Gettin’ Gypsy with it in Romania
We caught up
with the rest the group at the top of the hill. Thing 1 and Thing 2
following us there with their typical touching, tickling, attention grabbing
selves. I attempt my best to entertain their demands without the pair
attaching themselves to me for the rest of the day…seems unlikely at this
point though. We sit down at a small convenience store at the top of the
hill and soon the place begins overflowing with Gypsies. Automatically, I
morph into “ministry�mode, and think to myself, “we should take advantage of
this opportunity to love some of these undervalued people� (insert aristocratic
pretentious voice here). You see, the Gypsies are the oppressed people
group in Romania (and many other places around the world). When they told
us we might be doing Gypsy ministry, it reminded me of being told about
Aboriginal ministry in Australia, or working with orphanages in Africa.
They are the forgotten ones, the ones who need a little love. These
“helpless� people just need a quick dose of American love.
Then, like a
mole seeing the light for the very first time, I begin to see…
I don’t know
if it was different because they look more like me, or something else.
But now, the dirt smeared faces, hands, and clothes prick my heart.
Heaviness seeps over my soul. There is something wrong with this picture.
It
wasn’t just the dirt. I’m on edge. Everything seems rougher than normal.
For the last seven months I’ve had poor, dirty kids jumping on me,
touching me, hugging me…but her I am, pushing their hands away,
refusing their constant touch. They’re dirtier. They’re wilder…savage
even. The shop clutters with so many
Gypsies, my heart beats faster as I feel a mob could break out anytime. The
wild nappy hair, the toothless grins, the incessant clatter of shrieks and
activity. Sensory overload overwhelms my mind. As I begin to wish for the bus
to arrive quicker, I look to my left and see an 8-year old Romanian girl
waiting for her dad with the horse and cart. A young Gypsy boy approaches her horse. And I cringe as scorn and disgust
covers her face as she berates the boy in her native tongue. To see such a young child filled with so much
hate for another human, that unfortunately was born into this seemingly cursed
people group…My mind and heart goes into overdrive… compassion, hurt, confusion, heaviness, even a little
distaste myself. Who are these people
and why does everything seem so wrong?
I have no answers, no solutions, just
thoughts. And the living hope of Jesus Christ. The one thing in this
life I can always count
on…
When
people tell you who you are for so long you begin to believe them. Well Gypsies have been told they are
worthless, vagrant, poor, looking for handouts, sub-human…It seems as though
they have found an identity. Notch up
another on the list of unacceptable things in this world.
These people are not hopeless. They just need the glorious light
of Jesus.
