I’m not really helping the poor

It’s so funny how probably most of my friends and family think I am living such a tough life. Down here in this scattered country called Romania, rolling around in dirt all day every day, getting robbed monthly and raped by local men every two weeks. 

Thank goodness speaking out the truth has never been hard for me, so here it comes: I’m not. Also, none of the above is true.

The biggest risks I have faced so far are the times stray dogs have threatened to attack me on the street and the almost-panic-and-a-heart-attack in the Taxi last Saturday when driving a bit too fast considering the condition of the road. 

Here some facts. I love my job. I love the people i work, live and share life with. It’s warm outside. Or hot, as some people would call it. I live in a beautiful house on the hill with big windows, high walls and walnut trees in our yard. In fact, I can go pick my breakfast fruit straight from the trees in our orchard. I have time. I have my weekends off. I can focus on God and doing things I really enjoy doing. Church is family instead of one boring hour on Sunday. And I have an awesome family in Finland, that sends me down my favourite coffee.

I am so lucky. And I feel so much wealthier than many of the people I know in the rich west (sorry guys), though I have nothing, really… nothing that I have been taught to link to being rich, powerful or successful.

Oh, and then the poor… yes, I came down here to help them. To teach them stuff, like how you should save up and think ahead in life. Letters maybe, how to read. How to write task list with tick boxes. How to drink coffee. I mean, start calling me a saint already, please.

Another truth is, it feels like I’m not really teaching the poor anything over here, the poor are teaching me. About what really matters. What it really means to rely on God. About values, family and other love heart shaped things. About my character and how serious I really am about following this guy called Jesus.

Because isn’t it so easy to love someone who is lovable? Nice, educated, takes two showers a day. Thinks the same way as you. But where is the love in that, the challenge? Where’s the hardcore, real, painful love in that? That’s what the people here are teaching me about, love. The unprocessed and real kind that comes in weird shapes and irregular sizes. Love that’s more than just a rush of fluffy feelings, but acts of good character and movements guided by truth. Forgiveness. Enduring and sacrificing. 

It’s tough but it’s so real. And so worth experiencing.

So for those of you, who are supporting my stay here, I’m sorry. I might not be helping the poor as much as they are helping me. I thought I knew something, but I don’t. And if i’ve understood something, it’s the fact that i don’t understand anything. Or maybe as much as a drop in the ocean or something? Like, nothing.

Love – a concept too big for my blonde brain.

Until next time.



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