This past week we went to a local village to pass out “Invitaties” or Invitations for the upcoming opening day celebration at the church (which is TOMORROW!) Five of us went, along with Veronica, a local lady who helped us to translate and a joyful child, Miriam. Miriam approached our time with much joy and excitement. As we walked down the trodden path we spent it passing out invitations, putting them in the fence post cracks, and placing them inside metal boxes attached to the gates that serve as mailboxes. The houses were close together in a massive village where corn husks were being shucked, farmers were driving their horse & buggy to & fro filled with feed for their animals and people were sitting beneath shaded trees on benches talking with friends and family. We walked the dirt path from house to house sharing with these people. “Salut,” “este pentru tine,” “la revedere,” and “Isus te ubeste.” (A simple “hello,” “this is for you,” “goodbye,” and “Jesus Loves You”).
This was the first time that the language barrier seriously became an issue.
We found a sweet lady in the village that had to be in her late 90’s. Katie and I straddled behind the group to talk with her. She used all her strength to get to us taking one step at a time with her very feeble bones. She tried so hard to talk with us. To listen. She grabbed an eggplant branch to steady her step on her way past her small garden and used her cane to lean on. Her hair — wrapped in cloth, and her feeble body wore a hand-stitched apron and dress. She began to speak to us in Romanian and quieted herself again, so keen in listening to every word we had to say; which was no more than the words mentioned above. I LONGED for words. To hear her story. To spend time with her. To sit beneath the trees. To place my hand on her back. To give her a hug. To love on her. To talk and share the Jesus I know and love. With broken words and broken conversation, we realized something she couldn’t listen; she had loss of hearing. And she wept, right there on the other side of the fence from us, wiping her eyes with her worn hand. Sharing a few words in mumbled Romanian.
And we prayed aloud for her. For our Father to swaddle and blanked her in His love. That physical ailments didn’t resonate with spiritual matters for her. That in some supernatural way, she would come to know and love Him.
Life on the field isn't rainbows and butterflies. Its not vacation. You are captured burdened by the brokenness. And if you pray about seeing people through the eyes of Christ, you will. By people who you LONG to serve, to love and help. And sometimes you can't do all you intend to in your physical condition and most definitely NOT alone. You have to trust that God has other ways to see love fulfilled here than your idealistic ways of simple conversation and crossing paths. And you continue to work and minister with the people that surround these people so that your little flame catches a village on fire.
