WOOL SOCKS and WARM BEDS

We bumped along through the Romanian countryside hour after hour, occasionally stopping at remote villages to herald another Reformed Church before climbing back in the vans to travel onward.

I spent much of the first two days burrowed in numerous layers and deep sleep in the yellow van, trying to combat a sinus infection and the cold mist seeping through cracks in the doors and windows.

Thursday evening, we rolled up to our final destination of the day—the Hungarian Reformed Church in Magyarlona—at around eight to hear another not-so-brief history of the archaic church and to meet our local host families for that night. Most of us were wearing most of the clothes we’d brought as the day had gotten progressively more cold and bitter……I couldn’t feel my toes even through two thick pairs of wool socks as we shuffled into the unheated church and scrunched into the unfriendly wooden benches.

The young pastor recognized our misery and compassionately kept his church history brief. We snapped out of our slightly comatose state when he mentioned “dinner” and “bed”; then he commenced the auctioning of the students to the host parents.

A short woman sporting spiky auburn hair, a pink and teal 80s warm-up jacket and a commanding personality promptly stood up, moved to the center of our mixed gathering, and firmly stated, “FOUR GURL.” She shocked me out of my cold-induced stupor: I immediately stood and three girls sitting next to me followed. We tripped after her like funny mismatched ducklings and sat in her pew, a bit stunned by the quick transaction. We were claimed.

The rest of the host parents followed suit, claiming students in threes and fours until we’d all been sorted and marked. We tottered sleepily out into the stony road, bidding our fellows good night (and good luck!), and followed our host mom halfway down the road, through a wooden gate, and straight up to her clean, modest, and modern-looking house.

We stepped inside and were immediately ashamed of what we’d expected. This was no dirt-floor shack with missing windows, a wood stove, barrel in the corner for bathing, curtain separating a makeshift bedroom from the family’s living space..….the kitchen was warm and cozy, the living room was spacious and smelled like home, and the staircase leading to three bedrooms upstairs looked new.

That night we went to bed toasty warm and well-fed from homemade goulash, parsley potatoes, black currant palinka, and good conversation with our newest friend. Before I fell asleep, I mulled over our conversation with our host mom, smiling inwardly at her effortless warmth and hospitality, at our animated laughter over her mischievous spirit, at our easy companionship around her kitchen table. God had far surpassed our fervent prayers over our interactions with the people of Romania; I hmmmed gratefully as I fell asleep and began to expect more great things for the weekend.