Over Thanksgiving, while all of our Romanian neighbors were
going about their daily lives of work and home, we Americans were prepping
ourselves for an evening of friends and feasting. Yet, when all 4 of us entered into our
kitchen built for no less than 2 cooks at once, and began to assemble all of
the necessary items, we quickly realized that we were without an important
ingredient: water. As regularly occurs here
(though this was our first experience in the apartments), the water had been
shut off for the day. Needless to say, the
kitchen got significantly more chaotic.
3 hours later, we emerged, victors , with 4 homemade dishes in hand,
ready to leave for a weekend at the cabin in Straja. Unfortunately, in the midst of the chaos, we forgot
to turn off the faucet, as there was no water currently coming out.
“Currently” is the key word, because at 4 am our directors received
a desperate call from our downstairs neighbors that their apartment was
flooding. Adi, the hero of the day, rushed
over and spent the next several hours mopping up the small lake which had made
its way from our kitchen, into the hall, and over half of the living room. When
we received a call in the morning to inform us about the eventful previous night,
I felt my heart sink and bury itself in the ground beneath my feet.
Coming home to the apartment was nerve wracking. Would our neighbors hate us? Would they yell and scream, as they had every
right to do? Had we forever ruined NHF’s
relationship with them? My roommates and
I huddled in the mostly-dry living room and memorized a speech in Romanian that
we hoped would relay the depth of our sorrow and penitence, and knocking on
their door, I shot up a quick “Help!” prayer.
The man who opened the door looked confused, but soon
realized who we were. While I prepared
for an angry tirade, he nodded and tried his best to discern our nervous, Romanian
speech. When we had finished, he said, “It’s
ok. Not a problem. I understand.
Just be more careful next time and don’t let it happen again.” Not sure we had understood correctly, we
insisted several more times, “Ne pare foarte rau!” (We’re so sorry!). And again, but with a smile, he only asked
that we be more careful.
Walking upstairs to our apartment, we marveled at his
kindness and generosity to us. When he
could have been very angry, yelled, and demanded compensation, he forgave us
and treated us so kindly. I could not
have asked for a more perfect example of human grace.
Grace has begun to feel like a theme to our time here. Operating in a new culture, there are so many
instances in which I require grace. My
homestay family worked so hard to understand me, acting out words like charades
or drawing pictures when we struggled to understand each other with words. The
students in my IMPACT club let me ask questions over and over and help to
translate during the meetings. And my
fellow classmates, who have to live with me every day for four months give me
the grace to have bad days, sad days, and to fail their expectations.
But it causes me to ask myself, how often do I give grace to
others? And how willingly? I am apt to shut down or pull into myself
when asked to go above and beyond for someone, especially a stranger, or to
forgive someone who has seriously wronged me.
Yet so many Romanians have willingly opened their lives to me, and have
continued to do so even when I inconvenience them, burden them, or even flood
their home. I have seen the incredible “Romanian
hospitality” extend to include grace, and I am so thankful that it does. They have reminded me that we all depend on
each other and that just as I am in desperate need of human grace, I must give
it just as freely so that others may experience grace as well.
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