Location: Miniature sun-room in our apartment in Oradea, Romania (late afternoon on June 4)
Walking is a lot different in the United States and in Europe.
In the United States, some people do fitness walking wearing special sneakers and keeping their arms at a 90 degree bend as they glisten beneathe their stylish jogging suits over handicapped-accessible paved trails. The rest of the time, everyone avoids walking whenever possible.
In Europe, mass transit means walking to and from bus-stops or metro stations, carrying groceries while walking, walking in the rain or snow, and allowing more time to get places because it takes time to walk. On an average day in Europe, I walk more than in an average week or month in the United States. Fortunately, I like walking.
With the arrival of my cousin, N., I have learned a couple of more things about walking. For starters, I think N. has trouble keeping up with me, or even J. (whose legs are shorter than mine), despite his tall and lanky build. Some of that might be him merely hanging back to see what crazy adventure I am leading him into...
More interestingly, though, I learned that, at least in Romania, to "take a walk" means to go on a date. I learned this after my adventures in Cluj yesterday.
While it is true that I left my wonderful mother praying for me in the United States, I have gained several more "moms" here in Romania. My peers, J., V., and H., have all taken up the slack, making sure I am all right no matter what is happening. Not only did I buy train tickets to Cluj successfully in Romanian a couple of days ago, but I made the trip by myself yesterday (receiving three phone calls from my mom-friends en route) to pick up N. I made it to Cluj no problem, but then accidentally hopped a tram that took me to the wrong corner of town. When I realized it, I jumped off, and while returning J.'s phone call, I missed the bus I needed. Keeping an eye on the clock, I still was not too worried when I caught the next bus, until I found out that I was on the Number 6 bus going in the wrong direction. So I changed 6's and headed all the way back into town, the whole time being helped by various Cluj-dwellers who spoke--a lot!--to me only in Romanian. But I understood enough to make it to the other end of the line and switch to the Number 8 (with the help of a boy that was maybe eight-years-old). Now over a half-hour late, I was finally headed to the airport properly.
On that bus I met I., a young Romanian gal who also happened to be going to the airport. We began in Romanian, passed through French, and ended up in English. But we were going to the exact same place, so we helped each other get there (I was nearly 45 minutes late!). N. was quite surprised when I arrived with a new friend, but I think he was secretly relieved to be freed from his airport captivity. ("Yes, yes I was!" he just affirmed.) Before we left, we received instructions from I. on how to return most directly to the train station. Since she was so helpful, I carefully asked if she would be comfortable giving me her phone number in case we needed any help when we come back through Cluj in a few weeks. That's when she asked if I was wanting to "take a walk" or something. I thought that was bizarre, until I later had that English translated into Romanian context: a date!
We arrived back in Oradea in time for me to (finally!) pick up my laundry. It all seems to have been dry-cleaned (despite my specific instructions to the contrary), and N. says I am the only guy he knows who has had is "undies" dry-cleaned!
We then dodged a rain storm and met I. in town to get the key, making it the apartment with a lot of baggage, in time for N. to get a shower and an early start on sleeping. However, we had an unexpected prayer session a little while later, so I think his "pace" was interrupted for the first hour or so!
This morning we spent a couple of hours working with the kids at the center below us, and then we were introduced to the "Sam's Club" of Oradea, which actually is a different store with the same concept. From there we grabbed a sandwich, and then we met J. at a nearby hardware store to pick up parts for the chair we are working on for her, and only now made it home.
I always have more to write, and I hope to post some photos of the chair project and of the Romanian countryside from yesterday's train-ride, but I also have more life happening. We're going to go get dinner before we meet up with the youth in the park for some American football!
I'll write more when I can--thank you for your prayers! I am praying for you, too!
This blog is your opportunity to travel with me wherever I am in the world, during both the mundane and exciting moments of life that I humbly recognize as holy. As I bare my life to you, may your reading take you beyond my words to the Word, beyond my life to the Life, beyond the chaos to the Truth, and beyond teachings to the Teacher--the Rabboni. I promise it will be an adventure, and by the end, may you, too, truly know the Way!
A Rose From Home
My Story (As prepared for my church congregation this spring--2009)
I have a story to tell you. I am the main character, but the story is not about me. I have traveled several parts of the world, but my adventure has been closer to home. I am twenty-six years old. My story begins like many of yours…
I grew up going to church. I had been born into a family who labeled themselves “Christian,” in a country that labels itself “Christian.” Every Sunday found me attending a worship service and Sunday school in a mainline denomination church. I served as an acolyte, attended Vacation Bible School, helped my dad count and record the offering money, sang in the youth choir, was a leader in the youth group, and occasionally served as liturgist. Baptized as an infant, I was confirmed at the age of twelve, thus becoming an “official” member of the church. Then, hurt by the church, my family left to find another.
Have you ever been hurt by the Church?
After months of searching, we settled into a very large independent church. Things were different there, and I was quickly welcomed and at home among new friends that truly had a passion for Jesus. The Word of God was taught boldly from the pulpit, and I was introduced to a missions-aware lifestyle. So it was with regret that I said goodbye only a couple of years later to move with my family to another church. I purposely remained aloof, not wanting to make new friendships before I left for college a year later. Besides, I was loosing my faith—or so I thought—and I didn’t want anyone to know. I was asking scary questions like “Is there really a God?” and, if so, “Is He the Christian God?” and “Would I be Christian if I had been born in another part of the world?”
Have you ever asked yourself unsettling questions about what you believe?
So I headed into college under a cloud of confusion that only worsened for the next two years. Though I didn’t know what I believed anymore, I continued to go to church every Sunday, and to help lead worship in chapel. Most importantly, even during this questioning, I continued my morning habit of daily study of the Bible. I had begun at age twelve, reading at first a chapter per day, then ten minutes each morning, then an half-hour, and so on. So, only by the grace of the very God I doubted, I remained anchored in His Word and in His community, though I felt like a fake most of the time. Since then I have learned that “fake” is the worst insult the world can give us; that is why the label of “hypocrite” is so offensive.
Have you ever felt like a fake?
Six weeks with missionaries in South Africa followed by a year in France began to teach me what life with God is all about. I began rebuilding my faith, this time it belonged to me, in contrast to me borrowing the faith of my parents, church, or anyone else. In my parent’s basement in 2003, on either Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve, I invited Jesus to live in me; perhaps I had done so before, but I didn’t recall—but since 2003, I have never forgotten that moment. Unfortunately, nothing changed. I continued to do my best to act like a Christian, as I had done for so long.
Have you ever found yourself “doing your best” to be a good person, or to act like a Christian?
Though I did not realize it at the time, I was quenching the Spirit, even though I had welcomed Him into my life. During the next few years, the LORD continued to nurture me, and slowly things began to change. Several tough months in Idaho birthed my prayer-life. I spent three years being humbled in a job that was my informal seminary training. In 2007, a short stint in Mexico helped me to see things as they were, and not long afterward, I was baptized by immersion. No baptism of any kind can save a lost soul—only Jesus can do that. However, this baptism was an important covenant between me and God, symbolizing not only my death and resurrection with Jesus and my public profession of faith, but it also my life change, the beginning of my bearing fruit. “For each tree is known by its own fruit…”according to Luke 6:44. During the past year and a half, the LORD has provided me with an informal pastoral internship in my church, teaching me every aspect of discipleship. Simultaneously, I have been studying unceasing prayer and worship. I am now very different than I was five years ago.
In the Book of Acts (which tells the story of the earliest years of the Church) every time a person decided to follow Christ, two things took place—though not always in the same order. Each person experienced a life change, which I call the “baptism of repentance,” as well as the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, which I call the “baptism of the Spirit.” Looking back, I realize that the Holy Spirit was living in me in 2003, but it wasn’t until I surrendered everything to God, as represented by my immersion, that I allowed the Spirit to have His way in me and transform my life. “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now life in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me. (Galatians 2:20)”
Have you invited Jesus to live in you? Have you allowed the Spirit to transform your life?
I tell you this story for two reasons. First, I tell this story in order to boast in the LORD! May God our Father get all praise and glory forever! Second, I tell this story because it is relevant to you. Likely you have heard that I am leaving the country: I have let my light shine before you; please let your light shine within the Church, too! This congregation is in revival, and as each of you allows the Spirit to revive you, the entire Church will be revived and utterly transformed, to the glory of the Most High God. And for His glory is the reason He created us; the reason He sent His only Son to reveal Himself to us; the reason He became Sin for us and died for us on the cross—while we were still sinners; and the reason that He conquered death and offered us eternal life with Him.
It will cost you a lot—in fact, it will cost you everything, your very life. But if you have never surrendered your life to Christ Jesus, if you have never invited Him to send His Spirit into you and to transform your life, then do it right now. Just let go of everything to which you are desperately clinging; stop trying to do it yourself! This is the very reason you are still breathing in this physical life—God has been delaying His judgment of this sinful world because He is waiting for you—2 Peter 3:9 says He wants none to perish!
If you have already invited the Spirit into your life, then live like it! Bear fruit! Anyone and everyone who meets you or knows you or sees you or hears you should know immediately and clearly that Jesus the Christ lives in you and loves them! That is how stark the contrast should be between your life and the world around you!
Have you immersed yourself in God’s Word and in prayer in the last twenty-four hours?
If you call yourself a follower of Christ, then there is no excuse for not communing with Him daily! Anchor yourself in the Word! God has revealed Himself to us through His Son, Jesus Christ, and the Bible is a complete and accurate record of that revelation. And prayer is humbly letting Him love us. Let Him love you! God doesn’t need us, but He wants us! God doesn’t need us to live for Him—He wants to live in and through us! Let us love and fellowship with one another, even when you disagree! Pray for each other—the names in the church directory are a great place to start! Church, we are not only the Body of Christ, but we are the Bride of Christ. We have allowed ourselves to get bedraggled and stained—now let us stand to the glory of God! Let’s let Him purify us, restore us, and love us!
My dear Brothers and Sisters, if you have ever once been blessed by God our Father at work in me, then I urge you, please, take seriously His desire to love and work in you, beyond anything you can ask or imagine! I have told you the beginning of my story—may it end in glory to the Father, in the Name of Jesus, by way of His Spirit.
Now, what is your story?