get to know your neighbors, to chat and exchange recipes or borrow cups of sugar -- and that's something I've missed since leaving our lovely neighbors on Calkins. I've lowered my expectations for neighborliness -- no more shared compost piles and community dinners in this stage of our life (at least not yet!). And that's what has made the past few weeks so sweet.
In the last month, we've been invited into two of our neighbors' homes: the elderly couple on floor 2 who we sometimes help carry groceries for, and the superintendent and his wife on floor 3, who I was totally intimidated by when we first moved in. The Dreptates (they're the elderly couple on the second floor) invited me in one day after work, and then when Jack arrived a little later they brought him in too, pouring us tall glasses of homemade wine and sitting down to talk for almost two hours. They've lived in this bloc for over 30 years, ever since it was first constructed, and they were happy to tell us about the other neighbors, the two empty apartments, the changes they've experienced in the building and in the community since they first moved in to bloc A2. It was lovely, and we all promised to do it again sometime -- but even if it doesn't happen, it was wonderful to feel like we'd been welcomed for the first time by our neighbors. Now we often see Mr. Dreptate outside, playing parcheesi with a group of old men, and greeting him by name is a delight.
Then, just a few days ago, we stopped at our superintendent's door to mention that our doorbell/intercom wasn't working. He invited us in to explain the problem, and we got to talking, until finally his wife scolded him to let us come sit down. She made us tiny cups of strong coffee and we talked about Lupeni for long time while our groceries wilted by the door and their grandkids ran in and out of the kitchen. They were really understanding people, interested in and appreciative of the work of FNO and youth development. And again, I left with a grin on my face, promises of coffee in our own apartment sometime.
I am trying to keep my optimism at a realistic level about life in bloc A2. But these two encounters have been balm for my soul, a small taste of acceptance and welcome, a delight. Now the superintendent is working to get the basement cleaned out and sanitized, with all the neighbors chipping in money to pay for the removal of the mold and muck. I was so happy to be asked to pay our portion -- because for now, these are our neighbors and this is our neighborhood. And now it's starting to feel like it. Pickle smell and all.
Just to clarify, there are no pickles there -- it's actually our neighbor's woodpile. For some reason the wood they burn in their stove to heat their apartment is extremely pungent, and it really, really, really smells like pickles from the instant you hit the second floor on up. But it's not that bad -- funny, really, and a better alternative than the more typical dank-mold-stench that wafts from the basement of most apartment blocs.
Anyway, that's not really the focus of this post. As many of you who read this blog know, it has been one of our consistent prayers and dreams to get to know the neighbors in our stairwell -- those eight apartments we pass by on the way to our own, the last apartment on the top floor. Our neighbors directly across the hall have been a source of a bit of sadness and stress for me, as they are quite standoffish and unfriendly, and tend to leave their trash/shoes/bicycles/wood/couch/ladders/etc. scattered across the landing in front of our door. But we're making progress on that front -- we're taking turns putting in new lightbulbs when the landing goes dark, and nodding in acknowledgment of each other on the street. Each time feels like a little victory for me.
Our downstairs neighbors, though -- they've been much more friendly! It's not typical in Romanian culture to get to know your neighbors, to chat and exchange recipes or borrow cups of sugar -- and that's something I've missed since leaving our lovely neighbors on Calkins. I've lowered my expectations for neighborliness -- no more shared compost piles and community dinners in this stage of our life (at least not yet!). And that's what has made the past few weeks so sweet.
In the last month, we've been invited into two of our neighbors' homes: the elderly couple on floor 2 who we sometimes help carry groceries for, and the superintendent and his wife on floor 3, who I was totally intimidated by when we first moved in. The Dreptates (they're the elderly couple on the second floor) invited me in one day after work, and then when Jack arrived a little later they brought him in too, pouring us tall glasses of homemade wine and sitting down to talk for almost two hours. They've lived in this bloc for over 30 years, ever since it was first constructed, and they were happy to tell us about the other neighbors, the two empty apartments, the changes they've experienced in the building and in the community since they first moved in to bloc A2. It was lovely, and we all promised to do it again sometime -- but even if it doesn't happen, it was wonderful to feel like we'd been welcomed for the first time by our neighbors. Now we often see Mr. Dreptate outside, playing parcheesi with a group of old men, and greeting him by name is a delight.
Then, just a few days ago, we stopped at our superintendent's door to mention that our doorbell/intercom wasn't working. He invited us in to explain the problem, and we got to talking, until finally his wife scolded him to let us come sit down. She made us tiny cups of strong coffee and we talked about Lupeni for long time while our groceries wilted by the door and their grandkids ran in and out of the kitchen. They were really understanding people, interested in and appreciative of the work of FNO and youth development. And again, I left with a grin on my face, promises of coffee in our own apartment sometime.
I am trying to keep my optimism at a realistic level about life in bloc A2. But these two encounters have been balm for my soul, a small taste of acceptance and welcome, a delight. Now the superintendent is working to get the basement cleaned out and sanitized, with all the neighbors chipping in money to pay for the removal of the mold and muck. I was so happy to be asked to pay our portion -- because for now, these are our neighbors and this is our neighborhood. And now it's starting to feel like it. Pickle smell and all.
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