Romania is a beautiful country. You never think that the landscape can change drastically when you cross the border into another country, but let me tell you right now, it can! As we crossed from Moldova into Romania the landscape slowly turned from rolling hills to green farmland with distant mountains. It was spectacular.
As heartbroken as I was to leave the family that had become my own in Moldova, the further we drove into Romania the more my heart began to grow with excitement at what this month would hold. Romanians, gypsies, young, old, rich, poor, darkness, light… plenty of opportunity for Christ to be seen and Christ to be known.
Today I got a little taste of what this month might look like.
My team and I had traveled into a little village about 30 minutes from Draganesti-Olt. The idea for today was to get a feel for the area we would be working in and doing a prayer walk. Our first stop was at the home of a Christian family that Marcel, our contact, was good friends with. As we pulled up, my eyes immediately zeroed in on the little old lady sitting on the bench at the side of the yard. Sweet old women are my weakness. As my team piled out of the van and started making greetings, I walked my way over to her. She quickly grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a kiss on the check. I was done then and there. I quickly realized that my sweet friend didn’t know English, and after a few more minutes of hand motions and not understanding each other, I moved away. As we all stood around, I would glance over at her ever so often as she sat there so peacefully, just basking in the beauty of the afternoon. Eventually couldn’t take it anymore and asked my contact how to ask her what her name was. As I went back to her and played the game of back and forth between her and my contact, she would giggle in delight every time I came back to attempt to say something else in Romanian. Eventually my contact and team moved away, and I was left to sit with her. She would speak, and I would listen, and while my brain couldn’t understand the words that were coming out of her mouth, I swear my heart could. With every toothless grin and girlish giggle, my heart would swell a bit more for this sweet woman.
Later in the afternoon, after returning from a prayer walk, we were invited in by this sweet family to “drink juice and eat.” They had prepared us a feast in the form of amazing homegrown strawberries and bread and peach soda. We all sat down and dug in. I mean, when you find strawberries on the world race, you do not waste time. After a while, my sweet bunica (grandmother) came in and pulled a chair up right next to me. I would give her strawberries and she would make faces and strange slashing signs under her neck, which I eventually found out meant that she grows them and eats too much already. I would laugh, she would love, and life around this merry little table would continue on.
After a while, I began to ask her questions. She told me she is 80-years-old. I told her she looks more like 60. She laughed and shook her head, and I stood by what I said. My bunica, Alexandria, told me that she once loved to sew. She got married in her teens, and spent most of her time sewing day in and day out. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She had her first child, a girl, when she was 19 and her second, a son, when she was 20. And then, as tears welled up in her eyes, she began to tell me that she had a third child, a son. She told me that she had given him to her sister when he was very young, because her sister couldn’t have children and was devastated. Alexandria, being the kind and loving woman that she was, willingly gave up her own flesh and blood so that her sister could have a baby of her own. My heart broke for her and swelled for her all at the same time. What a selfless woman she was. But then she told me something else. She said that same child, her son, was dead. He died at 9-years-old. As I looked in her tear filled eyes, I could see the complete heartbreak that still sat there. As I continued to sit there with her, I realized something:
My bunica is strong. She is fierce. She is wise. She is sassy. She is a faithful servant. She has more trust and reliance in her pinky finger than I have in my whole entire body.
She told me that even though she has walked through hard moments, she still loves her Abba and knows that He sees her. She has willingly given up her home to be a House of Prayer and for years and years now she has fasted every Friday, Sunday until 1, and Monday evening.
After she shared her story with me, I asked if I could pray for her. I prayed life over her, I prayed truth over her, I prayed rest into her, and then her Abba did His thing and I don’t even know what else I said. And as I said Amen and looked up into her once again tear filled eyes, I pulled her weathered hand up to my lips and kissed it. She’s a woman worth all the love and respect in the world.
A few minutes later she snuck off. Scripture was shared, prayers were prayed, and time flew by. Eventually it was time to go. As my team gathered around the door, waiting to put on our shoes, Alexandria came out of the door and walked up to me. She looked me in the eyes and silent words were shared. A common language wasn’t needed in that moment. Because our eyes said all that needed to be said… and then she handed me a letter. I quickly started to open it but she made me stop and hide it under my coat. She didn’t want the others to think she was playing favorites, but lets face it, I’m her favorite. I laughed at her and she smiled back. And then we left with promises to come back again.
I have no idea what the letter says, but hopefully that will change tomorrow. But regardless, that letter holds more value than I could ever say. It represents a bond that I made with a little old Romanian woman. It represents love and life and hope, but more than that it represents Christ. You see, my trust in my Abba was strengthened because of her trust in her Abba. My hope in my Abba was strengthened because of her hope in her Abba. My love for my Abba grew because of her love for her Abba. And my bunica will forever be tied to me because she is tied to Christ. There is no sweeter thing than that.
