We just arrived at the Romanian village where my team has come Thursday through Sunday all month. The hour-long ride here was stunningly picturesque: rolling farm land, scattered with flocks of sheep thick with wool, who are being watched carefully by sheep dogs while their shepherds lay in the grass, relaxing near the edge of the flock. I caught myself chuckling multiple times on the drive here: our translator, Marcelle, was playing his playlist of choice for us, filled with selections from the one and only Celine Dion.
The air is cool & crisp, but not uncomfortably cold. We have our own little red house to live in, and I’m currently cooking dinner for the team in the “kitchen”—a room disconnected from the rest of the house, fit with a table, a stool, and one gas burner. On the menu tonight: bow tie pasta with butter (we forgot to buy marinara at the grocery store… oops!) and frozen green beans… lots of frozen green beans. It has already taken 45 minutes just for the pasta to cook, but I love that I get to take care of my team this way and feed their hungry bellies.
There is an outhouse across the yard. I dare say that it might just be worse than the squatty potties in Nepal and Cambodia. But, at least it has a toilet seat, unlike the outhouse at the church we were at last night! That outhouse had a wood plank with a hole carved in it, and it was crooked to make matters worse. I’d prefer to just use the grass at that point, thank you very much!
I just met the hosts here—John & Christina, and their 19 year-old daughter Adrianna. John & Christina speak hardly any English, but thankfully we have Marcelle with us. Right now, I am looking out of the kitchen door to the sun setting over the gate in front of our house. This village is so different in countless ways from Bucharest—it’s wonderful; quiet, removed, familial.
With each breath, I am excited to be alive, excited to take part in what the Lord is doing right here, right now.
