Camps continue into the summer. Each camp, a new location, a new setting, and a new opportunity to help students learn English and more importantly, each camp opens a door to share the Gospel. Following the two-week camp in Peterfalva, we moved on to a second Reformed High School here in Transcarpathia, Ukraine, in the village of Nagybereg. This camp is one week long and, because we do not organize this camp, we only have a teaching role, it allows us a little rest after the two week Peterfalva camp. We are thankful for this opportunity to spend a week in Nagybereg and we enjoy getting to know both the students and staff at this school. This camp was attended by about 100 students. We enjoyed working with the staff at the Nagybereg Reformed High School and were thankful to God for the collection of volunteer teachers who came together to put this camp on.
Following the Nagybereg camp we took our volunteers (who consisted at this point of Dylan, David Guba – who had joined from Canada and helped us in three camps, and Bogi and Csilla, two local university students) to Slovakia for a one day site seeing trip to the mountains. Our next camp was in Tiszaujvaros, Hungary. This was our second year conducting a camp with the Tiszaujvaros Hungarian Reformed Church. We became acquainted with the church in the winter of 2015 after our van broke down on the highway near the church. The pastors of this congregations quickly came to our aid and put us up for the night. We are thankful to God for the friendship we share with the pastors and members of this church. Now for a second summer in a row we praise God that we could hold a summer English and Outreach camp on the grounds of the church. We hope and pray that through the devotions and worship and by faithfully setting a Christ-like example to the teenage students that the Holy Spirit can use these humble efforts to encourage the seed of faith to grow and flourish. From 9am-3pm, 20-25 students from the community attended this week-long camp for English lessons, devotions and singing, games and activities, and lunch. Here is a link to more photos from these two camps. https://iccdabroad.org/photo-galleries/nagybereg-and-tiszaujvaros-english-camps/
The trip to Hungary and the Ukraine was a great success. In many ways it was much less than I expected, and in most ways much more. When the idea of going first entered my mind and heart I, for the most part, considered it to be an “evangelical event”; one where I would share my love of Christ with others by telling them the “Good News” of the Gospel. What that exactly entailed I didn’t know – but I didn’t think I would be standing on a corner holding a sign. I was a little disappointed to learn that our trip was going to be service-oriented, but soon adjusted to the idea of sawing and hammering as my gift and mission…even that expectation didn’t hold.
Raising the funding was a humbling experience. First, I must admit, that sending out letters expressing the depth of my commitment to Christ was a big step in faith. Some of you didn’t know – and sadly I was comfortable with that. I quickly overcame this feeling and learned to embrace the idea of announcing my love for Christ. It was also difficult to depend almost completely on family and friends for the trip funding. Initially, I just wanted to pay for it myself – but wisely our trip sponsors thought differently. The funding exercise was a test of faith and commitment, a way of putting my full trust in God to provide me what I needed. Thanks to God and to all of you that chose to support me.
Preparing to go on the trip was a wonderful experience in itself. Seven of us in the end were able to make the trip. We met about eight times over the course of preparation. Some I didn’t know, or know well – now I consider all of them close brothers and sisters in Christ. We explored our faith, what our trip goals were, planned our activities and received cultural sensitivity training – you know, the nix on the ugly American routine – instead replaced with Christian patience and a heart prepared to serve. We grew as a team as the anticipation increased – amazingly what seemed would take forever to come, in the end, came very quickly.
With us each step of the way was a committed support team that helped with preparations and, most importantly, kindly assisted our families while we were away. They were our tethers back to our families and a loving hand. We also had a large group praying for us for weeks before our departure, and intensely while we were gone. They prayed for our safety, health, effectiveness and growth. The day finally arrived. I had been beside myself with exploding expectation for several days. After a long volley of prayers, tears and hugs we were off! The trip over was thankfully safe and uneventful.
Wow, we were finally here in Budapest, a modern European city of about 2.5M people. Hungarians are a very proud people — even 60+ years on they are still reeling from the loss of over half their land to surrounding countries. Every map on a wall shows the original size and the current size – a constant reminder that they should never forget. Our accommodations were modern, quaint and altogether satisfactory, save the bed that stole several hours of sleep from me. Our first night we went to a local Reformed Church youth Bible study. We sang several songs I knew and then something special happened. They sang one in Hungarian I didn’t know – what to do? I just closed my eyes and raised my heart in joy as I got my first of many doses of experiencing universal love as the teens sang praise to our Lord’s glory. What an overwhelming emotion; that right there made the trip worth it.
The next morning we were with a mother and baby support group back at the same church. This is a huge step for a church that is traditionally very conservative and altogether hesitant to embrace the full spectrum of the western advances for women. I must say it was very interesting to be one of only 2 men (Jon from our group the other) in the midst of about 20 women and their infants and toddlers. We shared our testimonies and our universal joys and tribulations of raising youngsters. I couldn’t help stare at these mostly young women and their children and realize that, even though eight times zones removed from Colorado, they simply want the same basic safety, comforts and hope for their children as we do.
We took time to tour the “terror museum” dedicated to depicting the horrors inflicted on the Hungarians, first at the hands of the Nazis and then by the Soviet communists. We saw cells where a prisoner couldn’t stand, couldn’t sit, had to sit in six inches of water, or endure terrible bright lights. There were rubber hoses, electrocution machines and a grim and practically designed gallows room. The distant echoes of screams filled my head as I imagined all manner of psychologically brutal torture. Being in Budapest even 12 years after the Soviet’s exited, you can still feel the heaviness in the air, a repression, a veil the Hungarians are still grappling to escape and start anew. The experience seems etched into the faces of the older folks. I found it fascinating the number of high school and college students choosing to study, psychology, sociology, history and seminary. Even the young seem to have issues to understand and work through.
One day we took 37 kids, ages 4-14, on a mission-paid train ride to a famous castle about 90 minutes out of Budapest. It was a rare opportunity for the kids to commune together on an exciting adventure. The countryside was lush and green with occasional thickets of dense leafy forest. The dirt in the fields was almost black — definitely farming country. Once we cleared the city we were rewarded with occasional villages dotting rolling hills – their “Eastern-style” church spires easily visible — what a contrast to the rampant graffiti that covered all the walls of the train. The kids were pumped and we were nervous – how do you keep track of so many little ones? Luckily, we had lots of adults, many who could speak English. The older kids managed to communicate in English – wonder how many of our kids can speak Hungarian… We had a great day despite early rain while we visited the ruins of a once proud and fortified fortress. In the 1500s the Turks lay siege and destroyed it. Over the centuries, it seems that Hungary has been in the cross hairs of each aspiring and growing empire. The day included lunch and a Vacation Bible Study (VBS) program that included stories, songs and lots of laughter. During prayers, one little girl prayed that the rain would stop — minutes later we were playing soccer beneath a partly sunny sky. We have to remember the little miracles too… I was “in charge” of the older rambunctious boys that persistently tried to sneak off. I turned it into a game of hide and seek and by the end of the day we became good friends. Strangers, who rode out on the train, came home as friends with common memories and bonds.
One afternoon we had the opportunity visit a local Budapest Reformed Church high school and teach English. We were given a very crisp introduction of the history of the school, which included years under communist confiscation. We had a chance to address the kids, give short testimonies, and then were peppered with lots of questions. We then broke into smaller groups of about six — I got a personal tour of the school. The kids were all about 16 and full of giggles and blushes as they stammered through their English. They had to collect as much personal information about me as they could and then report in class the next day. I was proud to share pictures of Jody and the kids – they were pleased to know I had a 16 year-old, the girls thought Dan was a cutie. Thomas sticks out in my mind – wearing a Superman tee
shirt that on closer inspection said “JeSus” with a big “S”. His English is exceptional. He expresses a deep desire to become a missionary pastor. We forget sometimes that there are many missionaries around the world targeting America because it is seen as a lost land needing help…
During our stay in Budapest we were blessed with gracious and conscientious interpreters. All of them were young adults (I can say that as I approach my 46th birthday) with a common unity and love for Christ. Kinga, at about 20, is a real story. Sometimes we ask ourselves, did we make any lasting impact on this mission trip? Last year’s team encountered a very different Kinga. As the local pastor’s daughter in a small Transylvanian village, she was suspicious and indifferent to the “intrusive Americans.” That day, VBS attendance was low so the Americans rounded up kids from all over the village including gypsies and Catholics. Kinga’s father was appalled to see them in his church where normally they would be excluded. But his heart saw that it was right and let it continue. Today his church is filled with gypsies and Catholics alike – and Kinga is one of the main Reform Church interpreters and guides for incoming American missionary teams –praise God for changed hearts coming from even small efforts.
Our other guides, Akosh and Abraham, are pastors. Akosh teaches at the local high school we visited – what a gentle, gracious and kind man with a passion for Hungary, children and Christ. Abraham is another amazing story. He grew up in Romania under cruel communist repression. As a pastor’s son he was relegated to the worst conditions – he didn’t even see a flush toilet until he was 18. And yet under the threat of imprisonment or worse, they went door-to-door spreading the gospel. Abraham was fortunate enough to get an education. He then attended the University of Edinburgh Seminary and completed a five-year degree program in just one year! He is quite a dedicated man who now devotes his time teaching seminary to young aspiring pastors. I won’t soon forget these wonderful hosts with their sincere kindness and servant’s hearts.
There is such a need for new pastors. Communism has robbed the entire “baby boom generation”; they have little if any connection with God. It is only the young and old that have had unfettered access to seek God in their formative years. There is a Christian leadership vacuum in the generational heart of Eastern Europe.
The time was approaching for the big trip to Ukraine. We would be leaving the relative comforts of Budapest for unpredictable conditions. Back home the mission families got together on that Saturday afternoon – which included lots of prayer. Eight hours ahead I was awoken by a very real and strong feeling of love – I literally felt an overpowering feeling of being enveloped and held up in God’s hands by love. It was such an overpowering feeling that my only response was to lay quietly in the dark and weep. Although we weren’t fearful of Ukraine, the anticipation was definitely growing.
Prior to departing, we had the opportunity to have dinner at our American in-country sponsor’s house – Pastor Dave Zomer. We are served a wonderful array of Hungarian dishes. Dave is a man of ample proportions and a buzz haircut, full of life and always ready to crack a joke; we take some latitude by calling him at times the “irreverent reverend.” He and his wife Joy have been in Hungary nearly ten years. They have faced colossal inconveniences, legal hassles and being ostracized by neighbors, even to this day. Joy is expecting their third child in early December, all of them born in Budapest. Dave’s patience is unbelievable. Our team wants the instant gratification of doing something worthy and memorable, right now. Dave’s timeline is 10, 15, 20 years. His daily victories are small, if any. Dave says, “I wouldn’t still be here if I couldn’t see the progress, it’s there, it just takes time and patience” — quite a different attitude from our pressing need for immediate results here in America.
I will never forget, waiting for Pastor Dave at the station, in the very early morning, as we readied to depart for Ukraine. Jan, our leader, read from Psalm 91 against the backdrop of a struggling sunrise and the sounds and furies of an emerging rush hour. “…This I declare, that He alone is my refuge, my place of safety, He is my God, and I am trusting him. For He rescues me from every trap, and protects me from the fatal plague. He will shield me with his wings. His faithful promises are my armor. I don’t have to be afraid of the dark any more, nor fear the danger of the day….” It felt a little surreal to be finally underway into a deep part of the ex-Soviet empire; but all of us were comforted and assured we were doing what God wanted us to do – can there be any more rewarding thing to pursue?
The 8-hour train ride up was long and the seats fairly uncomfortable but I was riding on adrenaline. I struck up some casual conversations with friendly fellow sojourners. We were peppered mostly with inquisitive questions; there was a genuine interest in what we were doing, going to Ukraine. I was greeted with polite smiles when my fellow travelers finally comprehended why were going. It was heartening to learn that several were Christians. We shared some of our travel snacks and in turn were treated to home-made bread. I have a chance to catch up on some journal writing.
As we approached the border we had to change trains. Unknown to us initially, they de-coupled most of the train; only a small remnant of people were Ukraine-bound. The sky was gray and it was raining – what a surprise when we had to quickly rush out in the rain and change railcars. It was frantic; the girls for the most part were behind us struggling to get off the old railcar. Kathy, one of our mission team, had her backpack open up and spray its contents everywhere. Three big and leather-coat-clad young men stepped in to help at the crucial moment. It was a test of faith to hand a suitcase over to such a foreboding trio when half of us weren’t onboard yet. We had already decided long since that no matter what we’d stick together. A fleeting thought of seeing my suitcase head for the Ukraine as I relinquished my last material possessions entered my mind. Though panicked, we managed to get everyone on board the new railcar. Whew!
After quickly dealing with the Hungarian border guards, the train irrevocably headed a short mile across the border. As we stopped I noticed that Pastor Dave, usually a cut-up full of grins, showed a deepening respect for the gravity at hand. The Ukraine border guards were quickly onboard in their crisp pressed –very Russian looking – uniforms. The typical Soviet red accents were replaced with green ones, but still, the affect was very Russian.
Fortunately, the guards were mostly young – a bunch of 40 or 50-somethings were much more likely to expect graft and inflict bureaucratic pain. Nonetheless, while the rest of the train was excused to be on their way, the rest of us, including the leather-clad lads were escorted into a bleak sterile room.
We are instructed to sit on hard, well-worn, wooden benches. With “our backs to wall” we are witnesses to our first glimpse of ex-soviet decay. The walls are coated with peeling paint; the slight smell of mildew fills the cavernous room. The skyline window above is broken leading to further outside clues of deterioration.
Yes, we are anxious, but no, I can honestly say that we are not fearful. We sit exchanging curious glances and occasional muted giggles. Our bags are splayed in front of us on the inspection racks. We are worried that they will tear through each bag and confiscate what they consider to be “commercial materials.” We have carefully mixed into all the bags a little of each of the many pounds of supplies and gifts we have brought.
For over an hour we mechanically watch as busy officers scurry about stamping papers, privately talking, and just taking care of business. What do they want? It occurs to me that we are entirely at their disposal – they could cart us off to a lonely forgotten prison somewhere on trumped up charges – what could anybody do about that? I think we all probably said a silent prayer in that hour. We were comforted knowing that many at home are praying for us on this day. Finally, we are free to go! They never even opened a single suitcase – fortunately time is our only entrance fee. God has truly been with us. The Americans, Dave our local pastor, and the three young men gratefully exit the clutches of our inquisitors.
To my embarrassment, these young men turned out to be our interpreters. They have boarded the train several stops earlier without my knowledge. Arpi, tall and broad, has pale skin with dark eyes and hair. He is a new associate pastor from Transylvania, Romania. His prominent feature is a glass eye, slightly askew –making it, at least initially, difficult to look him straight in the “right” eye. He turns out to be quite comical. Having spent six months in West Virginia as a guest of a local church, he is full of American slang phrases that always seem to appropriately punctuate the moment. The three young men have been friends for years, and Arpi appears to be their leader.
Zolie is a puzzle. At about 5’9”, he is the shortest by far. But his stern looks and serious demeanor make him, initially, the more intimidating of the bunch. His features are much more Mediterranean – the original dark and mysterious man. He is the prototype of a Romanian man; silent and solemn. He has not had the benefit of time spent in the US, so he takes longer to warm up to the high-spirited talkative Americans. The great surprise is his immense beaming smile. By the end of the trip, with formalities long since abandoned, Zolie frequently flashes his toothy grin. My lasting impression is of a man very passionate about the conditions of his fellow displaced Hungarians – and a man very dedicated to serving God and his countrymen.
Shauney is the beefiest of the bunch. He could easily be an offensive lineman. He is blue-eyed with wavy blonde hair. His demeanor is that of a gentle and soft-spoken giant. He is thoughtful and conscientious. He, like Zolie, is in his last year of seminary. We find out later that the modest stipend we pay these young men will pay off all their remaining expenses for school – a welcome thought. Shauney is also the worrier – more on that in a bit. Shauney followed Arpie and spent about six months in West Virginia. His stories about the locals there are hilarious – including one about a rather toothless woman with romance on her mind.
The transition into the Ukraine is prominent. In the main hall of the train station we are surrounded by huge Soviet murals – you know, the icon-laden art glorifying the revolution; men with bulging muscles holding raised sledge hammers, replete with the industrial sparks of communist progress, women harvesting the communal fields, and cosmonauts returning home as heroes of the homeland. This certainly is not Kansas anymore.
We are picked up by two missionaries — Steve, a good looking square-jawed Canadian of about 25, and David a late 40-something man with slight features and a professor-like graying beard. Steve, recently graduated from college, has been in the country for about 18 months. He plans on staying at least another year – after that he doesn’t know. David, a true Renaissance man, is also Canadian, but of Hungarian descent. He spent 10 years in Paris as a chemistry professor and has now been in Hungry for over 15 years. He’s married to a local woman and is dedicated to his family and helping the 160,000 Hungarians trapped inside Ukraine. It humbles me to think of their level of commitment to missionary work compared to our two-week stint.
We depart in two oversized VW vans. By chance I end up in a van with just our interpreters and Steve. As we whisk down the bumpy pothole-filled road I feel far from home. A very real foreign sense of adventure overcomes me– I am on a God-driven mission, barreling down the road with guys I have just met. Outside the van window changes are apparent; gone are the darkly stained soil of Hungarian farms (the Soviets ignored crop rotation). Most of the landscape is desolate stretching for miles with the Carpathian Mountains a mere shadow in the distant background. So much untamed land with no apparent signs of cultivation. We meander through several small austere villages, not lacking in the necessities, but certainly living on the margins.
We stop for lunch at a small high school, having for the first time what would be many days of warming but Spartan food. We eat a lot of potatoes, cabbage and bread – and very little meat; a far cry from a quick greasy stop at McDonalds. We then tour the school and have an informative discussion with the Head Master. It is quickly apparent that she is dedicated to doing as much as possible with the sparse resources she has at her disposal. It is uncomfortable to be in the role of an inspector-interloper – but her wise eyes reveal a knowledge that entertaining flyby missionary groups is a small step in gaining much needed external assistance.
Off again, we journey another half-hour or so until we at last arrive in Nagybereg our home for the next six days. It is a small town with a mix of asphalt and dirt roads. It has a tiny post office that, we are told, needs several days warning if you want to buy stamps. A tiny bar, come movie house, also becomes the Atlantis Disco on Saturday nights. The homes are neat and well maintained — but again no signs of luxury. Every home has a trellis with some late season grapes still clinging to the vine. There are small older cars around, but horse and cart are still a staple here. We are treated one day by a parading herd of cows coming down the main street being shepherded from one field to the next. Many of people on the street look like pictures right out of a National Geographic magazine — older women with the hunched backs from a hard life; engraved with deeply wrinkled faces; unadorned in their dark blouses and skirts, draped in drab sweaters and large black scarves.
We stay at the Reformed Church sponsored High School. The kids here are very lucky – receiving a far superior education than most. They all board at the school getting a brief weekend home every two weeks. Although typical teenagers, their level of dedication and commitment is easily discerned– no problems with theft or social mischief here. Five black marks and these kids are sent packing with no second chances – relegated back to a desperate life of small opportunities and mediocrity. A black mark can be given for even small infractions like elbows on the table…gives getting your kid to clean up their room new meaning.
The American women are given a small cottage of their own – the men are thrown into the army-style barracks with the boys. Our small room is crammed with five bunk beds of inch thick mattresses and lockers wedged in the corner. The pungent smell of old gym shoes fills the long hallway where all the boys’ shoes are stored. The bathroom with five stalls, 10 sinks and 6 showers has the reminiscent odor of a well-maintained outhouse. The first night I am visited by feasting little friends. I awake to find blood on the sheets and an array of bite mementos courtesy of the local fleas. A couple others have a few bites but I seem to be the night’s winner. A little “skin so soft” applied each night solves that “gnawing” problem. The second night we learn that we have a bigger friend. Jon, who snacks constantly on the trip, has his whole stash of goodies picked through by a gourmet rat. It samples every single edible Jon has. The bite mark in a chocolate bar reveals that the teeth of Mr. Rat are about the size of five-year old’s front teeth –no cute little mouse. Shauney obsesses about our visitor and hunts until he finds the hole used to access the room. Shauney worries the rat will get back in until he settles on stuffing broken glass into the hole. So suffice it to say it isn’t a cozy 4-star hotel. But if it is good enough for the boys as a home, it is certainly acceptable for our short stay.
The first night dinner is interesting as we feel the eyes of about 120 kids checking us out. We begin with a beautifully sung prayer started by the baritone boys and echoed by the sweet soprano voices of the girls. Every meal is started and ended this way. We are treated with different songs in several languages during the week. Surprise, dinner looks like lunch. Like all meals, dinner is perfunctory, not to be savored and enjoyed but instead to be completed with efficient mastication and swallowing. Twenty minutes and the kids are swiftly clearing the tables and attending to their other chores.
The kids live on a closely held chain. Their days start at 5:30 a.m. with general chores and wash up. Breakfast starts at exactly 7:00, ends at 7:20, leaving about 15 minutes to clean up and get to the first class. Classes go throughout the day, the kids getting maybe an hour or two break. They do have a modest recreation hall with a well-used ping-pong table and ever-popular foosball game. Dinner starts promptly at 6:00 p.m. followed by chores, and two to three hours of study. Lights go out at 10:00 p.m., and so it goes.
The school owns a nearby farm, a vestige from the communist communes of a decade ago. Early on, we get a tour that includes seeing the cows and pigs – yep farms smell the same all over. I can’t help thinking that I might end up sampling one of these critters during the stay. Tiptoeing and hopping around the ankle deep mud we walk through several hot houses with rows of tomatoes, potatoes, cabbage and paprika – a famous product of this part of the world. We also view the good size man-made pond that serves as a trout and bass fishery. The school grows enough to afford a full-time manager, feed itself, and sell enough for a modest cash flow.
One day we are privileged to go to a gypsy school. These poor gypsy kids are subjected to so much cruelty. As outcasts they live in the worst housing always on the outside of any village or town. As local pariah, employment is seldom a fruitful option. Stealing and begging are the gypsy mainstays. There is a beggar’s “Mafia” hierarchy. Each beggar gets a territory, which sometimes is won by brute force. Each beggar sends a portion of his or her “take” up the line. The gypsies at the top are said to live like kings with huge mansions. Locals are fairly immune to the gypsies – but in desperation, gypsy parents will intentionally maim their children – a gouged eye, a crippling cut hamstring or even severed limbs – even the locals succumb to these tactics.
The kids at this school though poorly dressed sing a cheerful welcoming song as we enter. These are the lucky ones – fortunate to be in a church-sponsored school. We spend the afternoon in arts and crafts, games and story telling. We take Polaroid’s of each child and then make a picture frame adorned with stickers and sparkly glue. Their glowing delight cannot be contained; these kids likely have not ever seen a picture of themselves – and certainly not spent time building a lasting personal tribute. What an ego-building exercise for kids that have such little hope and joy in their lives.
We also tell the story of Noah, followed by an inspired game of “pin the animal on the ark”. All the kids laugh as they take their turn. But one little boy is so shy he cries when I coax him. My heart sinks, I spend the rest of the time making it up to him – eventually to be rewarded by a huge happy smile…my heart sings. We proceed to fun games and wind up a memorable afternoon that I know these kids will not soon forget. Not exactly mission evangelizing or the building of a school, but nonetheless, spirit-led and very satisfying. Another child is burned in my memory. Most gypsies (they originated from India 600 years ago, a traveling band of “untouchables”) have fairly dark features. One little girl has immense sparkling blue eyes, dirty blond hair and a sweet demeanor that won’t quit. She graciously waits her turn as others enjoy; she demurs to the needs of others around her. She quietly and respectfully hugs and thanks us as we leave. I just want to wrap her up and bring her home.
Another day we go to a state orphanage. Dave reminds us not to touch our faces until we return and disinfect our hands. Some of the kids are known to have AIDS. The outside looks more like a run-down prison, the inside a vast echoing maze of cement hallways. The Head Master, an obvious hold over from communist times, is fat with thinning curly matted hair and a set of thick protruding glasses. He walks in quick formal steps, and earns silent groans when he kisses the hands of the mission women. We sit in his office as he answers our perfunctory questions – taking obvious pride in his domain. We learn that of the 107 children here that only seven are adoptable. All the rest have been voluntarily left by parents that must visit at least once every six months in order to maintain custody. I find it hard to understand how a parent could love their child enough to want to retain custody but desperate enough to leave them in this hellhole.
As we get the tour of this large complex it is obvious that things have been cleaned-up in anticipation of our visit. But no amount of prep time can mask the varied smells that assault our senses. At one point Shauney goes outside expecting to vomit. The walls are painted with bright Disney characters and playfully optimistic images; no doubt a gift from previous mission teams. But it is easy to tell there is no joy here. We go into the classrooms, each painfully narrow, jammed with kids. We pass out treats and spend some time talking and playing with the kids. I rub the heads of most of the kids. It is obvious they get little if any love and personal attention. One boy insists that I rub his head again. I can feel the knots of unkempt hair beneath my fingers. I just want to leave.
I go outside to wait as the others wind up their conversations inside. Only 17 girls live here. One of them, Anna is outside as we slowly gather ourselves. She is 12 years old, with a pretty face accented by solemn blue eyes and a short crop of streaky blonde hair. She has the stature of a nine-year-old, I assume from poor nutrition. She has stuck close to us since we met. It isn’t hard to understand that she wants to go with us. Her eyes betray a hopelessness bestowed by years of loneliness and pain. As we prepare to leave Pastor Dave comments that she is probably raped frequently. Worse yet, at 18 when all the orphans are forced to leave, Anna’s only means of support will likely be prostitution. We all feel an overwhelming powerless depression – how can we possibly leave her here? The vans are a vacuum of silence as we pull away.
All is not so desperate during our stay. We have several days of interaction with the Nagybereg High School students. We have numerous opportunities to teach the kids English, both in class and just socializing. One day two of the English teachers are ill. Pastor Dave and Kathy are asked to teach class for the day – over eight hours worth. Amazing that this happens while we are there… The rest of us play supporting roles during the various classes. The exercise I won’t forget is helping the kids perform short skits in English — what a hoot. The ideas are creative and the laughs spontaneous and deep. I have fun as the “eaten grandma” in our rendition of “Little Red Riding Hood”.
The kids are not used to having a lot of free time to have fun; it literally is work, work, work. We decide it is time to have recess! In three separate groups, by grade, we spend an hour with each class playing games. We tie balloons around our ankles and play a fierce team elimination battle of popping. The high school kids scream and squeal like elementary kids. We play volleyball using a beach ball later. Again, their joyful screams echo in the school courtyard. We notice that several of the teachers and the Head Master are attentively watching. We play until it is too dark to play anymore. We are exhausted but satisfied that we helped these young adults cut loose, if only for an hour at a time. We wonder what kind of impression we have made with the school leadership. As we are walking inside it starts to rain. Once again we are reminded that we are being taken care of.
One evening I had the privilege to preach to the kids. I am not supposed to do this formally, as I have no seminary training, so we call it a “testimony”. I talk about how easy it is to stray into the distractions of the world, even after we have accepted Christ. I ask the kids to shout out things that can derail us. They call out things like drugs, ambition, girls, boys and pride. I throw each person a key as they give me a distraction. I read from John 14:6 “I am the truth, the way and the life, no one comes to the Father except through me”. I try to tie in the fact that most of the world’s “acceptable pursuits” are sinful, or if not, then if taken too far, as a substitute for Christ, are ultimately bad for us –even pursuing financial security and comfort can become the center of our lives, in essence our god or idol. I ask a young girl to come up and try the several keys I have left; we call out some of the things the kids mentioned. I get a huge reaction when I say the word “sex”, which I find out, is a taboo word; but all is forgiven if not forgotten later. The keys don’t work, until I hold up the last key and announce, “what if the key is Christ?”, and of course the lock opens up. I get smiles from the staff and a couple of pats on the back, but the greatest feedback was when the kids try to return the keys and they smile when I say they can keep them. One girl asks me to autograph the paper tab on her key chain. All humbleness aside, I really enjoyed the interaction and the chance to reach out to these kids.
The kids really warm up to us. It starts to be more than just a visit. We have become an accepted part of the school fabric, if only temporarily. I make good friends with a girl named Annette. She is not the prettiest girl there by far, but it is easy to see that she is authentic in her love of Christ and filled with deep thoughts and questions. One night several of the boys ask me to play guitar and sing songs with them; don’t know why I decline, but I still regret turning down the invitation.
Towards the end, Jon and I are fidgety and ask for a chance to do some manual work; remember we expected to be carpenters for a couple of weeks. We finally get the chance when we are asked to build a rock garden – not exactly building a new church or a school – but hey a chance to be creative. We spend the day in the rain for the most part, but having fun nonetheless, as we are digging dirt, lifting rocks and designing on the fly. We are almost finished when the stern Head Master walks by and I ask, “Do you like it?”; he replies, “I hope so…” Of course Jon and I second-guess ourselves until we finish…In the end it turns out quite nice (my biased opinion). We manage to cover a huge immovable block of concrete with dirt and integrate it into a half decent garden, replete with flowers, rocks and small shrubs.
Finally the time comes to start our trip back. We get a ride across the border with David who has diplomatic immunity, what a breeze compared to just a week earlier. We spend the last full day in Budapest resting up, packing and doing some souvenir shopping. Pastor Dave, Abraham and Akosh come over. We all stuff into one of the small rooms as Dave sets up a simple table with a table cloth, pours a glass of red wine and breaks bread. We sing a song written by Terry Spence, a member of the praise band I sing in back home. His song is “God is in this Place”. We sing:
God is in this place,
Close your eyes,
And see His face
And lo He’ll be with you
This day in all you do.
Purify our minds
May our light
On others shine
And as we leave this place
Guard us with Your Grace.
There is a powerful sense that indeed God is with us at this moment. We celebrate a humble communion, passing the cup from one person to the next in remembrance of Christ’s redeeming sacrifice for each of us – it is a moment I will never forget. I struggle to keep my welled-up eyes from becoming a spigot of tears.
Well this is the summary of my mission trip. Sorry it is a bit long, but I wanted to get my thoughts on paper. I wanted my supporters to know what was done with their thoughtful contributions. This trip has changed me in many ways. It will take a long time to sort through all the experiences and thoughts. But one thing I know for sure, if we open our hearts and ask Christ in, He will not disappoint us. What is the meaning of life? It is to love and serve each other, to seek to know God, and to prepare for eternity.