Bine Ati Venit!
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 throughout my travel time. After I learned that my connection from Rome to Bucharest had been re-booked and that I would need completely new baggage receipts, the woman behind the Alitalia counter was very skeptical of my visa situation and went to verify if she could even issue me a new ticket. She suddenly had the power to deny my boarding the plane to Rome, so I prayed. Coming back with a ticket and best wishes, she assured me that I would have to buy a one-way ticket back to the States immediately if visa problems ensued at the Bucharest airport. Shaken by this vulnerability and relieved just to get on my plane, I found that I was assigned to an aisle seat, with an empty seat between the neighboring passenger and me. The pretty girl in the other seat seemed happy with the roomy situation for a trans-Atlantic flight as well, and as we began chatting, I asked her where she was going. “Romania,” came the accented reply. What? Romania? When I told her that it was my destination as well, we were both amazed. Incredibly, she was born in Romania and moved with her family to the States when she was 8 but still makes a yearly trip back to Romania for a month during the summer. Our fascinating conversation over the Atlantic turned into a sense of companionship when we landed in Rome. The bewildering experience of the Rome airport and our boarding problems made this companionship a relief. We shared excitement on the flight to Bucharest, she even helping me with Romanian translation. She waited to make sure that I made it through customs, and after hugging good-bye at the baggage claim, I knew she was unaware of her role in the Kingdom that day.
After feeling the weight of my luggage and sudden aloneness at the airport, I lumbered out to the waiting area looking for a man I’d never seen. Thankfully, George was taller than those around him and waved when he saw me scanning the crowd with feigned confidence. George was wearing his wings on the inside, because he stayed with me from the moment we got on a bus leaving the airport to the moment he ensured that I was safely on the train. Our hours together were such a blessing, as he took care of me completely. He even darted back into the train car when he noticed from the platform a wily beggar approaching me.
My train ride through the Romanian countryside was 6-7 hours, and as much as I enjoyed quietly watching the patchwork of sunflower fields, crops, and villages passing by, I became anxious at the thought of getting myself and all my luggage off the train in only 2-3 minutes. Because all the stops were unannounced and in the dark, I imagined nearly missing the stop, throwing my suitcases onto the platform just as the train was accelerating to leave, the doors closing abruptly in my face, and my standing there helplessly on my way to Greece. It was such an unpleasant image that I had my internal frame strapped on nearly 40 minutes before arrival...ha! Because of how the Lord had provided for all my needs throughout the trip, however, I knew He had someone on the train for me.
Remarkably, it was another George, only this one was middle-aged and a composer of twenty years from Bucharest. He was an artistic-looking chain smoker, routinely getting up to stand at the door of the car every time the train slowed for a stop. He seemed curious of me most of the ride, but since I had my determined, disinterested, and it’s-completely-natural-that-this-clearly-non-Romanian-red-head-is-traveling-alone-with-all-these-suitcases look, he made no attempt to talk to me until I finally ventured, “Petrosani, da?” We had a broken exchange but were able to communicate decently well, he marveling at the weight of my backpack and being astonished when I swung it up onto my back. He was so impressed by my strength and good piano hands that he told me to call him and gave me his card. Knowing less Romanian made for a more harmonious outcome at this point, as any other overtures landed flat. (Monsma, the pun is for you!) Just the same, George was insistent on helping me with my luggage, averring that he would turn into “superman.” No capes ever came of the matter, but his help was so appreciated.
When I saw Dana’s face at the train door amid the mulling people, I just thanked the Lord in heaven. Driving into Lupeni in the dark was profoundly surreal. I did not know if I would ever see this place again in my life, but now, I am back to live. I have had my jet-lagged, adrenaline-laced eyes and ears peeled open and am gulping in the sights and sounds, almost like the Romanian man on the train gulping lemonade from a prodigious 2-litre bottle between handfuls of sunflower seeds. I've chosen not to evaluate my emotions now or over the next few days, as I'm in this state of thoughts both racing and standing still, senses whirring alive and trembling overwhelmed. I’ve ran to the terrace window or stopped on the street so often today, staring out and watching the city sprawling against the mountains. A funeral procession moving down the street, a horse-drawn wagon with bells jingling from the horse’s halter, the same dank smell of the apartment stairwell, howling dogs, Romanian echoing through the window, the fresh produce of the farmer’s market, brunza sunca, Borsec water, pink toilet paper, the guards at Penny Market, late night rain pouring off the terrace, the 500 ft. smokestack still standing sentinel over the city – so many things have changed and so many have stayed the same. Perhaps it is I who have changed the most. I went on a long walk with Dana, Brandi, and Briana today, following a rocky road up into the mountainside and along a beautiful stream. The shafts of light filtering into the trees and mountain glades were so beautiful, blessing of nature hiding structures of Communism. I have been here before, yet I am experiencing this place again for the first time.
Thunder rumbles across the mountains. This blog must end and I must go to sleep, though jet-lag has kept me up until nearly 1:30AM. Tomorrow, we are going up to Straja mountain for part of Viata training. Thank you again to all of you who prayed through my travel and who have prayed far beyond the edge of tomorrow. The steps I have taken in the last 36 hours are ones I have been waiting to take again since leaving, ones that are now significant to the rest of my life. God has made these steps firm, and I know that I am here for such a time as this.
Until next time, be well and be blessed.
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 throughout my travel time. After I learned that my connection from Rome to Bucharest had been re-booked and that I would need completely new baggage receipts, the woman behind the Alitalia counter was very skeptical of my visa situation and went to verify if she could even issue me a new ticket. She suddenly had the power to deny my boarding the plane to Rome, so I prayed. Coming back with a ticket and best wishes, she assured me that I would have to buy a one-way ticket back to the States immediately if visa problems ensued at the Bucharest airport. Shaken by this vulnerability and relieved just to get on my plane, I found that I was assigned to an aisle seat, with an empty seat between the neighboring passenger and me. The pretty girl in the other seat seemed happy with the roomy situation for a trans-Atlantic flight as well, and as we began chatting, I asked her where she was going. “Romania,” came the accented reply. What? Romania? When I told her that it was my destination as well, we were both amazed. Incredibly, she was born in Romania and moved with her family to the States when she was 8 but still makes a yearly trip back to Romania for a month during the summer. Our fascinating conversation over the Atlantic turned into a sense of companionship when we landed in Rome. The bewildering experience of the Rome airport and our boarding problems made this companionship a relief. We shared excitement on the flight to Bucharest, she even helping me with Romanian translation. She waited to make sure that I made it through customs, and after hugging good-bye at the baggage claim, I knew she was unaware of her role in the Kingdom that day.
After feeling the weight of my luggage and sudden aloneness at the airport, I lumbered out to the waiting area looking for a man I’d never seen. Thankfully, George was taller than those around him and waved when he saw me scanning the crowd with feigned confidence. George was wearing his wings on the inside, because he stayed with me from the moment we got on a bus leaving the airport to the moment he ensured that I was safely on the train. Our hours together were such a blessing, as he took care of me completely. He even darted back into the train car when he noticed from the platform a wily beggar approaching me.
My train ride through the Romanian countryside was 6-7 hours, and as much as I enjoyed quietly watching the patchwork of sunflower fields, crops, and villages passing by, I became anxious at the thought of getting myself and all my luggage off the train in only 2-3 minutes. Because all the stops were unannounced and in the dark, I imagined nearly missing the stop, throwing my suitcases onto the platform just as the train was accelerating to leave, the doors closing abruptly in my face, and my standing there helplessly on my way to Greece. It was such an unpleasant image that I had my internal frame strapped on nearly 40 minutes before arrival...ha! Because of how the Lord had provided for all my needs throughout the trip, however, I knew He had someone on the train for me.
Remarkably, it was another George, only this one was middle-aged and a composer of twenty years from Bucharest. He was an artistic-looking chain smoker, routinely getting up to stand at the door of the car every time the train slowed for a stop. He seemed curious of me most of the ride, but since I had my determined, disinterested, and it’s-completely-natural-that-this-clearly-non-Romanian-red-head-is-traveling-alone-with-all-these-suitcases look, he made no attempt to talk to me until I finally ventured, “Petrosani, da?” We had a broken exchange but were able to communicate decently well, he marveling at the weight of my backpack and being astonished when I swung it up onto my back. He was so impressed by my strength and good piano hands that he told me to call him and gave me his card. Knowing less Romanian made for a more harmonious outcome at this point, as any other overtures landed flat. (Monsma, the pun is for you!) Just the same, George was insistent on helping me with my luggage, averring that he would turn into “superman.” No capes ever came of the matter, but his help was so appreciated.
When I saw Dana’s face at the train door amid the mulling people, I just thanked the Lord in heaven. Driving into Lupeni in the dark was profoundly surreal. I did not know if I would ever see this place again in my life, but now, I am back to live. I have had my jet-lagged, adrenaline-laced eyes and ears peeled open and am gulping in the sights and sounds, almost like the Romanian man on the train gulping lemonade from a prodigious 2-litre bottle between handfuls of sunflower seeds. I've chosen not to evaluate my emotions now or over the next few days, as I'm in this state of thoughts both racing and standing still, senses whirring alive and trembling overwhelmed. I’ve ran to the terrace window or stopped on the street so often today, staring out and watching the city sprawling against the mountains. A funeral procession moving down the street, a horse-drawn wagon with bells jingling from the horse’s halter, the same dank smell of the apartment stairwell, howling dogs, Romanian echoing through the window, the fresh produce of the farmer’s market, brunza sunca, Borsec water, pink toilet paper, the guards at Penny Market, late night rain pouring off the terrace, the 500 ft. smokestack still standing sentinel over the city – so many things have changed and so many have stayed the same. Perhaps it is I who have changed the most. I went on a long walk with Dana, Brandi, and Briana today, following a rocky road up into the mountainside and along a beautiful stream. The shafts of light filtering into the trees and mountain glades were so beautiful, blessing of nature hiding structures of Communism. I have been here before, yet I am experiencing this place again for the first time.
Thunder rumbles across the mountains. This blog must end and I must go to sleep, though jet-lag has kept me up until nearly 1:30AM. Tomorrow, we are going up to Straja mountain for part of Viata training. Thank you again to all of you who prayed through my travel and who have prayed far beyond the edge of tomorrow. The steps I have taken in the last 36 hours are ones I have been waiting to take again since leaving, ones that are now significant to the rest of my life. God has made these steps firm, and I know that I am here for such a time as this.
Until next time, be well and be blessed.
Incredible, Linds
ReplyDeleteSweet! So glad to hear that you made it. Literally checking your blog 3-4x a day. Love you Willie...Beans.
ReplyDelete