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?
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