My Journey Alone (PART ONE)

"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.

More to come...