Some of my moments in Romania have been surreal by definition.
Early on I admitted to the ability of driving a stick shift. Since then I have been the registered driver of all teams into downtown Bucharest, the airport, local village streets, national highways, and ministry sites. I actually love it. It’s a bit crazier than the states. My favorite part is coming to not-so-four-way-stops that turn into four-way-free-for-alls when eighteen wheelers compete against vespas and Daewoo’s. Daewoo is fun to say. Daewoo.
I was driving the van doing 80kmp on highway with Tom Jones “It’s Not Unusual” blaring on the radio in the background as Chad and I belted out the lyrics and images of Tim Burton’s “Mars Attacks” flooded back to memory. It was surreal. It felt like a fantastic, irrational, unbelievable dream. If someone told me a year ago that I would be doing this I would have said no way and laughed ’til my side ached with glee.
We drove to a gypsy village not to far from where we are staying with no real plan in mind other than to play with the local kids. Within a few minutes I was able to find a stained out mattress and some broken pieces of metal to form what would make the goals for our new field. Granted the asphalt field we played on also had shards of glass, broken pieces of shingles, a tiny plastic bath tub, and a ripped in half suitcase all of which resided next to an abandoned house that I’m sure was the proud owner of at least three forms of asbestos and two forms of venereal disease. The whole experience again felt surreal and reeked of danger and potential. It was one of the most unorganized yet entertaining soccer games I have ever been a part of.
The next day followed by rounding up the local gypsy kids in a large van and setting them free on the playground of Casa Shalom where we are staying. Within seconds screams of joy rained down as the kids ran from slide to swing-set to ball to bike and back to swing-set. Two minutes with one and on to the next, tossing whatever toy they had found to the side in search of a new conquest. As Chad, Tom, and I drove the ten person van back to the village filled with twenty kids who rarely if ever had driven in a motorized vehicle chants in Romanian of “faster, faster” rang in my ears. They followed their chants with “Politia, Politia” as we passed the local police and my blood pressure rose slightly due to my lack of a local license coupled with the thought of a van packed full of twenty sweaty gypsy kids. After we passed I began chanting Muhammad Ali’s Rumble in the Jungle chant, “Ali bomaye, Ali bomaye!” I don’t think anyone got the joke but Chad and Tom. And again I felt a surreal moment.
The last day with the kids was an opportunity to wash feet. Literally. Me, Kyle, a bucket, some soap, and scrubbing brushes for their little fingernails and toes. I tried to talk in my best Asian nail parlor accent as I asked how their boyfends were. No I did not spell boyfends wrong. That’s not a racist joke, its just funny. Thus another surreal moment in time for me. Never would I have imagined being where I am in life at the ripe age of twenty-five.
Anyways, when I had the opportunity to wash their feet I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly blessed. So what do all these moments add up to for me? Call it what you will but in some form or another, ministry happens, and people are being loved.
My friend Sara Piazza who has a knack for encouraging others and speaking truth into situations recently wrote me that my “life is awesome.” Its true. My life is awesome because I feel blessed. Blessed that God is letting me the opportunity to wash the feet of the poor and be a part of something outside of myself.
Thanks for reading my blogs.
Also I have a mini-mohawk and the girls on my team have lice.
You decide which one is worse.
Salley-Salleyjandro
