GraceFox

Up at 2:30 a.m., in a taxi by 4:00, on a plane by 4:45, and the 26-hour trip home was underway. From Kosice to Vienna was a little more than one hour. Easy. Then came a five hour layover. I found a plug-in behind a pay phone, sat myself down on the granite floor, pulled out my laptop, and wrote our family’s next newsletter. Oh my. Getting up two hours later was a challenge for this stiff old granny. But, hey! I got the newsletter done. Wahoo!!

The next leg of the journey was an 8 ½ hour jaunt across the Atlantic. The airline on which I traveled may as well be nicknamed “Sardine Airlines” for the amount (or lack thereof) of leg room. But guess what? I had no seat partner for this entire trip. That meant I could stretch out a little bit. When that happens on long trips like this, I consider it a real treat.

The plane landed in Toronto and suddenly I was surrounded by English speakers, English signs, English everything. After being away for a month, my brain had a wee bit of readjusting to do. Another three hours passed, but they were quick because I had to claim my suitcases and take them through customs before transferring to my next flight.

By this time, I was running on sheer adrenalin at the thought of getting home. My brain was starting to go into a fog so, when I found another plug-in, I did some work that took no thinking power. With about 9,000 emails in my “delete” box waiting to be permanently deleted, I figured this was a good time to start.

Have your legs ever felt crawly? That’s how mine felt for the 5-hour flight to Vancouver. They’d had enough sitting. They were now ready to get up and get moving, but that’s easier said than done while flying at 40,000 feet. Oh well – thank goodness for pressure socks and the ability to walk an aisle to the bathroom!

My son and his wife picked me up in Vancouver. The best part about coming home was seeing my grandbaby, Anna. She’d turned three months old and had changed a fair bit since I left. Poor little thing – while sitting in the car on the way home, she studied my face for a long time and then burst into tears and a pitiful, scared cry. Do I look that bad after traveling for so many hours? Or has Grandma been gone too long? I’m afraid it’s the latter. Well, maybe not. Maybe it’s the former, too.

“Thank You, Father, for the safe trip. Thank You for all the experiences You gave, and for Your wonderful presence over the past month. Continue the good work You began in women’s lives in Europe through the conferences there. And now, Lord, once again give me words to speak to women in North America. And may they capture the vision of how they can participate in building Your kingdom overseas, too. Amen.”

Early Tuesday morning we drove 40 minutes to Arad and boarded the train for a Hungarian destination. This would be a break – a welcome reprieve for us after a very busy month. Time to stop. Time to rest and be refreshed. Time to simply “be.”

We stayed at a hotel in the mountains. A quiet village lay below. Its cobblestone streets beckoned us to stroll and we accepted the invitation. The crisp air, spring songbirds, and gurgling stream tickled our senses. We drank cappuccino and Cokes in a tiny restaurant decorated with red-and-white checkered tablecloths. We ate dinner in another local restaurant and shook our heads when we realized that, as foreigners, we’d been ripped off when we paid the bill. Live and learn.

We stayed less than 48 hours, but we left feeling recharged and ready for the next month of ministry commitments. A cab delivered us to the train station, and off we went to Kosice.

Gene and I spent more time with Tresha and Andy today (The Joshua Project). They’re a tremendous couple loaded with passion about the work God has called them to do. It will be a privilege to raise awareness of their work when I return to Canada. Later in the day we met with Laura V., another IM coworker. She’s a Romanian gal whose passion is connecting with people through teaching English as a second language. The evening was spent with Doug and Roberta – the couple who founded River of Life. Wow – God has an amazing array of servants. Each one is so special and uniquely prepared for the work He’s given them.

Shortly after returning to River of Life, I was able to spend time with a couple of the women there. Donna had said very little to me during the previous days, but now she was the only woman in the room and took advantage of it. She motioned for me to sit on the couch beside her, and then, in very broken English, asked why I had to leave. Our conversation was interrupted repeatedly by children wanting one thing or another so it didn’t result in anything deep, but it was a good time of building a relationship with her. It reminded me of the importance of “being” rather than always “doing.”

Lavinia joined us a few minutes into the conversation. She, too, asked why I had to leave. I tried to explain that I have work to do in Canada, and both women accepted that with a slight nod. Before our time together ended, I told the women that I’d be praying for them. Lavinia’s eyes filled with tears and she said, “Pray I change.” She pointed towards her two-year-old daughter who was playing on the floor nearby. I knew what she meant. As a woman who grew up in the infamous orphanage setting, she didn’t receive proper nurturing. Now she’s finding it a huge challenge to parent her daughter in a healthy way. Tears rolled down her cheeks as I explained that God will help her change as she relies on Him for strength.

“Father, embrace these women and impress upon their hearts that You love them deeply. Change them from the inside out. Transform them into women who reflect the character of Jesus Christ and the fruit of the Spirit. In Your name, Amen.”

River of Life care home

Today I found a way to connect with the Romanian women living at River of Life by offering to either braid or curl their hair. One gal, 23-year-old Lavinia, eagerly agreed so I spent the next 10 or 15 minutes French braiding her shoulder-length hair. Within a few minutes, however, she undid it.
The beauty shop in full swing.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her. “Why did you take out the braid?”

“I no like,” she said in her low, gravelly voice. “I want you curl it.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “But you’ll have to wait your turn.”

“Okay,” she said.

And so I turned my attention and curling iron onto a 12-year-old girl. Lavinia waited patiently, jumping up several times to chase her cute-as-a-button daughter Ema, age 2. Rosie, a pregnant mother with two elementary-age daughters shyly motioned that she wanted a French braid, too. And then her youngest child tiptoed my way wearing a sweet smile and a hopeful expression. And so the beauty shop kicked into full swing. Beside us, three of the youngest children lined up their little chairs and sat in a row playing their own version of beauty shop. It was a fun time for all.

The Saturday afternoon ladies’ meeting.

After lunch the women gathered around a long table for a cup of coffee and a meeting. Several village women, local believers, joined us. I presented a simple version of one of my speaking topics – “Overcoming the Pain and Shame of One’s Past.” When I think of these women’s pasts and the heartache they’ve endured, I wonder how they’ve even lived this long. Sexually and physically abused, homeless, growing up in hell-hole orphanages, these women are testimonies of a human’s ability to survive against incredible odds. Their lives carry scars – one seems skittish at times, as though she expects someone to hit her. Their critical thinking skills are challenged. Their parenting skills need a lot of encouragement.

Quite frankly, I feel as though handing them Scriptural platitudes is like a slap in the face. Christian lingo has neither place nor useful purpose. These gals need practical help and to be loved as Christ would love them. And that’s what they’re finding here. They’re the widows described in Scripture – abandoned and rejected. They’re the widows for whom Christ’s followers are commanded to care. How many more widows are out there? How many people are willing to go and lend a helping hand?
Gene checking Tante Maria’s blood pressure. She’s a Christian neighbor who came for the ladies’ meeting.

The harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few. “God, shake us from our comfy pews and teach us to value what You value. Plant within our hearts a passion for what You say is important.”

Andy and Tresha, another IM couple, picked us up and drove us nearly three hours to their place of ministry. Together with Claudia and Tony, a Romanian IM couple, they run The Joshua Project – a care center for teens with HIV/AIDS. This ministry enables these young people to enjoy life and introduces them to Christ by loving them as He would. I don’t think my life will ever be the same.

The care center – a remodeled house – operates like a drop-in facility three afternoons each week. Twelve teenagers showed up today. In some cases, they travel up to three hours by bus to spend a few hours at the center. These kids are hungry for love and acceptance.
Our IM coworkers with a few of the teens who participate in The Joshua Project.
Tresha explained that the stigma of HIV/AIDS in Romania is huge, mostly due to a lack of education. People are extremely fearful and uninformed about how it’s transmitted, so they handle those who are ill like modern-day lepers. For example, sometimes parents leave their small sick children on a garbage heap. School-age children are not allowed to attend school or work. Some receive treatment through donations from other countries, but most don’t receive necessary medications because of financial constraints. When they die, the government typically buries them as paupers in unmarked graves. That is, unless they’ve been a part of The Joshua Project. “They’re forgotten in life,” says Tresha. “I won’t allow them to be forgotten in death, too.”

The disease is spreading rapidly in Romania. Years ago, children were vaccinated using the same needles. Some of these kids had been infected with HIV by their mothers at birth, or had received bad blood transfusions in the past, but no one knew they were now carrying the deadly virus. Sometimes women receive infected blood during surgery and they unknowingly spread the virus to their husbands. Men contract it as a result of having sex with prostitutes.

The method of contamination varies, but the result is the same. People become ill and eventually die. But in the meantime, this project is determined to help these teenagers live life to the full. Today, Claudia, a professional counselor, led them in a painting project. Bowls of popcorn, peanuts, and Snickers bars were devoured. Gene shared a devotional about God wanting to be our best friend through life’s ups and downs, rather than being a distant God who sits far off in the heavens oblivious to what’s happening in our lives. Then Tresha and Claudia invited whoever wanted to pray with them or us as we stood at one end of the room. Eleven teens rose to their feet and came to us. What a precious time of prayer and singing together.

As the afternoon passed, the kids warmed up to us. They challenged us to play ping-pong with them, and they enjoyed my taking pictures of them. When five o’clock rolled around and it was time to go home, they stood in line to hug us and have their pictures taken with us. Then they hung around the foyer not wanting to leave. They asked if we will return someday. Our answer was, “Yes. We’ll come to your teen camp in September.” How could we say anything else? These precious young people, rejected by society for a disease they carry due to circumstances beyond their control, need Jesus. The only way they’ll find Him is through His people showing them His love. We want to be a part of this.

This was a l-o-n-g day, and one filled with adventure. We caught a city bus bound for the train station in Kosice at 5:30, and boarded a train shortly after 6 o’clock. We arrived a half hour late in Budapest, Hungary, so we missed our connection. That meant waiting another couple hours for the next train. No problem. We just walked down the street, got some cash from a bank machine, and went to a little restaurant for a hot lunch to kill time.

The next ride was about five hours long. Oh my, it was HOT in that berth. There were five people in a six-person berth with luggage at our knees. A college girl sat facing me – we were by the windows, which also is by the heat register, which is controlled by the engineers. She and I were roasting but when we tried to open the window to get some cool air, the lady by the door let us know that she didn’t want that. She had a big sweater that she could have put on to stay warm if she got too chilly but that wasn’t her way of doing things. And so we sweltered until she got off.

An hour later we arrived at the Hungarian border crossing into Romania. Hungarian police officers boarded the train to check everyone’s identification. Apparently there was a problem with Gene’s passport. The police, who spoke no English, motioned for us to take our suitcases and said something like, “Go policia.” We tried to ask a few questions about what was happening but it was no use. They had our passports and were not about to give them back. We finally had to just get off the train and walk to the nearby police station. Seven uniformed officers walked with us. They were all very nice, but I admit that my imagination began to go a little crazy. Were we being led to a small room with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling? Were we about to be interrogated? Maybe even spend the night in a Hungarian jail?

When we got to the station, they told us to go into a (you guessed it) little room and sit down. And then they started questioning Gene about when he entered the Shenghan (sp?) zone – the term used for a region in Europe where there are no longer border crossings between countries. He kept telling them that he came into Kosice on Monday, two days ago. They were not satisfied. They asked more and more questions about his travels and asked why he didn’t have a stamp in his passport to show when he entered the zone. He said that the customs official in Kosice stamped his passport when he entered Slovakia, but that wasn’t the answer they wanted. Finally they asked for his airline tickets (he had his boarding passes and tickets), and his train tickets for today’s travels. They took both our passports along with the other info and disappeared. They left one officer with us – he spoke English fairly well.

We think he took this opportunity to practice his English. He asked about our children, seemed surprised that we would have a grandchild, asked about our job, etc. Then he asked if we celebrate Easter in Canada. We said yes. I said that that Good Friday celebrates the death of Christ and Easter Sunday celebrates His resurrection. He nodded with enthusiasm and said, “Yes, yes!” I asked him if he has read the Bible and he said that he has one at home. I told him that my father died two weeks ago and that because of what Jesus did, only his body is in the grave. His soul is in heaven with Jesus. He listened quietly and then said, “This is wonderful.”

We spent about two hours with this fellow. During this time he mentioned the Jewish people several times, especially in the context of their suffering in concentration camps. After we get home, we’ll try to find him a copy of Corrie ten Boom’s book The Hiding Place and mail it to him. Before we left, I gave him two granola bars for his children (he’d shown us a photo of his two little ones and his wife). He quickly slipped them into his pants pocket and thanked us.

When our documents were finally returned, he helped carry our bags to the nearby train station where I passed out chocolate to three people who were also waiting. Seeing their pleased reaction to the unexpected treat was more fun than throwing a party. Another hour and a half passed, and suddenly our new friend showed up. “Come with me,” he said. He grabbed one of our suitcases and escorted us outside to the platform. When the train pulled in, he walked us onto it. He shook our hands and asked us to write a postcard when we get home, telling him that we arrived safely.

What in the world was that about??? Only God knows, but I have a feeling it was more about our friend than about a passport. His daughter’s name is Esther – a Jewish name. We talked about how it’s a Bible name for a very brave queen. “She saved an entire nation,” he said. When he told us that his wife’s name is Elizabeth, I explained that she was the mother of John in the Bible. He looked blank. He said that he didn’t know who this John was because he hasn’t read his Bible much.

Perhaps his appetite was stirred to read the Book as a result of our visit with him. At any rate, we have a contact in Hungary in whose heart we believe God is working. Pray that he’ll read the Bible and come to a knowledge of the truth!

The whole situation felt surreal as Gene and I sat on the couch in Diane’s living room, watching the video of family and friends celebrating my dad’s life. I think the enormity of what I’d missed suddenly struck me as I watched the pallbearers carry Dad’s casket from the hearse to the gravesite. Four chairs were placed beside the casket – one for Mom, one for my brother, another for my sister, and the fourth for me. Three chairs were filled and one sat empty…until my sister invited Gene to take my place. One by one, each immediately family member stepped to the casket, spoke a few words in Dad’s honor, and placed a carnation on the top. Unfortunately their voices weren’t picked up by the mic, so I wasn’t able to hear what they said.

Thankfully that wasn’t a problem for the memorial service. I could hear every word that was spoken, and they were totally God-honoring. The service paid tribute to Dad and gave glory to the Lord for a life well-lived. While I grieve the loss of my dad, I rejoice in the fact that he’s whole and in heaven. I can only imagine what an Easter celebration must be like there!

The rest of the day was spent with our IM coworkers. I’m so blessed by their concern for me through the loss of my father. And I’m incredibly blessed and excited to see how God uses these people to accomplish His purposes. Their perseverance is to be commended. Working conditions here aren’t what they’d be in North America. Bureaucracy and political red tape can complicate the simplest task. Internet disruptions can cause all kinds of trouble when trying to process overseas government documents. Public transportation glitches can wreak havoc when running late. There are numerous reasons for them to grow discouraged and weary, but these folks have the tough stuff it takes to survive and thrive here. “Bless them, Lord. Grant them strength for their road. Direct their steps. And lead them beside the still waters, restoring their souls when they’re weary.”

This was our last travel day for this speaking tour. I’m amazed at the stamina I’ve had, especially considering the emotional load I’ve had to process at the same time. All I can say is, “God is good.” I’m so thankful for Diane’s companionship over the past 12 days, and for the many people back home who have been praying for me. Therein lies the reason for this trip’s success.

This morning Diane and I took a four-hour train ride to Cracow where our IM friend Iwona met us at the station for our one-hour layover. Bless her heart! “I’m caring for the strangers in my land,” she said with a smile. Then she directed us to a snack shop equipped with small tables and chairs and proceeded to unpack a roast chicken lunch for us. She has been such a source of joy to us on this trip. I look forward to deepening my friendship with her over time, despite the distance.

The most incredible thing happened when we boarded the train to continue our journey to Kosice, Slovakia. Out of nowhere appeared the same little man who’d helped us with our luggage in the Cracow station nine days prior! I didn’t even see him coming. Suddenly, there he was, picking up my suitcases and carrying them onto the train for me. He hoisted them onto the luggage rack overhead, just as he did before. (I’m sure they were nearly half his weight). Diane paid him, and he gently took her hand and kissed the back of it. Then he turned to me. Without even a glance at my face, he gently took my right hand and planted a feather-light kiss on the back of it. And then he was gone.

Amidst numerous platforms and levels in the train station, his finding us a second time was nothing short of miraculous. Diane and I like to think he was an angel sent to help us with our heavy bags, a kindness sent to remind us that our heavenly Father was watching over us.

Gene flew into Kosice this afternoon. After two weeks apart, it was great to see him again. He brought the video of my dad’s funeral, he said. Tomorrow I’ll watch it and enter a new leg of this emotional journey – one I’ve not traveled before.