A Poem for the Headmistress

We sat in a circle, chair touching chair. The large alphabet letters, rhymes and colorful math posters hanging on the walls seemed slightly humorous and out of place as I looked around at all the adults filling the room. Some older, worn from a lifetime of dedicated work, many younger, in their 30’s, still in the Summer of their lives, all the way down to me and my fellow volunteers in our 20’s. It was the last day before I would venture outside the small town of Magyarmecske, and head up north to spend Christmas with some fellow volunteers in Budapest, and it also happened to be the day for the teachers’ annual ‘Christmas Party’ at the school where we volunteer – and they had graciously invited us to join in the fun.

Now, I can’t say I know what a typical teachers Christmas party consists of, but I can say this turned out to be a bit different than any ‘holiday work gathering’ I’ve encountered before.

Let me take you back a bit…perhaps to about two weeks before the date of this party…back to the day we were told we could attend, and of course, going hand-in-hand with that, we were also invited to participate in a gift exchange with the teachers…you know, put everyone’s name in a box, pull a name out and you get a gift for that person. Nothing new, I was used to that type of Christmas tradition, even though I ended up drawing the Headmistress’ name out of the box (as if that wasn’t intimidating!), I still felt fairly confident that I could successfully complete my task of finding a gift to wish her a Merry Christmas with. Now, let us fast forward two weeks, to the night before said Christmas party. After a day full of little kids’ Christmas skits and festive songs at school, I found myself walking home through a lightly snowy evening, beside Ildiko (the teacher who also happens to live with us). We were chatting about how the day went, when seemingly (to me), out of no where, she asked me if I’d finished writing my poem… (translated from Hungarian)

“hmmm, poem?...what poem?” I ask…trying to rack my brain and remember if she saw me writing a letter, or something she might have thought was a poem.

“You know…the poem.” She replies, thinking I must not have understood the Hungarian.

“hmmmm, was a writing a poem?” trying to figure out why she’s asking me about writing a poem I can’t remember writing…

“You know…the poem…for the party tomorrow…” uh-oh…

“We’re supposed to write a poem for tomorrow?! Like about the person we drew?! I did NOT know this…” haha, double uh-oh

“No one told you?!” Ildiko asks with a laugh

“I don’t think so….”

But then again, I’m beginning to accept that there are a lot of things I happen to miss out on hearing, when I don’t speak the language as fluently as those around me J

I proceeded to spend the rest of that night struggling to write a poem…in Hungarian…about the headmistress of our school. And let me tell you, it didn’t rhyme, and I highly doubt it was pretty J but at least everyone laughed at my last stanza that said something about apologizing for making them all suffer through my horrible Hungarian, and they were able to correctly guess the person I’d written about! (and no, her name was not in the poem J)

As we went around the room – everyone reading their poems, people standing up at the realization that they were the subject of a poem, and graciously giving the writer a hug and receiving their gift, my eyes were opened to what incredible people these were, surrounding me. It wasn’t just a room filled with co-workers, it was a room filled with friends, and brothers and sisters, joined together by their compassion and concern for the children they work with every day. With every poem that was read, laughter filled the room, often, along with tears, for the incredible overflowing of love and friendship spoken in the thoughtful verses. I couldn’t even begin to understand all the humor, or heartfelt feelings that were presented in the words spoken in that 2^nd grade classroom, but I could see that these were incredible, beautiful, compassionate people, whom I was blessed to work with. People committed to working in a school that others might turn and run from, people committed to teaching and loving children who may be at a loss to find someone who believes in them, and people committed to making a difference in their students’ lives. I have no aspirations to become a Hungarian poet, but I do hope that my days would reflect the same love and passion and commitment, that those teachers revealed to me that day…and what a lovely world it might be if we all aspired to do the same J

Well, the camera is still broken, but someone has graciously donated some pictures to my email inbox recently! Sooooo, you finally get to meet the two other volunteers I'm living with this year! That's Krisztina on the left - she is a Hungarian who comes from the Ukraine, there's Michael in the middle, from Germany, and in case you've forgotten what I look like, that's me on the right :) The Christmas season is in full swing here - including a little snow fall outside and a big display of 'snow-laden trees' and fake animals prancing through the 'forest' next to a giant ginger bread house inside the big mall in Pecs :) We've been working at the tanulda in Gilvanfa for the past few weeks doing Christmas themed crafts with the kids, and decorating the rooms with paper angels, stars and Christmas trees (among other various winter and Christmas themed shapes - like that Rudolph on the water heater behind me, lol), and krisztina has even painted a nativity scene in one of the windows! Stay tuned, more photos and stories coming soon :)

Hogy Vagy? (how are you?)...

We sat around the table – string scattered everywhere, helpless youngsters struggling to thread the unruly, frazzled yarn through the holes of their too small needles, and me and my fellow volunteer, Krisztina scurrying around in an effort help direct all the needles into their right holes, and back around again. The craft of the day was something like cross-stitch done on card-stock. Patterns were on the table – for those wanting to stitch a heart onto their paper, a star, a flower…..but one rebellious (or maybe just creative?) teenager decided to poke holes into his cardstock in order to make a pattern of his name. He roughly (like I imagine most teenage boys would) stitched in the first letter, then got distracted by the foosball table near by and disappeared. The afternoon wore on, and the crowds came and went at the craft table, until all had cleared away, and moved on to do some csocsózni (foosball), play farm-o-rama on the computers, or head home through the dark night for dinner.

I came back into the room containing the craft table and foosball table later in the evening. I entered through the crowded doorway, distracted by all the noise surrounding the game, but my gaze quickly found itself at the craft table, where the teenager’s card sat alone at the empty table, one letter finished, others begging for some attention. So I went and sat down. I threaded my needle and slowly began filling in the second letter of his name while casually watching the little plastic people playing soccer nearby. And out of no where, this boy whose name is on the card in my hands, comes over and silently sits down next to me. I asked if he wanted to finish his craft – if he was bothered that I was working on it. He said no, I could do it. So, I continued slowly weaving the thread in and out, the rowdy bunch playing foosball nearby, close enough to touch, and this boy, sitting there next to me – silent. I wondered why he was so quiet, why he was sitting there next to me instead of playing foosball and joking with his friends; so I asked him how he was….(all this in rough muddled Hungarian…well, my part at least was rough and muddled) “meh….not good”. “Mi a baj?”….what’s the problem?... “iskola”…school. “What happened at school?”… “I can’t go anymore, I have to find a new school to go to”… “what?...why?” … “because I missed a lot.”…. “why did you miss a lot? do you not like going to school?” …. “no I don’t, it’s not good.”... He’s a good kid. I know that much. A smart head on his shoulders, and a kind heart within; you too would be able to tell, just by watching the way he interacts with the younger ones…. “sajnalom.” I’m sorry.

The Tanulda was closing up, the kids had already csocsózni-ed past closing time, and the adults were in a hurry to get everyone out and head home. As he rose to leave, I stood up with him, patting him on the shoulder, looking at him with all this mix of emotion filling my gaze; wishing we had more time, wishing I could hear more of his story, wishing I had more words to help, to form questions to ask, to understand what his sorrow is, to understand why he doesn’t want to go to school, to understand his pain now that he has to find another school to go to….but the tanulda was closing, and he was headed home. So I sat his cross-stitched name card on the table – two letters finished, two letters to go – a conversation opened, waiting until we return. Who knew a simple question could open such a big door?

You never know who might be waiting to be asked such a question…such a one that so often gets asked without a thought in the world, and likewise gets brushed off or answered with a ‘fine’, or a ‘good’…but I can guarantee: you keep asking those little questions, and one of these times, it will mean so much more than just that, to the one who realizes they have been gifted, by you, a listening ear.

Frozen Fingers...

I walked along, a tiny candle in the palm of my hand, my fingers growing numb from the brisk autumn air whisking around them. I couldn’t blow the flame out and put my hand away, safely in my pocket just yet; the journey had just begun. I had no idea what I’d be doing that night as I embarked to celebrate Halloween (or All Saints Day depending on how you look at it) with the people of Gilvanfa. Just when I thought the festivities had started dying down – the snacks were eaten up, and the music put away, everyone’s coats were clothing their shoulders – people began congregating and receiving candles in their hands, and I realized, the real event of this holiday must just be beginning.

She walked beside me, one arm linked through mine – partially for companionship, partially for fear of the utter and complete darkness surrounding us. A glass jar, with yarn strung around its rim for a handle swung from her other hand – a lonely candle rolling around inside with each step we took. We walked amidst some others from the town, young and old alike, some quiet and reflective, others playing around, oblivious to the respectful silence that filled the air around them. We passed down an empty gravel road for some twenty minutes, nothing to see but the pitch black to either side of us, and the star filled, moon-less sky overhead. Then slowly, a small, crooked gate came into view – lightly illuminated by the many candles walking its way.

We walked through the gate, the muddy grass of the town’s cemetery giving beneath our feet. We came first to a grave, which she explained to me in a whisper, was where her grandmother and grandfather were buried. As she lit another two candles and placed them before the grave marker, I read that they had both died this past year. We stood a few minutes in silence, praying for these two beloved family members of hers that had recently passed. She slowly led me through the cemetery, pausing intermittently to pray and place a candle at the graves of people I had never met. The last place we stopped already had five or six candles glimmering golden light across its façade. A picture of a young mans face, lightly etched in the dark stone marker - only twenty years old when he died…so many questions I wanted to ask – Why so young? How? Who was this boy? Would I have met him in the community center if things were different?...and yet all I felt appropriate to do was pray.

I can’t imagine how those around me felt as they stood at the place where their loved ones, friends, and family members lay. What they prayed in that silence on that cold autumn night. If their hearts filled with joy for the hope that their beloveds were in a better place, or if their hearts weighed to the ground with the sorrow from the loss, brought to their attention at this time. I couldn’t find the words to comfort their sorrows, or to remind them of that hope we can always find in God…but I could stand there by their sides, and pray. When all else fails…when I cannot speak – whether for lack of knowing the correct words, or for fear of being culturally inappropriate, or when I don’t know what to do to help the kids with their Hungarian homework, I can pray. No matter where you are, what language you speak, or what language is being spoken around you, if you’re in a familiar place, or feel like an outsider in a room filled with people you know, if your fingers are too frozen to even fold together, or your head aching too much to think…no matter what time of day, remember, we can always turn to good, old fashioned prayer, and rest there, in God's peace :)

Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints…

Ephesians 6: 13-20

Ps. I apologize for the current lack of photos….my camera has officially broken :)

A picture may be worth a thousand words…But how do you ever figure out what those words are?

I was playing soccer in the little patch of grass that finds itself between the tanulda (the community house in Gilvanfa) and an old abandoned building – paint pealing away from the worn exterior. All my concentration was focused on not toppling over the tiny boys as I challenged them for the soccer ball, and not slipping in the grass – mud showing through the green, still slick for yesterday’s rains. I just couldn’t afford to get one of my two pairs of jeans prematurely dirty :). Eyes on the ball, eyes on the little boys, ready to prevent any unnecessary quarrels or brawls between eight year olds, and suddenly from outside my little bubble, I heard someone calling my name (or at least one of my names, since I’ve arrived in Hungary)…. "Juliet!!”, little seven year old Jozsi’s excited voice begs my attention from his spot on the sidewalk to my right, and as I turn to see what's caused his enthusiasm, my eyes met with an image that I know God placed there for a reason…not just because it was beautiful and endearing all in one, not because it so incredibly captured the way of life here in Magyarmecske, but because of something else….something else God wanted/wants me to see, something I need to read from that picture…and I’ve been wrestling with what that is for a good two weeks now.

Rolling across the muddy, uneven gravel road that runs between the disheveled houses was a wagon of sorts; a horse drawn carriage with a flat-bed backend intended to carry produce, hay, or other farm necessities and products, from town to town. Harnessed to the head of the wagon was a beautiful, strong, calmly confident, black draft horse, pulling the carriage exactly where it needed to go – not spooking at the rowdy kids kicking the soccer ball, or the noisy clunker that sped past and into the driveway ahead – eyes focused, knowing exactly where to go, and how to get there. While this was a beautiful sight in and of itself, that’s not what made me wonder – not what made me search for the lesson to be learned from it – search for those “thousand words” that this picture is worth....because, trotting along, close beside the majestic black horse, un-harnessed – no halter, no lead rope, nothing at all holding her back, or keeping her in line – was a young filly, no more than six months old I would guess, following the one she had always learned to follow – to trust, to obey, to mimic.

Why did that filly cling close by her leader’s side? Why not just traverse through the houses, the fields, into the forest behind the town? Because somehow, she knew that this other horse was leading her in the right path, that this was where she should be – trotting along side her teacher. As I find myself in a place I don’t know, doing a job I know hardly anything about, I realized, I’m much like that little filly. There is no reason in my mind – nothing I learned in school, or was taught growing up, that would tell me this is where I should be right. Nothing inherent within me would say the right path to take is the one that brings me away from home, away from the familiar, and the beloved, and into the uncomfortable…yet, this is where my big, mighty, strong, mysterious horse (God) has led me….and I can choose to follow him here – to stay on the path where his ‘hoofs’ fall, trusting that He shows the best way, or I can run wherever my own selfish heart desires, following my own path – exploring the side roads; the route I think is best for my life, and probably get lost and injured in the process. Things aren’t perfect. There are definitely days when I feel useless, like I’ve no idea what I’m doing here, no understanding of how drawing pumpkins, or singing “head-shoulders-knees-and-toes” with the kids could possibly be helpful, but I keep reminding myself that this is where God has brought me, and even if I can’t see the immediate effects of my presence here (on myself or those around me), I can trust that I am being led on the best possible path, by my all-powerful God.

The following verse was read at our orientation in Chicago, before we left the states. I think I'm beginning to see a tiny glimpse of the depth of this simple statement - of what it means to: “walk humbly” with my God.

“He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8

Van Dinnye???

“I’m going to go for little walk around the neighbor hood.” I stumbled, trying to put this idea into Hungarian words, in an effort to explain to my two Hungarian speaking housemates why I was leaving the house. “Just for a stroll…to get some fresh air and exercise.” “Szereted dinnye?” (do you like watermelon?) Ildiko asks. What an odd question to ask me as I’m leaving for a walk, I thought to myself….“yes.” Ildiko proceeded to tell me (in Hungarian) that I should take my walk down the street, to the fourth house on the right after the post office, and see if I could buy a watermelon from them. If I were still in the states and someone told me to do this – to walk into a stranger’s house and ask them for a watermelon, I probably would have shied away from the idea…add on the fact that I’m in another country, in a culture I don’t understand, and surrounded by a language I cannot yet speak...and a hundred reasons come swimming in my head, telling me not to do this. But, lo and behold, I figured it would be easier for me to just take some money and try to buy this watermelon, rather than figure out how to explain to Ildiko why I was too scared, and was not going to get the watermelon.

So, down the street I walked. Mossy, grassy stones passing underfoot. A baby girl learning to walk, led by her elderly grandmother…A youngster from the school passing behind me on his squeaky bicycle, entering the muddy driveway I just stepped through: “Szia Julie!”… “Szia!”….On past the now familiar red and green sign of the post office, hanging overhead…past house number one…house number two….house number three….hmmmm is this the house number four Ildiko spoke of? I wondered…and I could only hope it was, as I tried to politely get the attention of a couple standing in the yard, by hollering what little Hungarian I know about buying watermelons. They seemed to understand, and brought me around the side of their yard where there sat, one atop another, at least 100-200 watermelons laying on the brown dirt, poised and ready to be loaded on the trailer and taken to market. The man helping me kindly and carefully knocked on a dozen melons, until he seemed to find one that would be acceptable, then picked it up and carried it over and placed the heavy melon in my arms. I tried and tried to ask him how much I could pay; how much the melon cost, but to no avail. They would not let me pay, and sent me on my way with well wishes, and one big watermelon.

I meandered down the street, melon heavy in my arms, thinking about what a beautiful thing I’ve just been blessed to experience. To be accepted, on some level, at least, into this community. I couldn’t speak eloquently to the people at that house (little do I know if I even made any sense), yet that family graciously understood what I was sent there for, and took care of me and gifted me with a watermelon. I did absolutely nothing to deserve their graces, yet they poured them over my head.

I waddled down the uneven sidewalk that late afternoon, the weight of the marble green melon pulling and stretching at my arms, the sunlight slowly fading in the sky – and such a feeling of peace and warmth overflowing in my heart. A young boy from school, Pali, said hello from across the street, and ran over to walk beside me, an un-inflated balloon in his hand. We walked down the street, side by side, Pali bouncing along, blowing up his balloon and releasing it over and over again (and telling me all about it in Hungarian). I couldn’t understand but one or two words that he said, and yet, that was enough. Words don’t always need to be said. I’m learning that sometimes we can find commonality and understanding and community, by just trusting, and opening ourselves up to be with those around us. The community of Magyarmecske has done just that, for me. I can’t speak to them. They can’t speak to me, and yet, they let me be one of their own. They give to me without expecting payment, they wave to me on the street, and they walk beside me, keeping me company in a way that I can understand. And I can’t begin to tell you how blessed and humbled I am to be welcomed in such a way that I do not deserve.

Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves…

Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

Romans 12: 9-10,13

The Paper Crane...

A boy sits in the front row of his fourth grade class, light brown buzzed hair, and a darkened circle under one of his light grey eyes. He turns around every once in a while to use the English phrase he knows all too well: “What’s your name?”, and no matter how many times I tell him my name is Julie, he persists in practicing his English throughout the day – at recess, at lunch….in the middle of a math lesson. The teachers refer to him as one of the ‘difficult’ students – one of those “them” that is always making a fuss, speaking out in class and instigating quarrels with those around them. But I wonder, and hope that they see what I see, from my seat in the back of the classroom, as I observe, trying to understand what’s taking place, without the ability to comprehend the words being said. I hear him speaking out in class – primarily when he turns around to ask me, across the classroom, what my name is. I see him quarrelling with other students, and getting distracted from doing his assignments. But I also see him doing his work and seeking assistance when he doesn’t understand. I see that he rarely starts the quarrels with other students, but that his unruly actions appear to be a means of defending himself, and I see his kind heart when the class begins heading to a new destination (be it lunch, or PE, or recess, etc.) and he comes to my side and tells me in Hungarian, and motions with his hands, to make sure I know we’re leaving, and that I should come.

It can be so easy to categorize people, situations, places, etc., into the molds we already have in our minds. “Good student”, “bad student”, “trouble maker”, etc… But in doing so, parts of the picture are missed. I have no idea what this young boy’s family situation is like. The teachers may not always see the other students instigating trouble with this boy. And the world population can little understand the history, the culture, and the life of the gypsy population, based solely on what their peers and the media have to say. When everyone seems to point out the things that are bad or wrong about the people, the places, the world around you, I hope you will remember to celebrate the joys, as small as they may seem to be at the time.

At the end of class on Wednesday, the young boy walked to the back of the classroom where I sit, and placed a paper crane that he’d made earlier that week, in my hands. Though it took five minutes for me to understand what he was saying, he wanted me to have the crane, and take it home with me. I see that crane, now perched on my bookshelf, everyday as I head to work, and I am humbly reminded of the goodness that can be found in each and every one of us – however difficult it may be to unearth.

The Long Anticipated Day is Here!

One month ago yesterday, I left home to start this journey. I went through a week of YAGM orientation with the ELCA in Chicago, then hopped on an airplane to Budapest, and spent a week and a half at a Roma Camp by Lake Balaton. It was there that I got my first tastes of Hungarian and Gypsy/Roma culture. I then headed to Berekfurdo, Hungary along with the other non-Hungarian speaking volunteers, to undergo ten days of language training, which was a great experience…though I am far from being able to understand anything but simple words. Then, for four days, all the volunteers serving through my receiving organization (ODE) gathered for the general welcome seminar, where we worshiped, discussed the Roma situation in Europe and Hungary, and prepared for the challenges and obstacles we might face in the coming year. Now, after much anticipation, we will all set off to our different placements across Hungary today! Please pray for save travels, and blessed friendships at our placement sites, that we would all find the special place within our new communities where God is calling us to serve. Áldás Békesség! (Peace & Blessings!)

They have cotton candy in Hungary too!! :)
Some of my fellow German & French Volunteers, at a local Goulash festival in Town.

From left to right: Liz, Me(Julie), Amanda, Laura, Katie & Lauren
American volunteers serving in Slovakia and Hungary this coming year,
through the ELCA and the RCA.

Beautiful Lake Balaton

Intermission

(If you only have time for select reading, I recommend the article you'll find by following the last link in this entry)

Hi all! FYI, I've added a box on the left sidebar here, in case you'd like to receive an email notification every time I update my blog. Just enter your email address and click subscribe and you should be good to go! Let me know if you have any trouble!

I'm storing up all kinds of stories and thoughts to share with you, but before I take the time to compile them all in a coherent manner, I thought I'd share some interesting info I've been reading in the media, so that you can maybe balance the things I'm learning and sharing with you in the future, with the things the media puts out there, and the things that other people are doing and saying, especially surrounding the Gypsy population.

There was recently a shooting in Slovakia (where 3 other YAGMs are working with the Roma/Gypsy population), which resulted in the death of a Roma family - whether or not it was racially/ethnically motivated is not known. Two articles on the same event:

http://news.sky.com/skynews/Home/World-News/Shooting-In-Bratislava-Slovakia-Gunman-Kills-Seven-Including-Roma-Family-Members-And-Wounds-14/Article/201008415709172?f=rss

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-11129844

It's interesting, hearing about the Roma population from both the Gadje (non-Roma) and Roma perspective. I'm very excited to be more fully immersed in the Hungarian, and Gypsy culture, that I might acquire a fuller understanding of what's taking place in our world right now.


Here's just one perspective on the Roma in Europe. It's very interesting, especially to read the comments after the article. You can quickly get an idea of how the Roma are viewed in Europe, and across the world. I'll try to find other similar articles that offer different perspectives and stances as the weeks go by, and once I can organize all my thoughts and questions in an understandable manner, I'll be sharing that too!

http://edition.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/europe/08/19/france.roma.background/index.html?iref=allsearch#fbid=0lMTGQF3OIQ&wom=false

Please keep in mind that anything you read, see or hear (including my own words) must be taken with much consideration and understanding, not just taken at face value for what we want it to be. If we want to view the Gypsy population in a negative light it's so easy to find information from the media, from those around us that enables us to do so. Likewise, if we want to view the Gypsy population in a positive light, I can tell you numerous stories from my short two weeks in Hungary that wouldn't allow you to love them as your brothers and sisters. My hope for this year is that we will be able to read and hear and see things from every different opinion, and that we would be empowered to do right, knowing that we've achieved a fuller understanding of this complicated situation.

God's Peace!

Duck Duck.......Coco Snail!

August 28, 2010

It’s the beginning of our second whole day in Hungary! We (all the YAGMS….about 44 of us, going to different countries around the world) spent the past week in Chicago for ELCA – Young Adults in Global Mission orientation. On Wednesday (the 25th), I left with the four other girls going to Slovakia and Hungary, and we flew into Budapest.

We arrived and were greeted at the Budapest airport by Jozsi, our guide, translator, and all-around helper for the next few days. We then took a minibus out to Lake Balaton, where we’ll be staying at a Roma camp for a little over a week, until our language training starts on September 5th. Everyone we’ve met and spoken with is so kind and helpful, even when we can hardly understand each other due to the language barrier. It has been so much fun learning Hungarian with Jozsi, and trying out that Hungarian in the etterem (restauraunt), where we eat all of our meals…to the point where all the waiters and cooks recognize us as the sweet American girls who need a lot of help with their Hungarian. Gyuri, the man who, if I understand correctly, runs the camp, invited us to another Roma camp in the area, where he and his son, Eureka, were playing and singing traditional gypsy music. The music was absolutely beautiful (google/youtube “Romano Glaszo” if you want a taste of it!). After we returned to the camp where we’re staying, some of the teenage girls graciously and patiently taught us ladies how to do a traditional Gypsy dance, with footwork we Americans have never seen before :). Don’t worry yourselves too much though, I’ll continue practicing so I can teach you all when I return!

Essential Hungarian Phrase of the Day:

“Vizet Szencsav Mentes” aka… “v-zet sin-sh-aaaah-v ment-esh”
In English: “Water without bubbles/gas”

Comical moments of the week:
Singing “Better Shape Up” from the movie “Grease”, with 10 year old Eureka, in the back of the minibus, during the bumpy ride to the other Roma camp.
And….eating what literally translates to “coco snails” for breakfast! Haha, don’t worry they’re just cinnamon rolls with cocoa powder instead of cinnamon :)

Szia! (hello or goodbye...prounounced like we would say see-ya!)

Is There a Suitcase Big Enough for This?!

My bags are packed!...albeit they will probably be unpacked and repacked at least three times between now and when my flight leaves in two days :). I’m getting more and more excited as the days pass…not to say I’m not also getting more and more nervous. Early on Wednesday morning, I’ll be headed to Chicago for a week of orientation, after which, all of us YAGMs (Young Adults in Global Missions) will head off to our respective countries for the year. I’m scared of leaving what I know – sad to leave my friends and family, and my home, knowing that I’ll be missing events and times in their lives this coming year, but I’m excited to see what God has in store for me – excited to see my new home and meet new friends and ‘family’, and excited to still stay in touch and share experiences and stories (even if it is from a distance) with those back home.

I’m beginning to believe that I’ll never feel completely prepared to go to Hungary. No matter how many times I try packing (and unpacking, and repacking…and unpacking, and repacking, etc.), my mind manages to be so remarkably reassured of the fact that I’ve forgotten to include something that I’ll need over the coming year. But maybe that’s the beauty of it all. I’m reminded again and again, that no matter how much luggage I take, no matter how well I can speak Hungarian, and no matter how many coats I carry to keep me warm in the winter, none of it will ever be enough for me to achieve the purpose I’ve set out to achieve...save I pack the strength and power of God. I rest assured in the fact that I’ll get to Chicago on Wednesday, and realize I’ve forgotten something monumental (just hope it's not my passport! lol), and then about a week later, I’ll get to Hungary, and amidst my unpacking, realize that I’ve left something else, seemingly essential, sitting on my bed at home. No matter how many things I forget, and no matter how many words I wish I could say, but for the life of me can’t seem to pronounce correctly, I know that I am with a God that will provide for me, that will listen and speak to me with understanding, and that will strengthen me and use me despite how incredibly weak and imperfect I may be…and thanks be to God, I don’t need a suitcase big enough to take Him along with me :)

But He said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”

2 Corinithians 12:19

Essential Hungarian Phrase of the Day:

“Csak egy kicsit tudok magyarul”

Pronounced (more or less…lol): “Chalk edge key-cheat too-dough-k my-are-oool”

aka: “I only know a little Hungarian” :)

Letting go of all that's dear...

In the Winter of my last year at Cal Poly, I came to the realization that I did not want to go into the world of corporations, careers and 9-5's straight away after graduation. Come January, I applied to a few different volunteer programs and prayed fervently that God would open and close doors to force me onto the path He planned for me...stubborn faith I like to call it... e.g. push me where You want me to go, because, left to my own decision making abilities, we both know I won't end up where You've planned for me to thrive.

The weeks and months passed...doors closed and, thanks be to God, one also opened. Now, here I am, utterly terrified yet inexplicably confident that I am going and doing exactly what God has intended for me. This August I'll be headed to a small town in Hungary called Magyarmecske. I'll be working with a minority population known as the Roma people, and I am so, so, soooo excited to pursue God's will through this trip.

It will mean so much to me, to have your support and prayers throughout this journey. Not to mention it would be incredibly nice to maintain a connection to the states while I am fully immersed in a new culture, a new language and a new way of life.

I hope you will stay tuned! I'll try to keep my posts to a minimum while still sharing the experience, so you don't fall asleep while reading :)

Viszlát!