On a journey...

First impressions. Our three hour bumpy bus ride to the village of Paicu in the south of Moldova reminded me of the minibuses in Brazil, that are always packed and bumpy. In the driver’s defense, the roads weren’t the best either. Finally we got off at what seemed in the middle of nowhere and started walking down the dirt road in the direction of the village. I was so grateful to have our contact, now friend, with us who knew where we were going. After a little walk we were met by a white van driven by one of the missionaries in the village. She grew up there amidst a lot of hard challenges, found Jesus, and is now on fire for God, having got His heart for her village and has planted a church there. She is  slowly seeing her family and others coming to Jesus as they see the transformation in her life. As we drove into the village we saw large piles of hay stored up for the winter, chickens and geese wandering around, bright blue fences and green houses, and beautiful flowers.

As I got ready for the day I was expecting to sit here at the end of it feeling heavy and overwhelmed by the reality of Human Trafficking here in Moldova. Instead I find myself processing the day and realizing that the main thing I come away with is a deep sense of hope. We visited two projects today that work with people at risk of or rescued from human trafficking. I was so impacted by what God is doing in this nation in this area. Talking to the leaders of these projects and hearing the vision and what they are doing, and even more what God is doing, I was so encouraged. At “Beginning of Life” we spent some hours just meeting and sharing with Vladimir, the director of the project. He shared some of the reality of human trafficking in his nation, but more about how the doors are wide open to do prevention work in the schools of the nation, and how teenagers come and do a year-long weekly project where they are “prepared for success”. And he shared how in their restoration ho

I noticed her on the train on the way there because she was sleeping with her head resting in her hands. Occasionally she would jerk awake only to fall back to sleep. Her head was covered with the traditional head scarf and I imagined she was just another older Moldovian woman on her way somewhere. As we got off the train I noticed her because she struggled to climb down the steep steps of the train, and we had to give her a hand with her bag. Walking towards the church we offered to help her, but she wasn’t too interested so we let her be. After the long day in the village we headed back to the platform (the slab of concrete in between the railway lines) and when we were almost there I saw her. She was lying on the ground, clearly very drunk, and her black bag was a little ways away. I wanted to help, but realized that communication would be a challenge. Thankfully our group had a few Russian/Romanian speakers and they were there shortly after me. They talked to her and helpe

The train slowly pulled away from the platform. We were all situated on the bright orange wooden benches in the mint green and orange painted train headed from Chisinau to Bender. We were on our way to a small village church with a team from OM (Operation Mobilization) here in Moldova. The hour and forty minute train journey passed reasonably quickly. It was fascinating to observe the landscape outside through the dirty train windows, which created a slightly foggy effect on the scenery. Passing fields and hills and forests with the occasional buildings on the way it was easy tell we were leaving the big city. Yesterday we spent the day in the city, which was vastly different to Amsterdam. I felt like we were the only tourists and as we walked through the bustling market buying fruit for breakfast, it was fascinating to see how you could literally buy anything there. We spent the day walking around the city and getting a bit of glimpse of this city with its run-down cement buildin

It actually feels like I’m on the beach. The hot sun is adding some extra tan to my face and arms, there is a cooling water mist coming from the fan in the corner, and we are lounged on some nice benches with comfy cushions on. The empty pot of Earl Grey is on the table and we are all typing away on our respective electronic devices. I guess the big question is: Where are we? Well, we are at a small café in the airport in Bucharest, Romania, making use of our 5 hour lay-over on-route to Chisinau, Moldova. Arriving at the airport in Amsterdam  we were a bit astounded by the long queue for the bag drop. The newly introduced “self-service bag drop”, which in theory is meant to save time and be efficient, but which hasn’t entered into its full potential when tackled by unknowing “first-timers”, who end up spending a long time trying to figure out how to place their luggage in the little machine, how to scan their boarding pass, how to attach the id-strip to the bag or suitcase, and ad

I’ve been back in Amsterdam for two weeks now. I would say back “home”, but Fortaleza felt so much like home, I’m not ready to call Amsterdam home yet. It’s weird. Culture shock, jet-lag, all those concepts that hit you when you spend more than just a holiday in a culture different from your own. I would have thought it wouldn’t hit me this hard having been away only a couple of weeks, but it has, and it is. Although I think I’m over jet-lag by now. It was so strange to leave Fortaleza. In two weeks it became normality, although I was always aware that I was just visiting. Even as I ate lunch before leaving straight after, it didn’t feel like I was heading off. Pulling into the parking lot of the airport, the sensation was that it was to pick someone up, not actually for the purpose of me leaving. The flight was long. And tiring. And uncomfortable. Usually I do well on planes, but a sore throat and cough added to a small seat I couldn’t quite get settled into made it feel so l