Revisiting a Romanian Grandma

Last year at the end of our Romanian youth camp, several team members and I strolled through the village where the camp was held. We rounded a corner and discovered a little granny sitting outside her house creating a traditional craft. She had no written pattern to follow. Instead, she was copying an existing creation.

She talked, I listened

She seemed delighted when we Westerners stopped to admire her handiwork, and she launched into a monologue that left us nodding and smiling at her words. When she finally stopped to take a breath, we told her that we spoke only English and that we came from Canada.

The word Canada resonated with Granny. When she launched into round two of her monologue, I caught a few words that sounded similar to words I’d learned in high school French class. If I pieced them together correctly, she was saying that a family member had gone to Canada and she hadn’t seen him since. Then she began to cry. Long story short, I prayed for her and she seemed to appreciate it.

I hoped to see her again

Memories of this precious Romanian grandma stuck with me through the year. When it came time to pack our suitcases at the end of June, I purchased a fabric shopping bag and a container of Earl Gray tea for her. I committed to walking through the village on the last day of camp in hopes of finding her again. And guess what? My desire came true!

We rounded the corner just as we did last year, and there she was…sitting outside her house, on the same bench, but without her craft project. I crossed the street and greeted her. She gave a little smile and motioned for me to sit beside her.

I pulled my laptop from my bag and found the picture of her and I taken last year. She looked closely at the screen, pointed at her eyes, and shook her head. Then she leaned in for a closer look. Her expression changed to one of recognition and delight.

Another monologue. Another prayer. A light kiss on each cheek, and a wave goodbye.

Truly a divine appointment

Later, my husband laughed and said, “I can’t believe you actually found her. She could have been at the store, or in her backyard, or at a friend’s house. But no…she was sitting on the same bench as though she was expecting you.”

Only God knows why I’ve been given the opportunity to meet this Romanian grandma twice. I haven’t a clue why our paths have crossed as they have, but I know there’s a reason. I pray that, despite the language barrier, she will have sensed God’s love for her and the surprise visits will have brought her encouragement.