I have spent the last four weeks having my heart won over by two dear Romanian “Baba’s” (an affectionate term for old ladies), a hard-working Romanian man, and a Scottish missionary. Baba Feli is sweet and soft-spoken, while her mother, Baba Dora is ornery and playful; neither leaves you wanting for hugs or affection. Guitsa, Baba Feli’s husband, never lacks a broad smile or hospitality. Callum, at the age of 24, has moved from his home and family in Scotland to the sleepy village of Sistarovat and has led us in his example of hard work and obedience to the Lord.
So it was with mixed feelings of sadness and joy that I boarded a train last night that would carry me onto the next leg of this journey.
No sooner had I stowed my bags and taken my seat than the next opportunity for ministry was presented to me. Directly across from me in our tiny cabin was a young girl, maybe 14, with a chubby face peeking out from between oversized coats and a short-cropped mop of back hair. She was with a rough-looking man with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail under a ball cap that read “marijuana” under a picture of the plant. He introduced himself as Pedro, and claimed to be the girl’s father. A few minutes after the train began rolling, Pedro stepped out for a smoke and I took the opportunity to study the girl.
Though she was clean and had a pretty face, Elena lacked a certain measure of care. Her short hair featured a ponytail on the top of her head in a style way too young for her age and she was dressed in baggy men’s clothes. She slumped in her seat and stared out of unseeing eyes. Her little mouth was permanently curled in a sweet smile as if something amused her, but she was content to mumbled to herself. She was precious. I wondered if she might be autistic as I watched her chuckle at something only she knew about, chatting away under her breath at the window. My heart swelled with compassion for this Father-daughter duo. I understood they were here on purpose and thanked God for this opportunity to love some of his unsuspecting children.
When Pedro returned to the car a few minutes later and we resumed chatting, a curious uneasiness began to seep into my heart. Something about this man and this girl made my very uncomfortable. It was not his sketchy appearance, nor was it his confession that he smoked two packs a day and has a problem with drinking. It wasn’t even the almost inappropriate amount of attention he paid to me in our ensuing conversations. No, it was something in the way he related to this innocent, obviously troubled girl that he claimed was his own.
One minute he was lovingly stroking her hair with one hand, the next he was pressing her head to the wall telling her to go to sleep. On one hand he was showing us photos of her on his phone, on the other he was tapping his head with his hand and rolling his eyes at her to explain her condition. One moment carefully administering her medications and wiping her moist chin; the next forcing her to lay down on the bench and covering her face with her hood. All the while she seemed to stare straight ahead, never ceasing her quiet murmuring. In my heart I suspected abuse, but what could I do? I’m just a stranger on a train.
I wanted to distance myself from this man who made me feel unsafe, and this very awkward situation. As things became increasingly uncomfortable in the train cabin I fought the urge to look away, to read a book or do something to signal I was done interacting and ready for a bubble of personal space. I had a sense that opportunity had knocked, and I would miss the Lord moving if that knock went unanswered.
I decided that loving these two was worth the risk to my comfort and respect.
I began to pray, reaching out to my heavenly father who knows this man and this girl more intimately than any other, and – as He reminded me in that moment – loves them both dearly. Thank you, Father, for reminding me that ALL of your children are worth pursuing!
I couldn’t help smiling at the pair as I felt the love of my heavenly father fill the tiny room – literally shifting the atmosphere. Elena smiled back at me almost bashfully, adorable dimples appearing in her perfect cheeks.
All that was in my power to do was to show them both my Father’s love. I reached down and retrieved my pillow from my pack and offered it to the girl. She accepted the gift, thanked me and traced the brightly colored designs with her fingers before resting her head on it. Pedro smiled as well and clasped his hands over his heart, letting loose an impassioned string of Romanian that I took to be a heartfelt thanks.
For the reminder of the ride I purposed to show the odd pair as much of my Father as I could, which to me felt like precious little. But at the end of the night as they stood to leave Pedro took each of our hands in turn and thanked us, again with one hand clasped to his chest.
I said goodbye, wondering what good could possible come from our meeting, but sure that I had done all that I could, and perhaps all the Lord had asked of me.
Sometimes loving someone looks like hugs and toothless kisses like I learned from the Babas. Sometimes it looks like service and sacrifice as I learned from Callum. Sometimes, though, it is really uncomfortable, violates your privacy, doesn’t treat you with respect, and risks your security. Sometimes it requires you to give up your dignity. Sometimes it doesn’t leave you feeling full inside, but heartbroken and powerless to help a world that is desperately hurting.
Don’t shrink back when loving those who come into your path gets uncomfortable. These are the moments that count; when you know you are not loving in your own strength, but the Heart of God is loving through you.
Our cabin during the 10-hour train ride to Bucharest. On the far right are Pedro, sleeping, and Elena holding the pillow I gave her.
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