Remembering Romania

It’s almost been six months since our visit to Romania as an Ex woodlands foundation team but the thoughts of the children that we visited in the orphanage still brings back a concrete animation of our time there.

We flew to Bucharest from Gatwick, enjoying much the privilege of flying over land and thanking God for having the resources to do so. On our arrival we were picked up from Bucharest and journeyed to Constanta, the city of our short visit.

I adored our accommodation, I admired the friendliness of the Men who picked us up and the love of the woman who opened and gave us the key to our abode. I remember the first evening like one remembers a cool evening; it was relax, quieted and mellow. We had pizza for dinner and went for a walk to explore our new terrain. The morning felt like a cold evening for I was forced out of my own will to have a cold shower, but redeemed in the fellowship with my friends as we broke bread with one another.

We came to Constanta for two reasons, 1. to visit the churches and 2. To visit the orphanage. Our visit would not be like a man who goes and visit a businessman, no, ours would be like a visit of a brother to his beloved sister. We were to follow that Christian principle of going to serve rather than waiting to be served. The banner of our hearts was love and that unconditionally.

We visited the girl’s orphanage and immediately upon seeing the first small eyes, I was moved with love and zeal although my heart wasn’t so much excited when I was portioned to do some tilling. We cooked for them and more of the girls showed up and with each dovely eyes, some rougher than others, I loved them all and wished the best for them.

We visited the boy’s orphanage and there was a high energy of welcome. Full of gratitude and playfulness we did some activities and the most consistent activity throughout our short stay was that of painting their kitchen. I loved the boys and their diversity. 

Saying goodbye is the hardest of all. A good day was ended due to the coming of the night. We had to leave them and before leaving we shared what our dreams where. When it was my poor time to share, I spoke. They clapped when I said my dream was to become more like Jesus.

I will be posting more of remembering Romania as the flashbacks appear in my ageing memory.



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