Sarah walked the streets with hesitancy as her and her younger sister sold roses to those passing by.
A few of us stopped them and started to talking to Sarah, as her sister was not yet old enough to speak.
Her beautiful and gentle face hung low and worn. She could barely hold eye contact as we looked and smiled at her.
We told her we were about to grab dinner and invited her along. She timidly said yes.
As we made our way to the market, we learned about the life of Sarah. She was 11 years old, the second oldest of 8 siblings.
We asked about school. She had never been.
We asked about her parents. She basically was one.
Her parents had just divorced, and with the split came the split of her siblings. However, her father was nearly non-existent, and, as she described life, it was clear she was the primary caretaker of her family.
Making our way in the market, faces throughout the store contorted at her, especially as they saw her walking with Americans.
Sarah’s demeanor shrunk even more as she found the least populated parts of the isles to become a shadow.
A toddler in line started playing with Sarah’s sister, and the mother quickly yanked her child away.
Sarah, all the while, evidently felt the darts of disgust exuded from those around her. She was not the supposed to be there, much less associating with the people accompanying her in the store.
Sarah was a gypsy.
We sat outside on a park bench with a mini feast before us, all for Sarah and her sister. But this young, hungry girl only took three bites, clearly saving the rest for the mouths to feed at home.
We talked and asked fun questions.
“If you could go anywhere in the world where would you go?”
“What’s a fun fact about you?”
She couldn’t find a response to any of our questions but laughed when I told her that I could burp louder than anyone I knew (my fun fact).
It was the first time she smiled.
Knowing we would probably never see her again, we told her about the hope found in Jesus. That he saw her. He knew her hurts, heard her cries. That he wanted to be there for her because he loved her deeply. So deeply that he died on a cross for her so that she didn’t have to walk through life without him.
As we parted ways, doubt flooded my mind. Were those words really true?
Among a people completely rejected by society, in a family in which she was the provider, forfeiting innocence at such a young age…could this hope of Jesus really rescue her?
But as my mind raced, Jesus reminded me of all the people he loved. He didn’t always change their current circumstance. He changed how they fixed their eyes. He didn’t leave them where they were. He graciously stepped into their life regardless of their sin or how they were viewed. Jesus came to an easily shaken world like Sarah’s to give us solid ground, and better yet, a kingdom that is never shaken.
The hope of Jesus ensures a friend. A constant companion. Someone who will never leave Sarah, nor forsake her.
It changes everything – dreams, families, outcomes, life plans…the list is never ending.
I also find it incredible that though she is rejected by the world around her, her name literally means “princess,” which is exactly how Jesus sees her.
So join me in praying for Sarah. Pray that the hope and love of Jesus she heard about from two random girls would flood and fill her heart. That the Holy Spirit would move immeasurably more than what I could ask or imagine.
Let’s pray that though I may not see Sarah here again on earth, it wouldn’t be the last time I see her.
Thank you all for your love and support! I look forward to doing one more blog about the gypsy community I’m falling more in love with day after day in Bulgaria!
