Adventura: 3 Favorite Memories

I know you want more of Romania but I'm finding it difficult to proceed very far without PICTURES (Matthew, ahem) beyond those I took with my  own tablet. The other team members who were playing Trip Photographer are dating and at each other's homes and therefore are sort of MIA at the moment ... and yours truly is wishing she'd taken less pictures of the Decebal Head and more of the people I love.  Also, there is just so much that went into the trip that today, I'm going to simply share three favorite memories:

//Butterfly Whispers//

One morning in Arad we were given the opportunity to visit a small children's day-center down a twisting, forgotten street of the city. This charity doubles as a dentist's office and ministers to the neighborhood/street children. There were only a few children present that early in the morning: a few gypsy boys, the British care-giver's daughter, a gypsy girl (Corinna), and the daughter of a Romanian caregiver.
My favorite part about working with children in other countries is that the language barrier is not as much of a problem as with the adults. The children have no scruples against chattering at you in Romanian and are equally fine if you speak to them in English. There is no need to understand each other, really, because isn't the desire to play on a slide or chase each other around a room a universal theme? When the language barrier became too frustrating, the little girls would simply plant their feet and shout, "OANA!" till the Romanian woman came running to translate for them and explain the rules of a game rather like Ring-Around-The-Rosie. The three little girls seemed to gravitate toward a different member of our team and I found myself the chosen friend of a tiny, shy girl named Roberta. Roberta and I played chase for the longest amount of time. She was Oana's daughter and the cutest little thing I'd ever seen. At first she wouldn't let me pick her up but by the end of a solid half-our of tag, she was nestled quietly in my arms. We walked to the window and Roberta began to point outside and whisper in Romania about what she saw and what she wanted to do. It was the sweetest thing: the tiny whispers and the fact that she spoke in Romanian made me feel as if I was holding a fragile little butterfly in my arms and she was telling me things I'd like to know. We soon followed the others outside in "The Secret Garden" and my fearless little Roberta was whispering to the pet dog and pelting down the rickety slide, sliding recklessly on her belly into my arms. By the time we left, we had gotten rather attached and there were actual tears in Roberta's eyes as I set her down for the last time and waved goodbye. I couldn't help but feel glad that she was one of the children who had a steady, dependable parent. <3 I never got a photo of her but Mrs. Edmonston did manage to get a bit of a video and you can see a glimpse of my dear little Romanian butterfly:

Visiting The Children's Home

//Makeshift S'mores//

You will have heard of Stefana, our friend from last year. Stefi is one of the sweetest, most transparent young women I have had the delight to meet, and we only grew closer this trip. Leaving her was like leaving one of our best friends here in the states. I am so blessed by her testimony, her spirit, and her friendship. We spent several nights at Betel hanging out with friends local to Arad, and on the last night, I'd cracked open the bag of marshamallows I'd brought. Several sources had told me that they don't have marshmallows in Romania ... this is sort of a falsehood, for they do sell them. But they don't taste the same, they're expensive, and they are certainly NOT Jet-Puffed or whatever that good brand is called. ;)

Stefana has a sweet-tooth the size of Russia and was super excited when I brought out the marshmallows. She laughed and told us that she had tasted a marshmallow before but had never toasted them, though she'd seen it on movies. Then I had an idea: there was a kitchen in the church. Certainly we could roast marshmallows over the gas stove? We hurried into the kitchen, flipped the light-switch, and toyed with the knobs on the gas stove. Unfortunately, the gas had been turned off for the night and we didn't know Romanian stoves well enough to bother trying to get it back on. That was almost the end of our marshmallow roasting adventure, but at the last moment Alaina and I searched for a candle, found a tealight and some tiny matches, and lit a little blaze (not before I'd coughed and blown it out once, blown it out with one match, and otherwise foiled the candle several times). I speared a marshmallow on a fork and showed Stefi how to roast a marshmallow. It caught fire and she squealed but we blew it out and continued. It's rather tricky to toast these things over a tealight blaze! :D When the marshmallow was suitably gooey, I handed the fork to Stefana and watched her experience a toasty marshmallow for the first time in her life. She adored it and we laughed over the absurdity of our positions at eleven-thirty PM, crouched in a dark kitchen in Romania toasting marshmallows over a tealight. Stefana roasted her own (and possibly a third) and we let some of the gypsy women who live with friends of ours try one. (They said it was too sweet.) In the end, I gave Stefana the last half of the marshmallow bag and her eyes lit up with girlish excitement. She told us that she was going home to her husband in a few days and that she'd save them so they could have a date of toasting marshmallows over a candle. My work there was done.

//Give the Lady a Camera//

The trouble with travelling with a group of people you like a lot is that you always want a group photograph in nearly every spot and there really isn't one particular team member you'd like to cut out of the picture and force to snap the photo. At one particularly Alpine meadow spot, we pulled our little caravan over and arranged ourselves for a picture. We were about to send Sabine (red shirt, far left) to take the photo since he wasn't one of the Zaharias or the Americans, but then someone noticed a little old lady selling cheese at a stand. She saw our predicament and offered eagerly to take the picture. Amy (with the lingual aid of Pastor John) taught her how to work the camera and the little old lady cracked us up by arranging us, telling us to smile, and taking the picture. Amy went forward to view the product and, struck by the funny little scene, I whipped out my tablet and took a photo of the pair. 

This lady is sharp. She started jabbering about something and pointing and Pastor John said, "She see your iPad. Want to take a picture." I handed her my tablet, taught her how to use it (she was grinning ear-splittingly the whole time) and hurried back to the group. She took one photo and I helped her check it out. Not satisfied, our new friend demanded I show her how to take another and she went for Round Two. We thanked her, said goodbye, and packed back into the cars, but I'm certain I will never forget the little old lady selling her cascaval. <3

"You're a busy-body." "So sue me."

“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors."

-C. S. Lewis  

When I was little, there was this weird, dry, boring thing called "social studies". I never really knew what they were. It was an optional category on the standardized tests and when we asked Mama why we didn't do them she'd say, "We've got that covered." It wasn't till I grew up that I realized what she meant. See, Mama and Dad raised us to be extroverts. While working with GenJ this fall I was talking to a politico over dinner: "So I take it you've always been this outgoing and...forthright?" he asked with a wry smile.
    I laughed. "Actually I used to be super shy and when I'm around shy people it comes out now and then." (If you're wondering, yeah, he was shy and I started tripping up on my words explaining the situation.)

     Know what dragged me out of my shy funk? People. People are just so darn interesting.

     A quiet, retreating personality might not be able to understand my fascination with people at first thought, but let me ask you a question: have you ever sat by yourself at a coffee-shop and watched someone across the room or out the front window and let your mind wander? That's people-watching. That's social studies. That's finding people too darn interesting to let yourself be a hermit. Mama knew that we were curious kids. She knew that sooner or later, in a world full of color and personalities and back-story and drama, we'd take notice and start watching. She encouraged us to be around people and ask questions and watch life and take part in it. So what if I never took that test or read a social studies book? I read history. I watched people. I used my vibrant little brain and put two and two together and now the East Coast has a voraciously curious young woman on their hands. I can't stop watching people and thinking about people and making up their stories in my head. I have all these weird ideas and because I don't live in NYC or Seattle, I make up for the lack of tangible scenarios by writing books about the scenarios I wish I had time to live.

     I want to write a mystery called Brownstone and explore the relationships of fellow-tenants who ignored each other beforehand, brought into an unlikely, hilarious community by the appearance of a body (or an abandoned baby..don't know which) on their collective doorstep.

     I want to conduct an experiment and write a book called Ten, Noon by choosing one corner of a coffee shop or cafe in a big city and sitting there every day for a year for two hours (from ten to noon) and people-watching and seeing what sort of morphing, yet tight community you'd get. Probably there'd be love and heartbreak and good deeds and deceit and life and death and lots of interesting things happening in that corner, and it'd be a best-seller book when I'd finished and I'd get to sell thousands of copies and buy an old stone house somewhere with the profits. Don't steal my idea. You know it's a good one. (COPYRIGHT 2013 by Rachel Heffington)

     I'm one of the most observant people I know and it's mostly because I grew up in a family that didn't find themselves too busy to walk a little slower, discuss details, and imagine things. I can meet you once and remember your face. I can go home and tell my family exactly what conversations I carried on with whom, what they were wearing, what color their eyes were, and "write" a verbal portrait so my family ends up in laughter, fear, or a swoon. It's not like I'm particularly gifted in that area; I'm not Sherlock Holmes, I'm just...sociable. People are fascinating.

  What I want you to realize is that I'm not advocating humanism. I believe we live in a fallen world. I believe in original sin. I believe that people are inherently flawed and that the only way to heal the breach between ourselves and our Creator is to put ourselves under the mercy and grace of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. And you know what...? Maybe that's why I find people so interesting. Maybe I'd rather study humans than birds and flowers and plants and saving the ocean because probably I'm not a people-watcher after all..probably I'm a soul-watcher. I am passionately curious about people because every single face on the street belongs to a soul that was specially created to play a particular part in the epic drama that is our history and future. I feel the stories and I want to know them. And more than I want to know them, I want to know that they are going on with me into eternity...and on the right side of the chasm at that. I want to know that these people realize they're part of the drama...and they have a particular choice to make.

     Social studies...evangelism...there's probably a way to combine those two things. I'd like to learn how. How do I overcome the remaining bits of my shyness and turn my curiosity to compassion? How do I reach into the reflective, smooth-running current of anonymous people-watching and help them untangle their souls without ruining any of the beautiful dignity? But maybe that's it again...maybe the beautiful dignity comes from the fact that they are souls that need untangling. Maybe dabbling my fingers in the pretties of the brook will only make it more beautiful, fuller, smoother...Fact is, I love people and the reason I love them is because He loves them. They're pieces of Him, birthed in His laughter and delight, desperately in need of the Rescuer. Image-bearers, all of us. Somehow, there's a way for me to be a liaison between heaven and earth...somewhere there's a gap I will slide into like the final tumbler in a Chinese puzzle-box. This post might not even make sense to a single blessed soul but me...and if that's the case, I won't apologize. Chalk it up to a lesson for you in studying people like me.

Social studies? Hrmph. Such a silly name for such a marvelous thing.

Queso with Strangers: How Moe's Made My Day

Today was not an unusual day, except that Moe's Southwest Grill was giving out free queso. And really, any day when something as expensive and addictive as queso is free is most definitely a day to write on the calendar and love thoroughly. I'm a thrifty gal, and of course I couldn't justify driving 25 minutes to the nearest Moe's just to get a free something that isn't exactly good for the waistline.

Thank heaven I remembered I had to lesson-plan and do some grocery shopping.

Sarah (la sister) objected that she had lesson-planned at Moe's last time so we young, aspiring teachers parked in the no-man's bit of the strip mall and popped into Starbucks. Unfortunately Starbucks - which also boasts the qualities of being expensive and addictive - wasn't having a Come Love Us Because We Give You Nice Things For Free day.

Boo-hoo and sob. 

Since I'm not being paid for teaching right now, my wallet was quite literally empty except for a plethora of dimes and quarters; I would like to say paying with change is hipster or preppy, but it's neither: it's penny-pinching college-student at its most honest. (And I'm not even in college. Oh boy.)
    I fumbled with my coins, trying to sift the dimes from the pennies and willing it all to come to $4.22 (Please explain why those divine Raspberry Mochas cost your birthright). Sarah finally took pity on me and handed me a couple quarters to help out. The poor dude behind the counter waited patiently and didn't laugh at my teetering stacks of coinage piled on the counter; he actually told me it was all right that I was holding up the entire joint. (I'm not sure I believed him.) Raspberry mocha in hand, I retreated to the outdoor patio where I was soon buried in the delights of planning how to teach a passion for writing to my young students.
    The sun was warm and jovial, and life was good despite my new position as Queen of Awkward; in fact, I had pretty much decided that it couldn't get any better when a young Asian man wearing sunglasses came from across the parking lot with a bag from Moe's and established himself--queso, burrito, laptop and all--at a table nearby. I chattered to Sarah about this and that (probably in a louder tone than I realized, being the talkative sort.) She answered with a lazy, comfortable monosyllable now and then.

 "Come on," I said, "Just let me know when you're finished so we can go to Moe's and get our free queso." I didn't think anyone was listening--aren't I the only one who notices other peoples' conversations?

The Queen of Awkward was wrong, of course.

Our neighbor turned around with the hugest, friendly grin and raised his cup of queso in the air like Bacchus's horn. "Yeah! You really should go get some.
    I started laughing, which is my way of saying "You totally just made my day right now," and Queso-Man joined in.
  "You know," he said with another dazzling smile, "it's not very crowded over there right now. You should go." And he turned back to his laptop and resumed his lunch, and life should have proceeded as normal.

 Except for me it didn't. For me, it was one of life's lightening-bolt moments. He and I laughed over the oddity of being fellow free-queso-lovers, and in that laughter something transferred; some tiny, fragile, gossamer connection. One slender thread linking perfect strangers together: a moment woven into timelessness.
And now I want to be that person who holds a vat of queso aloft like a champagne flute and butts into a conversation. I want to spend the tiny moments of life like a sociable spider making webs of a thousand infinitesimal connections. People complain of wandering through their lives in aimless solitude; they vow the world is vacant and void - and so it might seem to a webless spider.
  But the guy with the smile and the queso knows different; he knows, as I've learned, that community is not a lumped-together achievement that comes one day and lasts the rest of your life. Community is a thousand threads spun from a thousand moments. It's the thing that keeps us connected in our frail humanness. It's love - the practical love Jesus always had the time for...my queso was the Canaanite woman's jug of water. The spider's web is an intricate thing and it does take work. It's talking to a person you've never met before about the simplest, most silly thing like queso, or the weather, or someone else's electric-yellow platform heels. My partner-in-amusement had no way of telling that I was feeling penniless, awkward, and ashamed of my blood-from-a-stone Raspberry Mocha; all he knew was that he liked queso and so did I, and it was worth the effort of spinning one more thread.

 So here's to smiling at strangers. Here's to outdoor tables, awkward moments, Asian gentlemen, unexpected connections, community, boldness, and the simple, over-looked bits of life.

Here's to free queso.