Bad Dreams

 I keep dreaming about leaving- getting leaving anxiety- every night I dream that I'm back in America and I didn't get the chance to say goodbye to my kids. What am I supposed to do? Go on with my life- pursuing dreams to be a teacher to rich white kids with parents who love them? Why should I do that when these kids still doesn't have a mom? Shouldn't I stay here? Isn't that the right thing to do? It's all so confusing. With great privilege comes great responsibility. Responsibility to do what? To be a teacher to rich kids and make enough money to live comfortably in a nice neighborhood? Or to stay in a poor country loving these kids? But- even if I dedicate my whole life to this- it won't fix the problem. There will be orphan after orphan, abuse story after abuse story, and even if I help as many as I can it won't even put a dent in the problem. Does great privilege entitle one to sit back and enjoy their privilege? 

Part of me doesn't even want to go back to America. I was looking out the window today at the big apartment buildings and the street leading past the palace away from our apartment, remembering the first day I woke up in Romania and was a little scared, but mostly curious, about the unknown. I was not on U.S. Soil. This used to be communism. All the buildings looked so blocky. The people looked different. Would I be okay? Would I be good at my job? 

And now- it's my home. And while I miss Jiff Peanut butter like crazy, I don't need to go back to huge shiny elevators and clean streets and English. These small elevators and dirty stairs work just fine, and Romanian is a beautiful language. Who says America is the center of the world? (Actually, the Romanians do. They don't know why I came here, because they all save up money to leave here and go to America, or at least another European country to work. They play American music on the radios, dress their children in shirts with Minnie Mouse on them, and encourage watching American movies like Finding Nemo. America is their future.)

I'm crying now. What am I doing with my life? :) I asked myself the same question when Bradley left. I guess when you loose something you love, you start to question everything's meaning. Which proves- that love- specifically choosing to love others and to give your life to their service- really is the meaning of all of this life stuff after all. So, maybe, even though I have a lot of faults, and I don't listen as much as I should and I'm not that observant, and I say the wrong things and make the wrong comments, and slaughter my Romanian when I talk, and I don't know how to fix a lot of problems for people and situations, maybe if my heart is at least breaking at the right times, I'm doing something right.

Pillow fighting!

Today's highlight at the orphanage was a pillow fight. The workers were vacuuming the floors and asked Little Sissy and Little Squirt to sit on the little bed by D's play pen in the room. I sat on the bed with them, and after the vaccumming finished, I tossed a pillow at Sissy and it kinda hit her in the face and she thought it was so hilarious. It turned into me tossing multiple pillows at Sissy and Squirt and them loving it. Then it turned into the worker also tossing pillows at their faces, but harder, and from farther away. They loved that. Then she started tossing pillows at me too. :) Mostly at the kids though. We were tossing pillows at each other, and the kids kind of tossed them back. It was so cute.

Uniquely Romanian

 On Saturday the Stoicas (Radu's mom) invited us and the sora missionaries over for lunch. We ate in their living room, and there weren't enough seats, so Sora Stoica just watched us eat standing up, making sure we liked it and that it was okay. She didn't eat herself at all. She was a very formal host. We had coirba de legume (vegetable soup), mamaliga (like a moist and non-sweet, grainy homemade cornbread- really good), sarmale (pickled cabbage wrapped around chicken, vegetables, and rice, and boiled, then stored in these little ceramic pots- some with cabbage leaves, others with purple grape vine leaves), bread from a bag, and tort cu mere (apple cake). It was all delicious! The Romanian thing to do is to sit around and talk for a long time. The sisters even had a spiritual thought to share, but they allowed awkward silences until conversation got going for about 2 hours until they finally did the spiritual thought right before they left. They wanted it to be the last thing, I guess. Conversation was so fun, and it worked, interestingly enough, with Sora Stoica speaking in Romanian, and us speaking mostly in Romanian, but with a little bit of English, and we could understand each other and have funny conversations. By the end of our time, we had pulled out all 3 of their family photo albums, laughed at a picture of Radu in a rooster outfit, seen all the pictures of her daughter Andrea at BYU, and discussed all the different food in Romania. I even brought up farming where I lived and goat cheese came up, so they offered me some sheep cheese that was alright. I was the only one brave enough to try it. :) It just looked really bubbly. I love trying new things. I think everyone should do meals like the Romanians- keep the food coming, and you might as well just stop all the clocks. :)

 I also found out that Romanians don't like to sit on the ground because it makes girls go infertile. Oh man. No wonder the nurses used to get mad at us, but now they just laugh at us. Once you've lost your fertility, I guess there's no going back. :) Hee hee.

Amazing Grace

Amazing Grace.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

T'was Grace that taught...
my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear...
the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares...
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...
and Grace will lead us home.

The Lord has promised good to me...
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be...
as long as life endures.

When we've been here ten thousand years...
bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise...
then when we've first begun.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

The song amazes me. So does the story of the man who wrote it- and the irony of his former position as a slave trader, and then how the song gained momentum in the American south through the slaves.

Here's a video about it if you're a history nerd like me and want to watch, otherwise skip the video and keep reading:

The song first seriously struck me last summer, right before I went to college, when the father of one of my dear friends sang a solo in sacrament meeting. The man has been literally going blind throughout his life, and  has such limited vision left the doctors predict he will be permanently blind within a few years. When he sang, "was blind but now I see", it struck me that he couldn't possibly be talking about literal vision. So- what was he talking about being able to see?

I think... it's seeing a deeper meaning in life, and that is Jesus Christ. Seeing His love. Seeing His miracles. Seeing the power of his Atonement change you from the person you didn't like to be before into the person you could not have become today without His hand.

This song is very true of my life. Grace has saved me from struggles with my testimony, trying to love friends and collegues when I felt like I did not have any more love to give, letting my best friend Bradley leave on a mission to Spain for two years, and leaving all my friends in Amarillo Texas when we had to move to Washington. I cannot deny that grace alone got me through those hard times. It truly is amazing.

So- here. Give it a try- play this video, close your eyes, and listen to the lyrics.
Think about your life.
Think about growing up, learning, loving, falling, and getting back up again.
See if it touches your heart like it did mine.

Soarele

It was crazy. There I was, sitting at church next to the window, and all of a sudden, this yellow stuff started to get all over my arm, and my arm started getting warm. What the heck is going on? What is this stuff? I wondered. I looked out the window, and the entire street was super bright. Oh my goodness. It's sunlight. 

Two months in Iasi, Romania, and I had forgotten what the sun was like. It was so bright. I even thought to myself, God- the street doesn't even need to be that bright. We can see everything just fine under layers of clouds- you could save some energy and tone down the sun a little. It was crazy.

The palace we were used to seeing:

In the sunlight:

But man, it was nice. My forearm felt so warm, and the street was like- wow- so bright.

Sitting in church, I suddenly realized- No wonder they compare Christ to the sun. He is the light of the world. The sun is so bright- it's overwhelming. It illuminates everything. It gives everything warmth. It is the source of energy for all phtosynthesizing life, and thus, every single food chain, and all life on earth. And Christ is the source of all the light, warmth, and life in my life, just like the sun. Even when sometimes I don't think Christ is there- He is. Just because there's layers of clouds doesn't mean it's not the light of Christ by which I am learning and growing. Without the sun- there is nothing. Just darkness, and coldness, and death. 

Îmi place soarele. I like the sun.

Even more beautiful

'Cause the little princess painted my nails today.

I brought some nail polish to paint the two little girls' nails. The little boy squirt was heartbroken I wouldn't paint his nails. Sorry Buckeroo- I refuse to paint little boys' nails.

When I had finished with the girls, the little princess insisted I give the brush to her so she could paint my nails. I felt like my mother, who would always let my little sister Molly paint her toenails rainbows.

The workers thought it was so hilarious- they kept laughing and pointing. I loved it. "Uh.... original." They said.

Didn't she do a good job? :)

Feeling Beautiful

My favorite little squirt was getting restless, so I pulled my little black comb I always keep in my pocket out for him to play with. Usually he likes to comb his hair. But today he wasn't in the mood, and just wanted to comb the worker's hair, but she was running around like a chicken with her head cut off as usual, so I asked him if he would comb my hair. He loved it! I took out my ponytail, and had all my hair down, and he was brushing and brushing for a good 10 minutes, with the wrong side of the comb, just kind of wiggling my hair around and around, getting it more tangled than it was before. But I loved it. He thought he was doing a good job, and he was fascinated with my hair. He probably hadn't ever really touched longer hair that was down before. Sometimes he would “comb”, sometimes he would just touch it and feel it. He even pulled it, but it didn't hurt me at all. Most of the time he went really slow, and was very careful. My hair was getting tangled, I was in blue scrubs with little fuzzies from the carpet all over me, I had no makeup on and my eyes were red from my allergies, but I felt so so beautiful. To be loved and treated like a princess by a child you love. I wonder if I have ever felt so beautiful in all my life. 

He also loves to look out the window while standing on the windowsill, but the workers are back and forth over whether or not it is okay because it's “Frig” or cold, and Romanians firmly believe coldness brings sickness. I had him up to the window yesterday, and she came back from her smoke and said, “Oh! Nu nu nu! Doctor nu e place. E frig.” The doctor wouldn't like it- it's cold. Of course. I said “Asa,” and started to take the kid down, but just to pull their strings a lot, I asked him, “Tu este frig?” Are you cold? He smiled super big and exclaimed, “Da! Frig!” He loves the cold. He lives his life in sweat. :) Anyway, so today I stood up and put one foot on that little shelf with all the toys and let him sit on my bent leg, so he could still see out the window, but he wasn't right up against the cold glass. He really wanted to get closer to the glass, but I wanted to respect the workers so we didn't. He still loved it. We pointed out the casa mare, big house, and machina, cars, and biserica, church, and soarele, sun, and the birds and the blue sky. He kept saying, “Uite!” Look! He loves looking outside at the beautiful outside air. After a while I asked him if he was gata, done, and he said “nu gata.” And he just sat there on my knee, looking and gazing out the window, for a long, long time. After a while he leaned his head up against my chest to rest while he kept looking out the window. I felt like I might melt in a puddle of love. I felt like a mom- like he was my little boy, and I was his mom. I felt beautiful again. 

Michael Jackson's "Heal the World" played on the radio, and I picked up my sweet little fetal alcohol syndrome girl, and we slow-danced and twirled around in circles with her in my arms, and she laughed and smiled the biggest smile ever. I almost cried from the shock of how much joy was filling my soul all at the same time. It was almost too much joy to handle. I felt beautiful again. 

There are many different kinds of beauty. I remember getting dressed up for prom, and feeling so special, hoping that in Bradley's eyes, I would be beautiful. But- that was more of a confidence that I looked good. 

The beauty I feel in the orphanage has nothing to do with how I look- because today I was in oversized dark blue scrubs with white fuzzies sticking to them all over, and no makeup, and my eyes were red from allergies. The beauty I feel is more of a confidence that my life is bigger than me- that my actions are helping the world in a way that makes my life worthwhile to another human being. That because I exist, a child is happier, laughs more, cries less, because I am a source of love and protection for them.

I think I like feeling beautiful in scrubs better.