I had someone tell me the other day that my blog posts are too emotional. Too honest. Too revealing of my heart. I'm so glad they told me. It means I am finally doing something right.
With that being said...
The other day, I took a car ride with a dear friend from our church, and had a chance to talk with them about the changes God has made in our lives over the past two weeks. They were major changes, make no mistake, and one of the biggest ones required us to change our place of worship.
I assured her, as I have assured many that this change had nothing to do with anyone at our church home, or anything about it's walls, floors, or beliefs. I think many who read this will think I am saying that to hide the truth, but I can assure you that if anything was hidden, it was our hearts when God was speaking to us for the past three years.
It took the form of Him whispering gently "I want you to make a change, and seek a new house of worship." Our reaction was always "Of course you don't mean that, God. We love where we are. Thank you for your input, but no thanks."
This He repeated to us, and we answered in kind, year after year. Each time, he would press a little harder, and we would press backward with firmer resolve.
I have to admit, the most difficult stumbling block for me in following his command was how much I love the children at our church. I have been active in our Awana program at LBC for almost 10 years, and seen children grow from Cubbies to T&T. Oh, the children...how I love them so much and will miss seeing them every Sunday. Of course, I will still see them from time to time, but not every Sunday like it was. That was the heartbreaking thought for me, personally. Although not an exclusive list, I can begin naming the faces that come to my mind as the pain of leaving hits home again and again...(Tiffany, Hunter, Abby, Zachary, Lexie, Maddie, Lily, Summer, Chaz, Harmoney, Layla, Randy, Ally...and on and on and on...I haven't forgotten names, it would just take forever to tell you about them all.)
That ultimately is what kept me from obeying God. I knew that if I had to look into their faces and tell them goodbye, I'd never be able to do it.
My friend (in the car ride) told me that by not telling them goodbye, I was slighting them, and not giving them closure. That was so hard to hear. As she said that, the faces of the children flashed before my eyes again, and I felt so guilty for leaving that I wanted to hide in a hole.
I love my Awana kids so much.
So very, VERY much.
I keep going back and looking at that one little photo I posted above. My heart almost goes to pieces each time I look at it, and all I want to do is give in and go back to what I know. I taught Awana for 15 years. Fifteen years!
My uniform hangs in the closet, and I swore that if I had to give up every area of service but one, that I would wear that shirt until the buttons fell off. Now, in many ways, it feels like the buttons are just fine, but me that is falling apart.That pin up there? That means nothing. Zip. Nada. The children are everything.
God is in the balance. Habakkuk, Lord. Make me like Habakkuk.
I wonder, if there is some kind of "balance" here. I have prayed on this for days, and each time, God has assured me "What I have said, I have said." So there is no going back. As one man in our church said "Don't be like Jonah."
No sir, I will not.
But I prayed about where the balance lies, and what God told me to do is to write it down. If you are someone in our church who has wondered why we have gone, or a child in the Awana program who wondered "Why did Mr. Daniel leave?" Then this blog post is for you. Moms and Dads, feel free to show it to the kids that I worked with for years and years. If you are someone who served with me at church, this is for you also.
We left, not because of anything anyone said, did, or was going to do. We left because God has been asking us to for a long time, and he said it would begin to make sense the minute we obeyed.
I have to admit, the first Sunday we spent away from our church was so difficult. Everything felt confused and wrong at first. The new sanctuary, the new people, the new music, the new pastor...it was very, very hard to explain how alien it felt at first. At our home church, we knew everybody. At this church, I knew a few faces, and less than a handful of names...Emily even less.
But one thing began immediately, and this is why I want to make sure this blog post is written. In the past few years at our home church, Emily and I had forgotten how to do something. We hadn't forgotten how to teach, how to attend church, how to do what we needed to do, and how to be active in many different areas of service. But we had forgotten how to do one very important thing.
We forgot how to WORSHIP.
Again, this had nothing to do with the church itself. It had to do with a place we had fixed our feet upon in spite of God's leading us in another direction. We were so fixed on "Our commitment to God." that we forgot how to honor His commitment to us.
We were so caught up on all the things that must be done, and all the responsibilities that must be upheld, and all the duties that must be attended to, that we let go of Him. At least, I did.
I loved my church more than I loved my Lord.
"Anything I put before my God is an idol...
Anything I want with all my
heart is an idol...
Anything I can't stop thinking of is an idol...
Anything that I give all my love is an idol..."
The words from the song below hit me so hard, and the first verse alone was enough to make me so convicted of my sin that I just sat staring into nothing.
"Clear the stage and set the sound and lights ablaze
if that's the measure you must take to crush the idols.
Jerk the pews and all the decorations too
Until the congregations few then have revival."
I am just now noticing that the very gift I used so much at church, my photography, is not showing itself in this blog post. To be honest though, the very idea of posting pictures of all the things we had done at our church over the years seems almost self-serving, so I will hold back on those for the purpose of this entry. If you were with us, you remember. If you weren't, the photos wouldn't matter anyway. Sometimes, a camera isn't needed...photos aren't needed. Only the memory matters.
I have so many beautiful memories.
And if God wills it, maybe one day there will be more.
On the flip side of this, however, I want to add one little happy note. On the first day we visited the new church we are considering, in the face of the pain, the confusion, the uncertainty, and the tears that would come from each of us as we sat in these new chairs and listened to different music from a different set of people and a new message from a new pastor...
There was this one child.
She recognized me from the soccer game the day before, and as if God placed her there for that one purpose, she smiled at me.
"I remember you."
Thank you, Ava.
And thank you, God...for remembering me.
Please pray for us. We need it more than you can imagine.
And to my Awana kids, please know that I love you so much. You were the biggest reason I stayed for as long as I did. I just couldn't bear to let you go. <><
(If you haven't already, go back and read part one of this entry. It's the only way to see both the good and the bad, and the lesson that God taught me through them.)
When God gives you an opportunity to go and serve, inevitably there will be criticism. God told Jonah right out of the blue to go on a journey to another land. He didn't give Jonah a ton of instructions, he only said "Go and do this." I'm sure Jonah (in addition to his own misgivings) would have had people say to him "Why would you just pack up and go? Shouldn't you pray about this first? Oh, you did pray about it? Well, obviously you didn't pray correctly, because I don't approve of this trip of yours."
Jonah did NOT do what God asked, and he ended up jumping overboard into the ocean and getting swallowed by a fish. Like Jonah, I had my marching orders. My family was aware of them, and so were the people on the other end. So there was only one thing to do.
Go.
Now, Romania is hardly Nineveh, and I am hardly Jonah, but if there is one person in the bible I can be compared to, it IS Jonah. Mainly, because I am all about doing God's will if others are supporting me 100 percent. If there are obstacles or criticism, either positive or negative, I tend to shy away from whatever it is He told me to do. That's a pretty dangerous way to live, and like a man at my church once told me "Daniel, if this is what God wants, don't be like Jonah."
No, I will not.
In the previous entry, you can read about the obstacles and lessons in reality God had for me along the way. This time I am going to focus on the reward.
In most mission reports, you never hear about the struggle. When you do, it is almost always a humble, heroic struggle: "We passed through miles of snake-infested swamps, eating nothing but rice cakes and bottled water, in order to reach the tiny village where God would use us for His glory!"
In my case, the struggle almost seemed to be God saying "So, you want this, do you? Well, how about a dose of reality before you decide for certain?" His lesson was thorough and complete, and it only took me 16 days to learn it. But, interspersed in those 16 days, God did give me opportunities for service. Not nearly as many as I would have had if I had gone with the team, but sometimes it isn't about quantity, it's about God putting you exactly where you needed to be, when you needed to be there.
I saw God speak to me through the back of a chair, assuring me that while I (and many others) had reservations about whether or not He was with me on my journey, that He was very much alive and watching.
I saw the hydrothermal heating coils being laid on the floor of the camp, ensuring that the floors would never be cold when hundreds of little bare feet walked on them.
I spoke with, and worked alongside camp workers, and saw what it is like day-to-day working on the camp, rather than a day where we have all our supplies laid out for us, including a picnic lunch. It's different, but God-focused still. I'll tell you more about that one day, if you ask.
I had the wonderful opportunity to have dinner with many of the church families, and not only have the joy of fellowship, but the privilege of speaking with them in THEIR language, and learning more about life in Romania than I would ever had if I had come as a tourist.
I cooked hamburgers for one of the families, and saw the thrill in the eyes of the children who had never experienced "real American food". By the way, the entire family devoured the hamburgers and fries like there was no tomorrow, and I was able to leave them with the recipe for Guthrie's sauce...which they are now addicted to!
I visited a Gypsy church, where I had the honor of delivering God's word. Even more exciting than that, was being able to get down on one knee and talk with these children. In the past year at home, the seemingly endless study of basic Romanian almost felt like a fruitless effort, but when I was able to carry on a light conversation with these children, it was worth it 1000 times over! <3
And oh, the music! While I don't think anything can compare to the choir at Golgotha, the complete worship and passion in the eyes of the gypsy congregation, coupled with the booming voices and pumping accordions was so...so...
I have no words left. <><
In the tiny little town of Monariu, I was given the joy of teaching a small group of children. While their numbers were small, the light in their eyes and the love in their hearts had me almost in tears. I got to tell them about me eating rotten apples when I was a teenager, and how when we are at our lowest point, someone is waiting with a warm bed and delicious food to celebrate our coming home.
And from Bethany's girls scout troop here in the USA, I was able to share cookies with those same children, and see their smiles as they had their first taste of Thin Mints. :D
I was given the opportunity TWICE to teach the youth group at Golgotha. I prayed so hard over what I was going to teach each time, and when the lessons were finished, I wondered if I had even taught them one blessed thing. When I was having dinner with one of the youth's families, I told her that I didn't think I was teaching them anything, and she said "What are you talking about?! Of course you teach us!"
Oh Lord, all this and Heaven too?
Octavian. Beautiful, wonderful, awesome, smart, energetic, amazing little Octavian. He shared his Oreos with me. He talked to me endlessly in Romanian, and God gave me the unexplainable gift of being to understand almost half of what he was saying to me. I helped him practice his English, and he sang the Romanian National Anthem to me. Every night, he would kiss me on the cheek and ask me "How many more days will you be here?" He smiled until the answer was "Zero." I will never, ever forget him. Oh, my heart.
Titi and Ofelia. When I was sick, they made me eat. When I didn't want to drink that nasty tea they were giving me "For my stomach." they encouraged me to please, drink. They welcomed me into their home and into their family...and all it's insanity included. I could share endless stories about my time with them, but some things are better kept locked away in our hearts. All I can say is that I have never met a kinder, more wonderful family. God blessed me with their love.
On one of the last days of my trip, I was able to meet up with the family of the little girl who first won my heart for Romania. I chased them around the park with my camera, capturing one smile and one giggle after another. If I never am able to set foot in Romania again, the joy and blessing of knowing this family (Victor, Daniela, Bella, Beta and Vero) is worth all the joy and sadness I have ever experienced. I would do all of it over in a heartbeat, if only to be able to share in their lives one more time.
Not only is this one of the greatest young men you will ever meet on this planet (Adi was my voice for a great deal of this trip.) but he is also a man of multiple talents. Yes, I finally got to do something I have wanted to do since I visited Romania for the first time.
I got to sing in the choir.
Yes, it was only choir PRACTICE, but being able to join voices with these beautiful people in THEIR LANGUAGE was a gift without measure. I had to keep forcing back the tears, and Vasile Gherman (another man who housed me so graciously while I was there) had to tell me "quit taking pictures of the choir or I will take your phone away!" :D
This little girl shared her "Zippy" with me when I was at the park. I had never met her before, and I still don't know her name. What was so odd, was a little child came up to me, a complete stranger, and offered me some of her snack. She did it with a bright smile on her face, and her father (about ten feet away) saw me look over to him with a "Is it ok?" look on my face. He smiled and nodded. This would never happen in America.
At church on the last Sunday I was there, I was able to teach the middle grade children's Sunday School class. I had planned in my head exactly what I was going to teach about, but somewhere along the journey up the 1200 flights of stairs it took to get to the classroom, God changed the plan on me. I could almost feel the voice of God saying "Scrap your idea. Here's mine. Do it. I love you."
For the next 30 minutes, I told the children how important first impressions are. The image you give someone of who you are in the first moments you have with them will ultimately be the pattern they remember about you forever. This includes your witness for God. We talked about Stephen's sacrifice in the book of Acts, and while Stephen never saw Paul standing in the crowd of people, holding the coats of the men who would deliver Stephen's death sentence, Paul would remember Stephen forever. Even as he walked toward his own death for the cause of Christ.
To be honest, I wasn't sure if the lesson had an effect on any of the kids. These are children who have been raised in church. They have heard it all. Why should this lesson be anything new? I saw more than one child looking at the ceiling, playing with their pencils, and spacing out.
What I didn't notice was how the eyes of one child were locked onto the lesson. If I had paid better attention, maybe I would have seen that they were not looking away, and feeling the same emotions that I'd had when I first hear about Stephen's sacrifice.
When I did finally see their reaction, I may have misjudged what I thought had been their eyes misting up. Maybe not, but one thing was certain. The smile and shy little "wave" I got from them during the church service afterward was more than enough to let me know that in spite of anything I had experienced to the contrary, this trip had found it's mark.
Sometimes, God changes our plans. Sometimes, he sends us on a journey that makes no sense to us. We may be tempted to balk, or fall victim to others saying "Are you sure you know what you are doing?" While YOU may not know what you are doing, God does.
And in my life, as He knows will always be more precious to me than any other gift he may give, He often reveals it in the eyes of a child.
"Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn."- C. S. Lewis
As I go back and re-read this post, it seems like a downer. Please don't misunderstand. This was a wonderful experience, but all great victories come with a struggle. We begin with the struggle. ;)
When I was younger, a missionary came to our church and was talking about how his family had taken their first steps toward the mission field overseas. Before he got backing from a church, before his family came along with him, before anything, he went alone. He talked about how scary it was at first, but with the help of a few kind families, he stayed for a month...learning not only more about the culture, but what it was like to stay there without a lot of fanfare like tour guides and dinners with important people.
He wanted it unfiltered, and he said the experience was unparalleled.
The first year I went to Romania, I fell in love. The second year, I knew I had a deeper calling from there. I wasn't sure what it was, but one thing was certain...it would involve more than ten days there on a tour bus once a year. I don't need to go too deeply into how my love for this country began. You can read about that in previous posts. I am also not alone in my love for these people. Many, many of the team will tell you how their heart rests just as closely on Romanian soil as American. What this post is about is how God answered me when I said "Why do you want me to go to Romania in February, and why do you want me to go alone?"
Now, of course, I wasn't about to drop a grand on an airline ticket, pack a suitcase, and fly over there on a hunch. I wanted, at the least, a purpose from God, no matter how small. I contacted the pastor we had worked with while we were there as a team, and told him about God's leading me, and asked if there was work for me to do if I came. He answered with an enthusiastic yes! I still have the Facebook conversation where he said I could be a huge help with organizing a photographic history of the camp we were working on, and readying it (with the help of his nephew) for assembly on a website for the camp.
Perhaps I should have looked a little deeper, but at the moment, that seemed to be my answer from God, and so I jumped on it! Over the past few months prior, with the help of a couple of teens from Romania (and permission from their parents) I threw myself into studying the language. By the time I left for RO, one of the teens had said (quote) "You will not need a translator while you are here. You already know enough to survive."
(Just because I can read that sign with no help means almost nothing. Upon arriving, I would learn how little I knew, but that comes later.)
There have been several Romania team members who have anxiously been awaiting God's answer as to why He sent me on this trip, alone. I can now give that answer, and it comes in many different parts. To begin, let me say that the MAJORITY of this trip was devoted to God teaching me. When I came with the team, I was always teaching children. This time, God was teaching His child.
LESSON ONE: YOU ARE ALONE
When I came with the team, we traveled together as a group everywhere we went. From dashing through airports to dashing through village roads. There is safety and security in numbers, and the comfort of hearing the language you have known since birth. I had fancied going alone as being exciting, and it was, but it was also very intimidating.
When I boarded the plane from ATL to CHT, it was a bunch of Americans going wherever they were going in the USA or abroad. On the flight from CHT to Munich, it was still largely English speakers, peppered with a few German. On the tiny flight from Munich to Cluj, things changed radically. When I came with the team, we OWNED that plane. Now, I am the only English speaker on board. Everyone else is Romanian. There are no smiles, no welcoming faces, and no excitement. They are all tired and ready to be home, weary from travel, and the American in their midst is not even a curiosity. He is just seat 22D, and another obstacle in the way when we get to CLJ.
When I came with the team, the arrival at Cluj is an exciting time. We all huddle together, chatting about all we will do and see. This was a different experience. People filed into the airport passport area like cattle, nobody looking from left to right. This was the morning commute, only by way of airline instead of car. One by one, passports were stamped, and when my turn came, the lady behind the glass gave me a flat stare as I passed my passport over to her. "CLUNK" She didn't even ask me if I was there for business or pleasure. Why should she? This is February. Who comes to RO in February for pleasure?
I found my luggage, but could not find my ride back to Bistrita, so I walked back into the baggage claim area to wait. The passport lady glared at me, then went back to her work. God's first lesson was about to come to a conclusion by way of the television overhead. I sat there, exhausted from the journey, in the empty baggage claim, and saw a commercial being aired for Romanian tourism. After a few scenes from the rolling hills of Transylvania, the scene faded to a flag flying against the sky, and the music and words began to play that would drive God's first lesson home.
"Welcome to Romania, Daniel. Please enjoy the music while you wait."
(By the way, I now have a music box with this melody, and I love it!)
LESSON TWO: LANGUAGE BARRIERS
When I got to Bistrita, a place had already been secured for me to stay. I wanted to stay with a family, not in a hotel, because I wanted full immersion of not only the language, but the food and lifestyle. So for the first four days, I stayed with one of the families in the church. The teens in the household spoke perfect English, but the parents spoke almost none. As in, a vocabulary of maybe 10 words each...perhaps less. This was fine when the teens were around, but during the day, when I would ride to the camp with the Dad, the language barrier was ominous and a little disconcerting.
I figured out that "You will not need a translator." was a bit of a stretch. Dad would speak to me in Romanian, and I would understand about every 5th word. Now this is good, because I can understand where his conversation is going, but not nearly well enough to answer questions or give information. He had a translation app on his phone, which was all but useless. It would give me sentences like "Before one stop at cross, priority must be flat pickle." Oh well. By the time I figured out what he was trying to say, he was already frustrated and angry, and why shouldn't he be? I just missed my exit, and instead of him understanding my saying that I had left my phone at the house, he thought I wanted to make a phone call, and said (in a language I didn't understand) "Why do you need to make a phone call? I don't use my phone when I am at work. You don't either! Forget the phone and concentrate on work!"
After a few little frustrating instances like this, I decided I would display a little of my own "reality" for him, and started answering him in English. "Why yes, I do enjoy peanut butter." and "This car is a weird color. Teal green? Who's idea was that?" This went over as you would expect, and he smiled at me and said "Romanian, please."
And he was right. If I expect to live here one day, speaking in English will not always be an option, sarcasm or not. I kicked myself for being a jerk, and from that moment on I focused all my effort on doing as I was told. I was a guest in his home, and was getting exactly what I had asked for...full immersion. After a day or two, he and I were speaking much better, and I had all but forgotten the other day's frustration. After a delicious dinner of Romanian sausage, salad, and fresh cow's milk, I went to bed with this idea in my head "This is awesome. I am finally getting the hang of this. Bring on the rest of the trip!"
That night, at 2am, I woke up with a fever of 103 degrees. The sheets were soaked, my head was in agony, and my stomach was twisting in knots. I went to the bathroom to pay for my pride, and by morning the fever had broken. For the rest of the trip, however, I played hopscotch between life and bathroom. This was God adding a little "addendum" onto his second lesson:
"Daniel, doing pretty well with that language barrier, huh? Well, if you live in Romania, guess what else will happen at the worst possible time? Yep, you are gonna get sick."
Luckily for me, toward the end of the trip I remembered the antibiotics I had been written for emergencies. I thought I had food poisoning, and believed they would not help, so I didn't take them. After speaking with my doctor, he said "Take them! Won't hurt!" After only 48 hours, I was feeling better, and if I had done that from the beginning, I wouldn't have suffered through 10 days of confusion within my body. Lessons, lessons...
Because of my little "bout" with Montezuma's Revenge, I was not able to go far from a bathroom, and had rendered myself useless for about half the work I could have been doing...including collecting new photos for the camp, a vital part of what the "plan" initially had been. I did get to do some wonderful things, though...and I will go into those later. For now, we move onto the next part:
LESSON THREE: STEFAN
On the second day of my trip, before illness took over, I was at the camp and was introduced to the man I would be helping. His name was Stefan. Now nobody at the camp spoke English, really, and Stefan was no different. What WAS different, was that he didn't seem to understand that I didn't speak Romanian. I would tell him (in Romanian) "Talk slower." and "I don't understand what you just said." He would smile, wave me off, then come back five minutes later rattling off another 250,000 words. I thought he just didn't understand, and later on, I would find out that was only the tip of the iceberg.
Stefan was my next lesson.
After spending all day following Stefan around, another man, Cristi came to pick me up to take me back home. On the way back, we talked about my relocating to Romania one day, and about the employment outlook, etc.
I also asked him about Stefan.
Because I don't speak the language fluently, it was almost impossible for me to notice this about him without being told. Stefan had no experience dealing with English, ever. This is why he couldn't "get" that I didn't speak the language. I am a man, in Romania, and so therefore I must speak the language. Why wouldn't I?
As we talked about the employment outlook, Cristi said that as a man in his mid twenties, he must work hard to keep his position at work. Romania has a high rate of workers seeking jobs, and if you snooze, you'll be out on your ear and another person in your place.
The conversation turned back to Stefan, and Cristi said "Stefan is lucky to have the job he has been given to work at the camp." You see, Stefan has no family. He is over the age of 40. He also has no "master skills" like plumbing or electrical contracting. These facts are literally the kiss of death for a person trying to find work in Romania. If you have no family to stay with, no highly desirable skills, and past your physical prime, you are pretty much screwed.
And God spoke:
"Daniel, if you move your family to Romania, you leave all your extended family behind. You are over the age of 40. You are not a master carpenter, electrician, mason, etc. You are a photographer. (Dime a dozen here.) And you don't speak the language."
Am I prepared to (like Stefan) rely on the kindness of others when I arrive? I'd better not be. I'd better have a plan! Brick by brick! Serious food for thought, and a lesson that would serve me well in the remaining time I would have in Romania this time around.
By the way...Stefan was pretty darn cool. He made me laugh, and smile a lot.
LESSON FOUR: THE VOICE OF EXPERIENCE
In between teaching in churches, helping at the camp, working with children, and any other things God threw my way, I was being invited almost every other night to have dinner with one of the families from the church. These were such blessed visits, but also they were opportunities to learn from the families what it is like to live in Romania. I won't go into the details of every single fact I was presented with, but among the little nuggets of wisdom I gleaned, I learned that these are a very proud people. Proud of their heritage. Proud of their country. Proud of their children.
And quick to warn you of jumping right into the life of a Romanian/American.
I heard about how expensive it is to live in Romania as opposed to the rate of pay. I heard the cost of housing, food, gas, and basic living expenses. I heard how the government can almost seem to "cheat" you out of money that you earned honestly. I heard how hard it is to survive if you don't have a firm grasp of the language, or people who are willing to help you monetarily until you do. I heard the unfiltered life stories of mothers, fathers, and teens. I saw the real side of things...something you can't see when you are there with a large group staying in a hotel.
Now, before I paint this as an image of how much Romanians dislike living in Romania...they don't. They love their land. They love their home. They are proud of who they are and how they have triumphed over the opinion of many that they are "lower". This was just a wake up call for me, from God, straight from the mouths of the people themselves.
~~~~~
Undoubtedly, after reading this, there may be people who say "Daniel, you were planning on moving your family to Romania? Well, I could have told you you don't want to do that." or "What makes you hop on a plane, abandon your family for three weeks, and take advantage of the goodness of the families you stayed with?"
To those people, here is my answer:
"....."
For others, the purpose of this blog post has been the FIRST part of the answer to the question "Why did God send you to Romania this time, alone?" The answer, is to teach me. When we went as a group, it seemed the purpose of our trip was for us to have an effect on Romania for God. My coming alone was the opposite. It was Romania having an effect on me, for God.
I learned more than I could ever put into words, and some things I won't even try. They were simply too personal.
In the next blog post, I will talk about how God used me while I was there, and how he made real to me something I had said quite arbitrarily over and over when it came to working in missions throughout my life:
"If only one child is reached for Christ, the entire effort is worth it."
God proved that in me while I was there, and I will share that in the next post.
