1,000 Pine Trees

Gypsy villages in Romania are usually smaller communities of similar cultures or races banding together outside a larger city. The Numiest community was no exception. We had driven about an hour down the dirt road made only rougher from the treads of horse and carts passing through daily. After crossing a small, barely standing bridge, over a small creek we arrived at the leaders home. We were presenting the Book of Hope to the children gathered outside the village leader’s home on this cold Thursday morning. The leader appeared quickly and approached us.

Now almost a month later I reflect on this meeting as I stand in front of about twenty junior high students learning about world geography in Mrs. Atkinson’s class. How am I supposed to relate to these students about the things you experience in other countries? How do you explain to them the faces, people and food? How am I supposed to convince them that there is a world outside the four walls of this school?

In this Junior high classroom the kids look shocked as I tell them that the family we lived with had four kids in one room. There was only one bathroom and the hot water didn’t always work. The kids eyes widen when I try to explain that kids in other countries don’t all have T.V’s or DVD players in their rooms. They don’t all have stereos and cell-phones and iPod’s for their latest music download. A sense of amazement that people could survive that way, and a sense of apathy that it’s too far away for them to care.

Then the hands raise, oh good I think, questions. “You have a question?” “Yah, my friend is from Armenia, I mean Romania, actually I don’t know which it is.”

O.k. any other questions?

“Yah my friend went to Spain and she really liked it”

Hmm. Ok, I’m glad you guys really learned a lot from today’s lesson.

“Any other questions?” I ask, none really.

How do you explain to these kids the reality that many people live with? What is it that separates them so distinctly from the rest of the world? How do I tell them this story in a way that they’ll never forget?

As the village leader approached he extended his large hand towards me. I grasped it firmly and kept it there as I looked into his eyes. It bugs me when people shake your hand like a dead fish. This was no cold mackerel. I stared into his eyes as we both exchanged greetings in our own language that neither of the other would understand. His eyes spoke words to me of life, experience and wisdom. His hand spoke to me as well and the stories I’m sure it could tell.

That hand left an indelible impression of years of cutting trees, handling horse reins, shoveling snow, constructing homes and raising a family. Experiences and events that none of these kids would ever understand or know. For hours afterwards I could still smell pine trees on my hands after shaking his. One thousand pine trees is my guess. The number he’s probably felled in his lifetime. The smell and the image of our hands interlocked will never leave me, I just hope someway I’ll be able to explain it to the twenty kids in Mrs. Atkinson’s geography class and to you.


Thank you so much to everyone who supports, prays, calls, emails and reads
about these adventures. As much as you're supporting Book of Hope, you even
more are affecting me and my life as I go about seeking God's plan and
purposes for my life. Thank you for your partnership.