România: Copiii (Flaviu şi Antonia)

When I was a toddler, my mother and father would make hotdogs for lunch quite frequently. I never really liked eating hotdogs whole. I preferred them sliced into discs.

Why?

Because I didn't like eating the ends.

They just looked...wrong.

I mean, come on! It makes perfect sense, right?

Well, anyway, it did not make sense to my parents, and they got tired of me leaving the two little hotdog ends on my plate when I was finished. They saw it as wasteful, especially since I had no problem making room for dessert afterward. So they insisted I eat them.

Well, that just wasn't going to happen.

Now, I could have palmed them (like an inmate who doesn't want to take his pills) then flushed them. Or threw them in the trash and covered them up. But no, that didn't occur to me. Instead, I hid them. You heard that right: I hid them - in a drawer of a cabinet in the back of the sitting room, in a little cloth drawstring bag. My parents never went in that cabinet, and so it wasn't until I was almost ten years old (and had long forgotten my frankfurter-contraband) that my secret was discovered. My father told me that he ALMOST asked me why I did it, but decided he would rather not know the explanation.

And that's a good thing, because I wouldn't have one if he asked.

~~~~~~~

There are a lot of things in life that we have no explanation for. They just happen, or perhaps were a part of our genetic code. They were destined to be something we loved, hated, avoided, or embraced. There may be no rhyme or reason to it, and it just "is what it is". Or, maybe it will all make sense one day, and your eyes will open.

This is a story about one of those things.

In my earlier years in church, I made a lot of mistakes. I took my salvation for granted. I believed that because I had grown up in church (and knew all the bible stories) AND had asked Jesus into my heart, that all was fine, and it didn't matter what I did...bad or good. Jesus' love conquers all.

In my early teens however, I broke away from church, and went MY OWN way. That way did not include Jesus. I was not "backslidden" as many would say. In order to backslide, you must have made it at least part of the way up. I wasn't even on the slope. I drank a lot of alcohol. I stole from my parents, and others. I listened to music that glorified Satan, and even talked to demons at night. I felt no remorse for any of this, and that tells me (now) that I did not have Christ at that point. In my way of thinking, he was "fire insurance" at best.

Then, it happened. I was in 11th grade, and I met a girl. Not just any girl, either...she was a GOOD girl. She had Jesus in her heart. She had love in her soul. She was beautiful. And she was looking at me! It took forever for me to ask her out, and when she said yes, I think I popped a mainspring in my clockwork. This was unreal, and I was in heaven!

She was VERY involved in her church, and so I became involved too. I had grown up in church, and knew all the bible stories, so her youth pastor believed that I was "Legit" as well. I could talk a good talk, make no mistake. Before long, I was assisting with the youth, and even helping teach.

Scary, huh? (If you read all I just wrote, you know just how scary that is. I was like a man with no experience as a doctor trying to perform open heart surgery. It was crazy, and dangerous!)

But now let's fast forward a year. In June of 1991, her church's youth group went on a trip to Jekyll Island, GA for a youth evangelism conference called Superwow. It was a week-long celebration of worship and Christ-centered fellowship. And music. Awesome music!

There were bands there that nobody had ever heard of. Jars of Clay. 4Him. Al Denson. Michael W. Smith. Who were these guys? Didn't matter. They were incredible!

At the end of the conference, I realized that I had been playing games with God, and by way of a little boy who understood the faith better than I did, and was willing to pray with me, Christ took control of this pile of dirt with legs for the first time! I thought I had Him all along, but it took me losing myself completely to find out who I really was.

The next day, on the beach there in Jekyll Island, while we were doing morning devotions, I decided that I wanted to be baptized. I went to the youth pastor, and he was OVERJOYED. We walked down into the waves, and I went under the water. I felt the warm of the ocean sweep over me, and I came back up gasping for air...my first real breath in a long, long time.

I stood there, feeling the salt air on my skin. I was dripping wet, and completely overcome by God's grace. I told my youth pastor right then how I had played games all my life, and how I was ready to serve Jesus now. He looked at me and spread his arm across the ocean in front of me, and said "The world is our mission field, and the harvest is ripe."

I told him that I had nothing to give God...no gift to give for the love He had given me. How could I ever repay this debt I had incurred through years of disobedience. He smiled at me, and reminded me of a song we had heard while we were there. To this day, this is one of my favorites, and reminds me that the SMALLEST gifts are the ones that matter most. Especially when they are given in the love of Christ.

The intro to the song has a children's choir from another country singing, and I was immediately drawn to that. I didn't know how, but I knew I wanted to cross that ocean that was in front of me that day, and show God's love to others. I wanted to spread the seeds that God had given; to use the gifts God had entrusted me with. I just had no idea how to do it.

"But God can use what you can give, within the mystery of His ways..."

~~~~~~~~

That was 1991. Twenty-two years later, I was sitting in a community center in Romania, after having just been given the joy of sharing Christ with over 100 children from all over the community. It was music time, and they were singing a song in their language about Jesus' love and how He died for us. I saw all these little hands doing the signs for Jesus, and it was a good thing I had my camera in front of my face to hide the tears that were streaming down my cheeks.

In this crowd were children of all ages. Two faces in particular, however, made me smile so big, because they reminded me of when I was a teenager, and how God loved me even though I was young and reckless and even a little clueless. The little kids in this group would often run to those two people, and stand by them as one might do a "Big brother" or "Big sister".

Their names were Flaviu...

...and Antonia. :)

Flaviu was like, that guy in your school who was good-looking, funny, cool to be around, and as a bonus...he was NICE. Remember that guy? He was never by himself, because people loved to hang around him.

Antonia was quiet, and soft-spoken. But if there were any little kids who needed to be herded off in one direction, she would quickly get their attention, and they would listen to her. They would laugh, and from her head-higher vantage point, they would line up behind her like little ducks...then she would look at them and smile.

These are the kind of kids who will be the LEADERS of these younger children tomorrow, and it brought me SUCH JOY to see them sitting among the other little children, instead of leaning on a wall in the back trying to act "cool" and "older".

In most VBS programs in American churches, when it comes time to sing songs with "hand motions", the older kids tend to avoid getting involved with the music. You can try to tell them it's good for the little kids to see them participate, but that rarely changes their mind. With Flaviu and Antonia, however, they jumped right in!

Maybe it was because they were trying to be a good example, but I think, from the look in their eyes, they were enjoying it on a much "higher" level. <><

On the last day, I gave Flaviu a little wooden flute that I had gotten in town, and told him that he should learn to play this so that the ladies will find him "irresistible". He laughed, and hugged my neck. I felt like I had met the "me" from back in 1991, only much smarter and way cooler.

After I had taught the lesson for the day, and the kids were headed to devotion time, like I had done the year before with Bella, I asked Antonia to stay. I wanted to learn a bible verse in Romanian, and I wanted her to help me.

This is the verse that she taught me, and with help from my translator, I was able to say it perfectly (accent as well) so that I could bring it back to my Awana TnT group here at home:

After she had said the verse to me, I hugged her, and thanked her for her gift...the gift of her time and her heart. I gave her a little pin that I wore on my shirt as a part of the mission team, a flag of the USA and Romania crossing. She smiled, and gave ME a gift in return:

Her name tag.

When she hung it around my neck, I felt tears welling up, and I hugged her one more time to give myself a minute to suck them back in. (I don't think she was fooled.)

The SMALLEST gifts are the most important. Gifts of THE HEART.

A hug from a friend. A high-five. A wooden flute.

A name tag.

Everybody's got a Seed to Sow.

<><

România: Copiii (Bela)

This is an extremely emotional post for me. Bear with me, please. :)

My grandfather was one of my biggest heroes when I was growing up. If grandpa said something about life, it was right. It didn't matter if he said he was seeing green horses on the wall, grandpa's word was gospel in my mind.

One time I asked him "Why did you marry grandma?" He seemed to ponder this for a moment, then said "Well, she was a pretty little thing, and she still is...but to be honest, she could make homemade biscuits."

There ya go.

Another time, he and I were talking as we were at the lake fishing for bream. My bobber was dancing with the wind on the water, and I looked over at him and said "Grandpa, does a grown man ever cry?" He said "Well, if someone close to him dies or gets terrible sick, I guess he could." I said "But not about mushy stuff, right?" He grunted a little, and said "Nope. A man don't cry over mushy stuff, now."

Later on, I learned that it's okay for a man to cry over things. Some parts of life are so full of love, that a heart can't contain it all. In those moments, the emotions spill over, and fall so softly that your very soul can't be hidden from it's downpour. You can fight it, but it's best to let it go and let it be what it is: A glimpse of God's own love. Jesus wept, after all.

Still, not getting my way and girlfriend problems...those were childhood woes, and I can almost count on one hand the number of times I have cried real tears as an adult. After all, men don't cry. (Yeah right.)

I can probably recall every time.

I cried when my oldest daughter, Bryanna was born. I couldn't believe that my own child was staring up at me, and at that moment, nothing else mattered. I had not known what love was until that moment, and I was overwhelmed by it. It still overwhelms me, even though she is now TWICE the age she was in this photo:

I cried while watching "Passion of the Christ" in the theater. A lot of controversy surrounds this movie, but the scene where Mary runs to Jesus is so touching, and so REAL...any parent can understand it. I held it together pretty well until this scene, and then I lost it.

Movies again, for the next time I cried. When I was younger, the Narnia books were my favorite, and still are. Hollywood usually ruins our vision of what the characters and scene looked like in our heads, but in this one instance, they got it right. Seeing little Lucy Pevensie encounter Tumnus in the snowy woods under the glow of the lamp post was so beautiful, and played so well. Seeing it still gives me happy chills:

There were other times, of course, but I want to skip ahead to a very special time, and the purpose of this blog post.

My first year in Romania, while we were teaching VBS in the city school system, I met a lot of amazing kids. I had taught Awana for fifteen years here in the USA, and I always taught VBS every summer as well. I had never experienced anything like this, though. A classroom full of children of ALL ages, and all so well behaved I almost didn't know how to handle it.

Still, like any teacher will tell you who has worked with a classroom full of kids: "There's always that one." That one child. They take you unexpectedly by the heart with both hands, and hold you so tightly in their grasp that you can't break free...and you don't want to, anyway.

You don't notice the child right away though. It takes a few weeks, or days at least. You'll know it though, when it happens. I had no idea at the time, but this little girl was going to be THE REASON my heart ached for Romania for months and months afterward, and ultimately set my heart on God's service there.

Her name was Bela.

<3

Bella was quiet, but you could tell from her face, and the look in those dark brown eyes that she was a firecracker. That little smile in the photo above is a trademark look for her, and her face is a perfect mixture of her mom and dad. (Who I would meet later.)

Each day in class, she would listen carefully, and I was taking note of how she would seem to know the answer to questions I was about to ask, before the question was even finished. A lot of the kids were like that, and over the course of the week, I began to see faces that would lead me nearer and nearer to what God knew my purpose was in this world.

(I will show you more of these children in another blog post, I promise.)

Back to Bella. Unlike Maria in my last blog post, I didn't interact with Bella much during the week of VBS. I smiled at her, and did silly things to make her laugh to let her know I recognized her in the hallways. My own daughter would have been mortified by this (because I am her dad) but Bella would roll her eyes and giggle.

I saw how she interacted with others, and loved to see her little "balance" between tomboy and young lady...especially during recreation.

Of course, I am a pathological-picture-taker, and as such I am very sensitive to people's reactions when I have my camera pointed in their direction. If they seem put-off by it, I stop trying to take their picture. Bella never seemed to mind, and I'm sure if I had tried, she would have smiled that little "smile" of hers every time she saw the lens pointed at her. (I love those kinds of kids!)

The week went by quickly...too quickly! On the last day of VBS, I had planned on telling the class how much I loved them, and how I had fallen in love with Romania, and how I couldn't wait to come back to see them again. I was going to have them teach me a bible verse in Romanian, also. I had all my words written out on a little sheet of paper, and I was going to read it to them before class ended. That was the plan, it really was.

But God had other plans. Our lesson on "The Prodigal Son" lasted all the way through our class time, and before I knew it, the two minute bell rang. I realized I had no time to share my heartfelt words with the class. They had to move on to snack time, and then they would be gone. I said goodbye to them quickly, making sure all their papers were gathered and in their hands, and they all lined up by the door to leave. At that moment, I decided that I absolutely MUST let at least one child know what this week had done to my heart, and how much I loved them. I saw the class lined up waiting to exit the classroom door, and I said out loud "Bella! Please stay for a moment."

Bella turned, and looked puzzled. Then she smiled and walked back toward her desk. (She knew she was not in trouble.) The class filed out, and my translator came over to help me talk with Bella. I pulled the note out of my pocket, and began reading it to her. Instead of a class full of children hearing what my heart felt, all my words became focused on that one little girl.

With trembling hands, I began...

"Bella, before I came to Romania, I did not know what it meant to love God as much as I do now. Now I know what God wants from me. I am in love with Romania. I am in love with it's people. Most of all, I am in love with the children..."

(As I speak, she is looking at me with a soft smile.)

"...I have spent all week talking about God, but always through a translator. At home, I teach the children in my church, and my favorite thing to do is talk to them about their life, and hear them tell me everything that is happening to them. This is what I love the most. It is my favorite thing in the world, but...but...."

(At this point, I realize that I am about to burst into tears.)

"....but here, I cannot talk to you. I want to be able to talk to you. So much...so much..."

(Now I know that I am crying, and not just misting up, I am openly weeping.)

"....and Bella, I am so sorry I am crying. So sorry. Please don't be upset with me..."

(Bella is crying now as well, and I am terrified that I am scaring her.)

"...I just want to talk to you, Bella. Without a translator. I want to hear what your heart says..."

(Bella's tears spill over, and she throws her arms around me.)

And I completely come unglued.

<>< ~~~ ><>

On the way to the church in the city where we stay, there is an alleyway with a lot of trees. One is a cherry tree, and because Romania is so full of fruit trees, most children don't even notice it. I did, of course, and grabbed as much as I could. I couldn't bear the thought of these going to waste, and they were--hundreds on the ground being stepped on.

I felt the same way about Bella. I had no idea who she was, or if she knew Christ, or had a church. The only thing I had was her father's name, which I got from her that last day. I told the pastor of the church we were with about her, and he said he would pray for her family. He asked for her father's name, and I told him. His eyes opened wide, and a smile crept across his face.

"Daniel, this man goes to OUR church. His children too. They are a good family."

I smiled and laughed at myself, but inside it was like a HUGE weight had been lifted. This meant I would see her again, and be able to stay in touch with her family. (And I have.)

Meeting Bela made a change in my life back home also. Because of Bella, I have made a HUGE effort to learn the language. I am by no means conversationally fluent yet, but I am working more every day toward this goal. This past year, when we returned, I had the opportunity to speak with Bella more, and her family as well. Victor, Daniela, Bela, Beta, and Vero are, to me, the most precious family, and I even got to shoot family portraits of them, right in the city courtyard!

I will also remember how she captured my heart for God in Romania, and thank Him for His love again and again.

My Lord, how I am blessed by you.

All this, and Heaven too?

România: Copiii (Maria)

Most of my friends know about my passion for missions in Romania. This love is something that God led me to very slowly, like a stubborn mule that needed water, but was afraid to go outside the gate. I will go into how God led me to Romania in another blog entry. This  post is about something that happened to me while I was there last.

First, a little bit of back-story. After God had convinced me to go to Romania the first year, (being the portrait photographer that I am) I began looking at photos taken of mission efforts in the country. One photo in particular grabbed me so hard that all I could do was stare. This photo seemed to be God's cry to my heart, saying "Daniel, I need you. You feel it in this photo, don't you? Your purpose."

(This IS my purpose, by the way. The people who led me to this along the way...many of them feel the same. For me though, all it took was ten days in Romania to know that my heart will never be the same. I am in love with this country, it's people, and most of all, it's CHILDREN.)

But back to the photo above. I asked God to show me children like her, and help me capture in my photos the same emotion and love that is shown in this girl's face and heart. I remember thinking before I left "There's no way I could ever do that one black and white photo of the little girl justice." You know, I was absolutely right. There is no way "I", could do it. God did it. God took my hands, my heart, my camera, and held them in a way I never knew possible.

There is something awe-inspiring, and yet incredibly humbling about being able to use God's gift to you in a way that completely glorifies Him.

Such a tiny offering...compared to Calvary.

You'll have to give me a moment. I need to recompose myself. Seeing these photos makes me want to go back. As in, right now. Pack my bags and go. All I want to do for the rest of my life is share Christ with these children. More than anything in the world.

Anything.

*sigh*

Ok, on we go now. In the time I had spend in Romania, God had shown me children that captured a special place in my heart that I am unable to put into words. (Yes, the English major is without words.) In particular, there were three children. Today, I am going to tell you about one of them.

One of the aspects of our mission in Romania was VBS. Our team broke up into groups, along with translators and went to community centers in the area to host Bible activities and games. Our team in particular went to a small civic building off in the countryside. By our second day, our tiny little building was at bursting, and children kept coming!

On day two, I was doing what I loved, taking pictures of the kids as they sang songs and smiled for my camera. One little girl in particular caught my eye as I was shooting. She had a very unusual hairstyle, and I wanted to get a picture. For some reason though, my camera would not focus on her correctly. Instead, it focused BEHIND her...on another little girl. I recomposed the shot several times, and the camera kept focusing on the SAME SPOT. I finally understood. God wanted me to talk to this little girl. She was important, and God wanted me to know why.

Her name was Maria.

Sweet, precious, beautiful little Maria.

When I went over to talk with her, I thought she might turn ten shades of pink. She didn't understand any English, but some words of love are universal, and a lot can be said with gestures and smiles. One thing I immediately noticed about her, was that she paid attention during the lessons. Not because she was "taught to", mind you...but you could tell the bible stories were making her think. She watched intently, while many others began to lose interest after a few minutes of sitting in one spot.

After class was over, I would always go over to her and hug her. She would smile, and nod her head before walking away. She would usually turn around a few times, to see if I was still there and watching her, and wave at me. She would giggle each time I waved back at her. One day I gave her a little bag of potato chips, and you would have thought I had given her the entire world.

Where did little Maria come from, I wondered. The Romanians know their social classes better than I do, and more than likely, one of the translators could tell me (just by looking at her photo) if she was a gypsy. I wanted to help her, but I didn't know how I could.

Another thing I noticed about her was her feet.

I don't need to say anything about that photo. It breaks my heart wide open. :(

Maria doesn't expect your pity, though. She is like any other little girl you might know. And that's a good thing. If she had any more charm than God had already given her, she might be at an unfair advantage. So God made her humble and shy to offset this. I mean, come on...look at that face. Describe it in one word. I dare you.

She captured my heart, there's no doubt. One day, as our group was packing up, I saw Maria and one of her friends outside the gate, playing a hand-clapping game. I wanted to know what they were singing, and so I asked "Cum se numeste?" (What is this called?) Maria smiled a HUGE smile, and motioned for me to put my hands up as well.

I was IN HEAVEN! They were letting ME play THEIR game!

All good things must come to an end though.

On the last day of our VBS, as we were packing up, I noticed that Maria was staring at us from across the fence at her house. She knew we were leaving, and she knew we were not coming back tomorrow. I was supposed to be an adult here, and find a way to help my team clean up paper clippings, and Pufuleti...but instead, I was looking at her, and her watching as her eyes were filling with tears.

I waved at her again, and she smiled and went back to her chores. She draped her bed across the clothesline, and hid her face slightly. My heart was breaking at this moment.

This, my friends, is why I will never be the team's leader...or any leader, for that matter. A leader is supposed to hug the kid, show them love, walk away, take a deep breath, and get organized for the next assignment. I am literally unable to do that without my heart in my throat. All I want to do is spend the rest of the day in this little girl's shoes, and learn all I can about her.

But there is no time for that.

We have a bus to catch. Stupid bus.

I finish up a few more things, and then walk back outside. Maria is still watching us from behind her fence, but now she is smiling at me. I wonder what's up, and then realize my camera is on my shoulder. Earlier that day, she had looked a little sad, and was holding her head downward. I put my hand under her chin, and as she looked up at me, I had whispered to her "Domnișoară frumoasă." She remembered this, and now she was saying with her eyes "Well, tell me how pretty I am!"

I pointed my camera at her, and she posed like a little water-girl, with that big green bottle in her hand that made for the most interesting photo prop I had ever seen. In that moment, I captured what I think was not only the most beautiful photo I had taken for the entire trip, but also captured the heart of Maria's world. A world we don't see, but at the same time, a world I want to understand more than anything.

"The Mysteries"

Everybody remembers their first day of Kindergarten. You get dropped off by a nervous parent outside a big, scary school building, your sack lunch in hand, and watch as they wave as they drive away. It's a tense moment, but an important one. Your child is learning to be a part of the world, instead of being just the center of yours.

My first school was a preparatory school in Newnan, GA. My parents could only afford it for the first couple of years, but I have many happy memories from there. One of those was a sports event called "Jubilee". At the end of the school year, the entire student body (K thru 12) was divided up into teams marked by every color of the rainbow, and competed against one another in relay events. One game I remember in particular was "The Glass Hill". A huge plastic tarp was laid across this large slope on the soccer field, and teams would have to crawl up the tarp using the "human ladder" technique while the surface was sprayed with water and dish soap. It was AWESOME!

Jubilee was a lot of excitement by itself, but it taught something very important. Yes, these are the students you see every day, and we all look the same on the surface. However, if we separated ourselves into colors, we would have to learn to exist happily together in spite of our differences. Instead of putting one another down based on those colors, we would cheer one another on, and know that a common goal was being sought by all--FUN.

So how can this principle be applied to life today? The obvious example is "Getting along in spite of our differences in the human race." This is true, but I want to take it in a particularly touchy direction for the purpose of this blog entry. In the pictures above, you can see the different "teams" clearly by the colors of their shirts. (I still have one of my shirts from Jubilee, ha!) Now, let's take a look at the photo below, and see if you can spot the different teams:

"Aha! I see where you are going!" you will say. If you are religiously unaffiliated, you will see this as a typical problem with churches and understand it immediately. If, on the other hand, you ATTEND one of the locations regularly, you may recognize the irony, but likely still see the need for separate teams. After all, your beliefs are different! One of you believes in the Holy Eucharist, the other simply knows it as "The Lord's Supper". There are other differences (enough to make the two groups not want to discuss their faith with one another for fear of conflict) but I will simply leave it as that. We are different.

But isn't there a common thread? Actually, there is a huge one. When you see the photo below, your response will probably be "Yeah of course, but..."

This is where I want you to be quiet for a moment. Close your eyes for a second, and focus on the baby in that wooden box. From his first cry to his ascension into Heaven, he didn't give one rip if you went to Mass or Worship Services. What he cared about was you loving one another, as The Father loved you. With that in mind, let me put that subject to bed and tell you about the purpose of this blog entry.

The painting below is an early memory for me. It hung in one of the bedrooms in my parents' house. I remember being utterly spellbound by this image, even as a toddler. Finding it online now, I stopped for a moment to look at it, and felt fresh tears welling up inside. The little girl praying while looking upward is especially moving for me.

Now, I could go on and on about "How many of the kids in this photo were Catholic, you think? Baptist? Methodist? Holiness? Pentecostal? Lutheran? That's important, isn't it? Look at Jesus' face. Does it seem important? It really isn't. To be honest, I would rather sit and listen to a child talk about Jesus for hours than hear an adult talk about Him for five minutes. Why? Because one of them sees the common love He shared with all His children, the other is more concerned with "Making sure we believe in the Jesus that our church likes best." One says "I believe in Jesus." the other says ""Of course you believe, but let's make sure you believe the way it needs to be believed."

This is not to say there aren't important things to understand. Jesus was not just a good teacher. He was not created by God for a specific purpose at some point in the grand timeline. Jesus is God's son, and has always been present with Him. So, before we go any further, let's look at what I believe, personally.

I believe that because of Adam and Eve's sin, the world passed from perfection into darkness. Their sin was passed onto every offspring they had, me included. God cannot live with sin, but He loved me too much to see me destroyed, so he made a Way for me to be free. He sent His only Son, who lived a sinless life in spite of temptation, and died on the cross for me, so that if I believed in Him, turn from my sin, and accepted His gift of Salvation, that I will not perish, and live forever with Him in paradise.

That's the meat of the matter...everything else is just side dishes and dessert.

Now, I was raised Baptist. Not just Baptist, mind you, but Southern Baptist. There is a joke about us Baptists, and it goes like this:

You may laugh at this, but I can honestly tell you that it's more true than you can imagine, and it isn't just Baptists who are guilty. We all want to believe our team is the best. It's in our nature, and that nature says "Of course the whole is greater than the sum of the parts, but darn it, our part is the most important...after all, we ARE that part!"

Truth be told, however, as recently as one year ago, God began teasing me with something new and uncharted. In writing these next few things, please don't jump to conclusions. I know where I belong, and I'm not going anywhere unless God says otherwise. What I do know, is that God began pointing me in a direction that not only made me uncomfortable, but would make many folks on "my team" twitchy if they knew about it.

How did I begin? I borrowed books on the matter at hand. I visited websites. I dove as deeply as my courage would allow me. I remember telling God that if He wanted me to entertain these ideas with an open mind, He was going to have to be content with me (for right now) wading out into the "Kiddie Pool" area, and no deeper.

Did he answer my prayer? Oh brother, did He ever! He even took the very words I had chosen, and delivered that Kiddie Pool on a silver tray!

A couple of weeks ago, I was shooting portraits at Callaway Gardens. I know Callaway so well as a photographer, that I can often become guilty of "going through the motions" as I am working with a family. If I decide to use the Memorial Chapel there as a backdrop, I know what angles to use, what settings my camera needs, and even what time of day is best to catch the light through the rear windows.

I was finishing up with this family (homeschoolers, like us), and we were walking away from the chapel to go back to their car so that I could get paid and they could get home to watch football. Niceties had been said, hands had been shaken, and they were getting ready to leave, when one of the adults said they needed a bathroom break. While that was taking place, their little girl (age 6 at the most) walked over to me, and beckoned for me to bend down. I did, and the words she said to me literally froze me to the spot on which I was now kneeling.

She took a rosary out of her pocket, held it up to me, and said "I know you aren't Catholic, but do you know about The Mysteries?"

I stared into this little girl's eyes, and she looked so amused by my reaction. I recomposed myself, and not being totally ignorant of this, I said "Yes, I do. I know about the Glorious, and the Sorrowful, and..." My mind went blank, partly from unfamiliarity, but also from the piercing, loving eyes of this child. She smiled gently, and said "Yes...and the Luminous, and Joyful." She put the rosary around my neck, and took the crucifix in her hand. She held it up to me, and said "This is the cross of Christ, and his blood that was shed for you." She went one by one through each bead, explaining not only the prayers, but the Mysteries as well. By the time she was finished, I felt like this child had taken a part of me captive, and there was no way I was ever going to get that part of me back.

As she was getting in her car, I ran over to her, and took the rosary off my neck. "Here, you don't have to give this to me, sweetheart. I'm not a Catholic, remember?" she smiled, and curled my fingers back around the rosary. "Keep it." she said. "Put it in your nightstand. When you wake up in the middle of the night, or if you have a bad dream, hold it. It helps."

Her family drove away, and I stood there completely drained. My heart was beating wildly, and all I wanted to do was find that little girl again, and this time sit at HER feet and let her teach me. In my church, I am an Awana leader. I have worked in Awana for 15 years, and taught children of all ages. I love children more than anything in the world, and teaching them about Jesus is MY PURPOSE on this earth. Still, I felt at this moment that another chapter had been opened, and now I was the one who was left with no answers.

Before getting in my car, I looked up at Heaven. I heard the voice of God in my ears, whispering from His word:

"...and a little Child shall lead them."

I pointed a finger at God at that moment, and said out loud "I see what you did there! Don't think I didn't!"

As I drove home, I felt an unbelievable desire to stop and pray. Our church has a prayer room, and I knew it would probably be open this time of day. As I got off on the exit for my town, I turned toward my church, then immediately changed direction like a person who didn't know which way he needed to go. I drove toward a different place this time. I had not been in this kind of church since I had been taken by a family friend when I was very, very little. St. Patrick's is a small Catholic church, but it is beautiful inside.

Of course, it was open, and I was welcomed inside to pray. As I crossed the floor, I realized that if I had been a "Good Catholic", I would have crossed myself out of reverence before walking into this place of worship...but, as the little girl said, "I know you aren't Catholic..." so, I guessed I was okay.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the statue in the corner that ultimately divides Catholic and Protestant. What I did next might be viewed by some as quaint, and by many in my own church as pointless or even blasphemy. I walked over to Her pedestal, stood eye to eye with Mary, and my words seemed to echo against the silent walls:

"I met your daughter today."

**Note to readers: I am in no way insinuating that I am considering conversion. Please put away your worries. Also, any comments on this post, or Facebook replies that argue or debate theology based on this post will be deleted. It ain't what this was meant for. <><