Learning to Listen

It was getting late.

Early morning departure.

Between the Foreign and the Familiar

It’s very early here in the small village of Susani, Romania. I’m wrapped in a warm wool blanket, reading and writing, on the sofa of the living room of Ovidiu and Adina Petric, a kind couple who works daily to serve the people here. Our 22-hour journey by plane and van brought us here last night, to this home filled perfumed with the fragrance of homemade chicken soup and sarmale (cabbage rolls served with sour cream).

Chicken soup with handmade noodles. And a pepper. Divine.

The Reluctant Witness.

I leave for Romania in just over a week, to serve with a wonderful new ministry called Red Page. I’m humbled to be on the Executive Board for an organization so committed to caring for the discarded in that country, and have been inspired by the churches already on board because of of their love for her people. They are amazing.

And I feel so ill-equipped. I don’t know the language, don’t know anyone I’m traveling with, don’t even really know what my day-to-day is going to look like there. It’s a youth camp, and I’m 51. It’s a sports camp, and I’ve got the coordination of a slug. And it’s all about Jesus – and now for some reason I’m even concerned I’m going to suddenly forget everything I know about Him.