Letting Kids Be Kids
REPOST by my teammate, Chase Glantz!
As much as I have seen it in the media and in statistics, poverty is something that I never really thought too much about. However, when I look at the poverty in Razboeni, right in the face, I can't run away from it or change the channel.
I usually just go numb. I think that has to happen to get the job done.
We go into a community in Razboeni to gather up kids to do our daily activities. Part of it is a low-income apartment complex where too many families are crammed into one bedroom apartments. When we arrive kids burst out of doorways and over run us like a pack of wild dogs fighting over a steak: the cutest smiling wild dogs you've ever seen.
It's a beautifully sad sight.
Afterward, we go to the gypsy community, a stone's throw from the first apartments. The gypsy community has no doors. The walls need major construction/a good coat of fresh paint/a large dose of hope. Most of the clothes the kids wear look donated or worn thin from being handed down for too long. There are holes in the roof and the walls where rainwater has eroded the buildings.
I almost threw up.
Not from their conditions. Rather, the condition of my heart. When I sold most of my things to come on this race, I secretly felt a bit of hubris. "Look at me… big Christian man…"
Looking at this neighborhood, I am ashamed. I have so much, and yet: They have the hope. They have the joy. They realize what's important.
Kristi, our contact who has been in the neighborhood for years, comes onto the scene. Their smiles widen. A flock of kids tackle him with hugs. We spend the day with them, singing songs, teaching English, and letting them be kids.
It seems trivial: letting kids be kids.
But I can honestly say when I see their joy, when they act silly, and when they forget their circumstances, I have seen nothing short than the joy and peace of God, shining through his Children.
Lord, never let me forget where I've been, and where your miracles thrive.
We go into a community in Razboeni to gather up kids to do our daily activities. Part of it is a low-income apartment complex where too many families are crammed into one bedroom apartments. When we arrive kids burst out of doorways and over run us like a pack of wild dogs fighting over a steak: the cutest smiling wild dogs you've ever seen.
It's a beautifully sad sight.
Afterward, we go to the gypsy community, a stone's throw from the first apartments. The gypsy community has no doors. The walls need major construction/a good coat of fresh paint/a large dose of hope. Most of the clothes the kids wear look donated or worn thin from being handed down for too long. There are holes in the roof and the walls where rainwater has eroded the buildings.
I almost threw up.
Not from their conditions. Rather, the condition of my heart. When I sold most of my things to come on this race, I secretly felt a bit of hubris. "Look at me… big Christian man…"
Looking at this neighborhood, I am ashamed. I have so much, and yet: They have the hope. They have the joy. They realize what's important.
Kristi, our contact who has been in the neighborhood for years, comes onto the scene. Their smiles widen. A flock of kids tackle him with hugs. We spend the day with them, singing songs, teaching English, and letting them be kids.
It seems trivial: letting kids be kids.
But I can honestly say when I see their joy, when they act silly, and when they forget their circumstances, I have seen nothing short than the joy and peace of God, shining through his Children.
Lord, never let me forget where I've been, and where your miracles thrive.
