Today we left the conference center to make a special visit.
We marched uphill past a school full of children excited to see Americans, they called out “Hello! How are you?!!” Then ran away giggling at our responses and questions.
This building full of youth has a neighbor holding quite the opposite. A home for the elderly. We weren’t really sure what to expect as we walked up to the bright yellow building with a yard full of stray cats and a dog. We said to ourselves “This looks nice, what a lovely building”.
We bounced up the stairs and in through the doors and our moods all changed. Quiet. Somber. The bright cheeriness we saw on the outside was nowhere to be found inside where it was dark and worn down. It smelled stale. I remember thinking I would feel trapped living in this building, that I wouldn’t want to die here.
We’ve been in this village for 30 days. When someone passes away the church behind us rings bells. 2 for men, 3 for women. We’ve heard bells 4 times this month. I couldn’t help but ask myself if they had all lived here at some point. If these people had lost 4 friends in a month. It’s a very small village.
We piled onto the stairs ready to sing, nurses gathered them in front of us. It was tight and makeshift – world race style we call it.
I got picked to speak.
Answer the questions: “Who are you?” ” Why are you here?”
– “To remind you that you are special and loved.”
We sang two songs. They clapped.
But then it was our turn to ask questions. “Can I pray for you? Can I massage you? What is your name? Can you give me your hand?”
Lots of Bulgarian turns into lots of work for our translator which turns into back massages and hand massages for the elderly, which turns into prayers being said which turns into kisses on the cheeks, which turns into more Bulgarian gibberish and smiles.
I got to massage the hands and shoulders of two people today. I’ve never done that before. We couldn’t communicate except through this physical touch.
Share the gospel and when necessary use words.
Words didn’t share today. Our hands did.
I wish I could go back every day, and bring that joy all the time. But I can’t. I’ll never go back. So at this point all I can do is pray that that moment of joy will stay with them and uplift them for as long as possible until hopefully that moment grows and the ultimate Father gets to take their hands and provide more than I ever could.
