We visited the village of Tinca, a Roma village. We walked the streets of the village and invited folks to come to women’s ministry and VBS that afternoon and a following church service. Our VBS time and women’s ministry went well, but during VBS, it was obvious that there were a few boys who were a bit unruly. During the church service, my youngest daughter became very hungry and very sleepy. We retreated to the bus that our team uses, for her to rest and get a small snack. While sitting on the bus, these few boys (10-12ish in age?) began to bother the driver (who is Romanian). I watched from inside and their exchange seemed friendly at first, gathering by the hand motions that the boys were asking questions about the bus. Then, things grew more intense with their conversation, and I could tell the boys were asking to get on the bus. The boys started towards the driver and he charged back at them, sending the message to stay away. They continued to bother our driver and things became more heated as the boys showed more aggression. I watched, heartbroken, feeling sorry for these boys—wondering how life could ever possibly be different for them. I imagined the future, seeing future troublemakers, possible bullies, or even criminals and my heart hurt for them. “They need Jesus,” I thought—thinking that no amount of humanitarian aid would fix the root of the problem for these boys and that without Jesus, they would be destined to continue this trajectory and perpetuate the cycle in their own future families. I just could not stop watching them, thinking “How could any of these young boys ever escape Tinca?”
Later in the evening, we had dinner with Romanians who are partners with Foundation for Hope. One of the Romanians that I got to meet was the pastor of the church that we had been at that day, the church in Tinca. I talked, with help of a translator, with him and his wife and we talked about their ministry at their church. I enjoyed talking with them and was so impressed with how grounded, knowledgeable, and kind they both were. Assuming they each must have grown up in a developed part of Romania and felt called to minister to the people of Tinca, I asked the translator to inquire where they were raised. The translator asked the question to the pastor and the pastor looked at me and replied, “Tinca.”
Speechless, tears came to my eyes and I suddenly saw this pastor as a grown version of those boys I watched. Praise God that He does rescue and does redeem.