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One week until Christmas in Romania, and on my heart is gratitude. I just returned from saying good-bye to the last North American I will see in this region until next year. A colleague walked me back through the dark streets to my apartment, and as we tossed snow glittering gold under the yellow street lights, I would not have chosen to be any other place. Though I will ever be a foreigner, nearly half a year here finds me less a stranger. All the relationships I've formed with Romanians have woven me into this place, and among the threads, I have found a home.

I wish you could come for a moment and see through my eyes, see all these images that run past the edges of language. I wish you could come with me for an hour, hear your own footsteps echoing down the stairwell, receding as you push open the heavy red door, falling silent as you step out into a different world. Today, you would see bright blue sky -- finally, after cold days of rain and heavy clouds that have sent children scampering to school under small umbrellas and thick hoods, clinging to their mothers' gloved hands. There's a school outside my window, a gradinita , or kindergarten, with white-rimmed windows. Pigeons often roost on the red-tiled roof or fly in patterns nearby, glinting grey-white when there's sun. A cement path leads up to the front door of all those years of education and cuts through a red fence that runs around the property's perimeter, separating the school from the apartment blocs. When I wake, I often go to my window and look out through the...

The series of unfortunate events that transpired this morning has already been righted! Well, mostly. Robi may be the Romanian modern-day version of a super-hero, as he has kept me from demise more than twice. He's a professional rockclimber and fix-anything guy who knows how to put real zest into " ceau, ceau ." Many of you will remember that I came down with food poisoning in the Retezat mountains two years ago, and because two others and I were too ill to trek out, Robi came careening over the narrow mountain road in his red Dacia to collect our limp frames and take us home. Seeing him emerge at Poiana Pelegii with that Dacia was one of the most blessed sights I'd seen, and even while listening to "Bette Davis Eyes" play on a repeat track of five songs over that three hour drive, Robi seemed to have plucked us from the hand of a wasting disease called cascaval cheese and sausage. When Daniel told me that Robi would be coming around noon today, I knew the ...

Though I try to avoid the Monday mentality, some Mondays do seem to have a mind of their own, regardless of the mindset we choose. Just to give you some perspective into my glamorous Eastern European life, here's a small anecdote from the past 24 hours: Late last evening, the neighbor immediately below me in this stairwell came tapping at my door with a problem. Something from my bathroom was leaking into hers, and after investigating first mine and then following her downstairs to examine hers, we decided that a small pool of water on my bathroom floor was the culprit. It's an area that nearly always stays wet, but after sponging up the water, I hoped the problem would be resolved. My neighbor below was indubitably hoping the same, though she must have doubted my capacity to fix a single thing upon seeing me standing perplexed at the door in my bright purple knee socks with obnoxious pink hearts on the side. This morning, I woke up with a start-the-day-right kind of resolve, b...

You exhale desperation, murmur syllables like a sigh. Tears cut a path down your cheek, breaking at your feet upon ground parched for compassion. I beg you, tell me the story sliding down your face. Cum te numesti? Nicoleta , you say, startled to be no longer a beggar but human, fitting into a plastic bag the weight of your griefs. The handles dig into your hand with each step, reminding you that this is all you have -- this and a child to feed, he your only crumb from the family scattered behind. I hug you good-bye but am suddenly turning back, pulling from my bag a loaf of bread and two pears. My hands are all that can speak to you. Again I pull your life into my arms, willing upon it mercy for this road of unforgiveness. I glance back to watch you, but you are already staring after me, holding your white bag. You wave and keep looking over your shoulder, like one peering through the dusk after fading light -- but no longer are you alone in the dark. Someone knows your name.

My dear family and friends, buna ziua from the other side of the ocean! As if writing this blog were not difficult enough, I'm now fantastically behind. The events of a month ago seem to have already happened in a slightly different lifetime, but my! how much I have to tell you! Since it remains impossible to capture or express all that has been happening when so much comes tumbling forth from each day, I must again hope that a smattering of images will bring you alongside me. I will be posting some updates over the next week, but for those of you who were constructing all sorts of wild speculation as to my activities in this intervening time, take a look at the link below: http://www.new-horizons.ro/about_us/staff.asp?page=4 This is real , which still seems unreal! But I could not do this alone. So many of you reading this blog are faithfully partnering with me in this journey. Your presence in my life is a precious, daily gift. No matter where I climb, you are standing with me. ...

This Tuesday, I will be teaching the Jiu Valley’s 4th ballet class! Little would I have imagined when training for years in the States that my abiding love for dance would eventually find expression in post-Communist Romania. I know many of you have been praying specifically for the little feet that would come to this hopeful ballet class, and have the little feet come indeed! I had 6 children my first class, 9 my second class, and 12 this past Tuesday! For Lupeni and the Jiu Valley, this is simply incredible. Because of the high levels of distrust and suspicion among these mothers, the increase of children every week has been an unfolding miracle. Most of you know that the possibility for this class arose when Brandi (Dana Bates' wife who partnered with him in founding New Horizons) realized I was a dancer and asked if I would be willing to teach her 4-year-old aspiring ballerina Briana and any other little Romanian girls who might be interested. Of course, I was completely astoni...

Happy Wedding Day, Jacque and Kenton!!! I love you both so much and am standing with you in spirit! It is so incredibly hard not to be able to be there right now. If only the Atlantic were not so much larger than a pond, but my heart has been crossing it constantly today in thought and prayer for you. May pure joy abound in every way as you begin your life together this day! Much, much love from Romania. :)

In her provocative book Café Europa , Slavenka Drakulic explains that Eastern European “people were forced to jump from a village into a city, to make the giant leap from feudalism to communism, without the time or education to develop a civic society and all its values and habits, from the concept of private property to human rights…” (36-37). This coerced urbanization resulted in country folk bringing the country to the city. In Lupeni, evidences of this history are still seen in the interaction of peasant culture with city life…or heard in the rhythmic clopping of horse-drawn wagons down the main street, carrying all manner of farmer and cargo right alongside the cars. While walking with friends along the main road a couple evenings ago, I heard the customary clopping but soon stopped to watch in astonishment as two beautiful unbridled horses ambled across the street, through a hedge of bushes, across the sidewalk in front of us, and into the adjacent park. What?! Returning down th...

There are just as many, if not more, stray dogs as when I was here last. Bucharest has two million stray dogs, and I’ve heard from a few sources now that dogs from the city are captured and released in this region. Regardless of where they are coming from, the dogs are clearly demonstrating the principle of multiplication! I’ve seen big dogs, little dogs, dirty dogs, sick dogs, maimed dogs, mating dogs, puppy dogs – and all in the city. In Oman, Muscat was plagued by feral cats, waiting like bloodhounds for scraps, climbing onto restaurant tables to pull off anything uneaten, lying out like flea-ridden carpets on the pavement, ambling closer with that starved eye. Here, the dogs are similarly pitiful and would eat pumpkin seeds if given the opportunity, but at least the Omani felines didn’t run in packs at night. Mosquitoes also fall into this category of gross multiplication and proliferation. I accumulated some 40 bites just on my arms over the course of a week. One of my Armenian ap...

“She’s apparently been stomping around the mountains over there for the last four weeks, but what is she actually doing ?” You are not alone if you have this wondering, because I am still discovering the answer to this question…and will continue discovering it until the day I leave! You will see my work unfold through these posts over the upcoming months, but for now, I’ll make some brief observations on returning to the Fundatia. I think NGO work can be legitimately described as organized chaos. Being here as a volunteer has been completely different than being here as a student. During the first two weeks, I felt that I was suspended in a giant nebulae, trying to find my footing in such a new capacity. I have been simultaneously bewildered, energized, overwhelmed, and inspired. I’ve felt extremely weak and incredibly strong. All these feelings have been part of an adjustment process, a daily re-learning of this place. New Horizons is growing exponentially, and as I have come to join ...

Within my first week of being here, I joined a trip into the mountains with Tibi (an FNO staff person and Regional IMPACT Coordinator) and IMPACT kids from the Jiu Valley. I was in a fog of jet-lag and cultural re-entry, but since I came back to Romania with a heart for IMPACT and building relationships with IMPACT kids, I decided to pull out my hiking boots and leave the rest of my luggage unpacked. It was the best thing I could have done. Picture this: climbing mountains with 12 Romanian kids ranging from age 11 to 22, only one of whom could speak English; prodigious amounts of white bread; exhaustive use of non-verbal communication; sleeping in a tent with the youngest darling of the group, Isabela, who wondered anxiously if my “snoring” would keep her awake; afternoon downpours; a highly sketchy outhouse; the same pants for three days; thinking the trip was just overnight but discovering it was actually 2 nights and 3 days; talking to myself in English just for the sake of hearing ...

For those of you who were beginning to wonder if I had been chased by a pack of dogs beyond reach of civilization or had another unfortunate encounter with Romanian sausages, rest assured that no such thing has happened – yet! Last Saturday, I did unceremoniously force down a slab of slanina grilled over a fire in the mountains, and though said traditional Romanian delicacy is literally a chunk of pure meatless fat, acculturation sometimes means just swallowing it! Unbelievably, I’ve been in Romania for 4 weeks and am still stunned to actually...be here! Figuring out how to choose some thoughts and words for a public blog has often left me staring out the window. My first conundrum for this blog has been the diversity of audience. Because I deeply value the unique relationships I have with each of you, it's important to me that my writing allows all of you to access and be welcomed into this journey. How can I best do that?! I'm just not sure. My greatest obstacle to writing,...

The Jiu Valley is a paradox of permanence and change. In a half hour, I watch heavy clouds slide over the mountain tops, seeping fog down the mountain tresses and pressing darkness against the afternoon sun. Thunder echoes across Lupeni, pounding lightening bolts over the eastern edge of the city and in the foothills. The warm breeze of a few minutes ago is swept into confusion, blowing my hair against my face. The streets are suddenly less full; children scream and run. Visibly the rain approaches, folding the city beneath grey sheets. Wide-thrown drops begin to wet my skin as I watch, mesmerized. In this moment, I am invisible. I am an observer listening intently for every sound, forgetting to breathe, and completely spellbound. Endings merge with beginnings, waiting coalesces with realizing -- and for a moment, my thoughts cease as I feel again rain on the other side of the world.

I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted, and behold, service was joy. -Rabindranath Tagore

I AM BACK!! I am back. I have been in the Jiu Valley for nearly 24 hours and am still soaking in the reality. Thank you to all of you who have been so faithful to hold me up in prayer. All the divine appointments during my travel here made their locations on time, and as I prayed my way through each place, I felt the numerous prayers that had already gone before me. When I was flying toward Chicago and watching the square miles of cropland blur through my tears, I felt literally lifted up by the hands of so many of you who love me and deeply believe in me. Saying good-bye at the airport to the two people who are embedded in my very being was truly a rending, but no matter what I do or do not accomplish here in Romania, being so loved by them and by all of you will continue to be the most abiding blessing in my life. In being loved, we find the courage to be ourselves -- to try, to fail, and to fly. For this post, I want to mention three people who were clearly positioned throug...

I leave the day after tomorrow. So quickly this long-awaited day has come... ...but finally, I think I am ready. It's time.

Welcome to the beginning of a completely new journey! To those of you who will periodically or regularly read my blog, I deeply appreciate your care, support, and prayers. As I prepare to step on a one-way flight Monday morning, your standing behind me and keeping watch on the wall unspeakably strengthens my spirit. I named the web address of this blog “holding by the edges,” because in so many ways, I am. Though I’m returning to a place I have been before, I am holding by the edges something much larger than I, seeking to grasp with childlike understanding a reality much older. I am an infant in the shadow of the world’s vast need, asking God to teach me again how to walk through broken places with the childlike faith that so delights Him. Four months in Romania in 2007 began steeping me in a complex social history, one that I have since spent my Honors Research and an advanced writing project studying. The paradox of Romania and its people has been embedded in my thoughts, expressed ...