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