Sustainable Development In My Own Life

After a most wonderful and relaxing fall break spent in Italy, Switzerland, and Austria, it was time for us Northwestern students to get back into our classes full swing. For the past three days, and tomorrow being the last, we have intensely been studying the idea and concept of Sustainable Community Development, and right now as I sit on my bed at 1:30 in the morning, my mind is continually swirling with thoughts and ideas about development and all the different ways and possibilities that this topic could apply to me as an individual living in today's society. So, I must write and try to put my thoughts on paper....(or on a blog I guess!)

I will start with the basics of what sustainable development is. We have learned that it is defined as "meeting the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs." We have been thinking about the "environmental crisis" that our world is currently in, looking at the nature of the problem we face, and thinking about our future and how we can make a difference by changing our behaviors as individuals. Here is one basic statistic that might help paint a better picture.

**About 75% of all environmental damage is caused by the 25% of the world's population who live in the North.

Our carbon footprint in the west is HUGE. The global economy has become so obsessed with producing as much as possible as cheaply as possible. Growth and production seem to be all that matters, and people will do anything to get that. We are experiencing unprecedented wealth and unprecedented poverty- the gap between the two continues to widen. The average bite of food an American eats has traveled over 1500 miles before it reaches our lips. Think about all the gas that that one bite of food has consumed. We are experiencing a health crisis due to our environmental crisis. Diseases such as cancer, heart disease, diabetes, and child obesity are all on the rise. Global warming is in fact truly happening, whether people want to accept it or not. Glaciers are melting. And what are we doing about it? We continue to live daily consuming and producing, often without even thinking twice about it. Now is this a lifestyle that is sustainable? Can we continue to live like we are for the next 50 years? My guess is No. Sadly, "developing" countries are trying to become more like "developed" countries, thinking that it is the best way to live, but in reality it means damaging the Earth even more.

These past three days my mind has just been a mess thinking about my lifestyle and how I live, and it has almost been depressing. Yet, I do want to see the hope in all of this, and I do feel motivated to change.

I find hope when I look at this crisis from a Biblical standpoint. What does God have to say about creation? In Genesis 1, God describes his creation as good. Very good. He also says that humans are given the "office" of caring for and cultivating the earth. We are to have dominion over the earth, but NOT domination. There is a difference. Creation is not something that is indispensable; nature is not merely for "raw materials". Rather, humans are to enjoy creation and take delight in its beauty, but this also means caring for it.

So what does this mean for me? What can I do that would make any difference at all? First off, I know that my mindset has to change. I need to go from a view of total economy to local economy, which means that I can't be solely dependent on buying all of my food at grocery stores and Wal-Mart. I want to become more self-sufficient and be able to provide for myself, my future family, and possibly for friends. This might mean joining a community garden or starting one of my own. The idea of a local economy could also mean buying all of your fruits and vegetables from local farmers at farmer's markets. I cannot go into the store and let myself buy an apple that was shipped from Guatemala when there could be the same apples growing in my backyard. This just seems like common sense. Another fairly easy way to reduce my carbon footprint is to drive less. Carpooling is always a great option, but also just walk or ride my bike. I have been living in Lupeni for almost 3 months now and have gotten quite used to a 20-minute walk to places.

I wish I could explain on paper all of the discussions we have had in class and the different ideas that have been presented, but I can't, so all I can ask is that you look into this issue. Become educated and aware of what is really going on because I have, and it is affecting me, permantly. Talk about it with others and figure out ways to cut back on consumption and the use of fossil fuels.

I feel as though here in Romania, it is a bit easier to have that mentality of a local economy. The piata (market) is full of fresh produce, and it is all produced locally. Bread bakeries are everywhere and the bread is made right in the store. I don't have a car here, so I am not burning up fossil fuels. There are no dryers or microwaves here, so I simply don't use them. But, what happens when I go back to the States? Things will definitely be harder there because I have easy access to everything. So I guess my question to myself (and to you) is how hard am I really willing to work to change my lifestyle into something more sustainable? How hard can it really be? I am very anxious to find out.

What Elrond has to Say About Challenge by Choice

Buna Ziua,

Last weekend, our group spent a few days up at a cabana in Straja. We watched movies, played games, and celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving with some delicious chicken that really did taste like turkey - as well as a wonderful assortment of other food. We played poker with various kinds of candy, and I was introduced to The Bourne Identity.

We also watched The Fellowship of the Ring. The extended version. That's important because there was one part that they added for the extended version that hit me again this time.

The Fellowship is getting ready to leave Rivendell. Elrond, in traditional formal Elrond style, announces, "The Ringbearer is setting out on a quest for Mount Doom. On you who go with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will." A comment was made to the effect that it was ridiculous that everyone would only go as far as they wanted.

Maybe I should have said something then, but explanations for things like that don't always come to me off the top of my head. In fact, it's usually several hours or even days later that I realize, "Oh, yeah, that's what I should have said."

What I should have said is exactly what Elrond says in the book: "For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road."

What immediately follows is a back-and-forth dialogue between Elrond and Gimli, and goes something like this:

"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens." (That's Gimli, by the way.)

"Perhaps. But let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall."

"But sworn word may strengthen quaking heart."

"Or break it. Look not too far ahead. But go now with good hearts, and may the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you."

Part of me wishes they had put that in the movie. It would have made it maybe a minute longer. But it speaks volumes, and means a lot personally to me - which is probably obvious from the fact that I didn't have to look up those quotes. Gimli charges in with an "I'm-going-to-stick-with-this-no-matter-what" attitude. Elrond sees deeper. It's important, eventually, that the others - particularly Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli - don't hold to Gimli's initial resolve to stay with Frodo no matter what.

Gimli had a plan. And plans are good, to some extent. Without a plan, the Fellowship might have ended up at the Lonely Mountain instead of Mount Doom. More likely, they would have been attacked and killed and the Ring taken. But, on the other hand, if they had stuck with the plan they had originally when setting out from Rivendell, they would have ended up going through the Gap of Rohan, or perhaps kept going over Caradhras and frozen to death.

But the plan changed. Again and again, the plan changed. Gandalf falling of the Bridge of Khazad-Dum wasn't in the plan. Merry and Pippin being captured by Uruk-Hai wasn't in the plan. And certainly Frodo and Sam going off by themselves to Mount Doom was nowhere in the plan. But, because Elrond forced no oath nor bond at the beginning of their journey, Aragorn was free to decide, "Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands" and rush off to rescue Merry and Pippin.

I've been keeping a prayer journal during our semester here in Romania. During our first week or so here, I wrote five quotes on the inside cover. One of them is Elrond's quote: "You do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road."

That could be seen as depressing advice, but, to me, it is an encouraging thought. I do not yet know the strength of my heart. I had no idea, when I came here, just how strong I was, how much I could do. I could not foresee what I would meet upon the road. But I did know, perhaps with a more Gimli-ish part of my heart, that I was ready for it.

I worked as a musician at a TEC retreat this past January. On the last day, known as "Go Day," one of the songs we sang was "Remember Me." I was particularly struck by the last verse. It goes like this:

Remember Me
When the children leave their Sunday School with smiles.
Remember Me
When they're old enough to teach,
Old enough to preach,
Old enough to leave.

That last line brought tears to my eyes. (Everyone cries on Go Day.) I looked around and saw people who were old enough - ready enough - to leave. And I saw the same thing in myself.

I've thought of that song quite a few times since then. I wouldn't be here, in Romania, if God didn't think I was ready for it. I was old enough, ready enough, to leave my home in Minnesota and my college in Iowa and come to a different country. I mentioned in a blog post the day before we came here that I felt like a Hobbit, completely overwhelmed by the journey in front of me. But, even then, I didn't call it off. Even then, I was ready.

This semester, we've heard a lot about the concept of "challenge by choice." When something is challenge by choice, we get to decide for ourselves whether or not a particular activity is going to push us out of our challenge zone and into our panic zone. This may be something like a ropes course, a sharing of personal feelings, a trip to an Orthodox church, or climbing up a big, scary ladder to the top of a mine shaft. From now on, every time I hear that phrase, I have a feeling I'm going to remember Elrond's comforting words: "On you who go with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will."

It's not an oath that brought me here, and it's not an oath that's keeping me here. And, especially now, so soon before fall break, I'm proud of the fact that I do not yet know the strength of my heart, and that I cannot foresee what I'm going to meet upon the road.

Pace si Duamne ajuta,
Beth

Thoughts on Experiential Education

This semester is entirely different from anything I’ve ever been a part of. For one thing, as of about 2 weeks ago, this is the longest I’ve ever been away from home. And I’ve been to places where English is not the primary language, but the immersion has certainly never been this intense, nor without a translator. And if I’m honest, I miss my home. It’s also a different group than I’ve ever been a part of before. I’m used to dorm life, to being surrounded by friends and brothers, dozens of them, all with different points of view and ideas of community. I’m used to “traditional” classes. I’m used to American food. I’m used to comfort.

Experiential Education. The title implies so much, as well as asking so many questions, like what’s the experience? What is education? What can you learn from an experience? Does every experience teach you something? Is there a teacher?

I am living with a Romanian family. Every day, I wake up in a Romanian home. I eat breakfast with Romanians, I go to the bathroom in a Romanian bathroom, I walk down a Romanian street, I am experiencing Romania.

Even in the absence of a teacher, a classroom, textbooks, and a proper desk, I am learning about Romanian culture just from living with a Romanian family. Even better, I’m learning things you couldn’t learn in a classroom. I’m learning what a typical family likes to eat, what time they like to eat, what they like to talk about, what they listen to on the radio, what books they read, how they treat foreigners, how they treat each other. You might say I’m learning about Romania by experiencing Romania.

Another one of our classes is called “Sustainable Development.” In it, we’re learning a lot of the academics behind many of the people and ideas that have changed/will change/are changing the world, for better or worse. We’re learning about what it takes to develop a community of people and encourage them to empower and believe in themselves so they can sustain that development.

And what’s more, we’re seeing it happen. We took part in groups at Viaţa camp, we’re involved with kids in the IMPACT clubs, we’re seeing empowerment spring up from even the darkest of places. I can learn all I want about how this development stuff works, but I wouldn’t really get it until I came here and saw it working for myself. I’m learning about sustainable development in Romania by experiencing it in Romania.

I guess you could say that having a class entitled, “Experiential Education” is a bit redundant. Every day is a new experience, and every day is a full semester’s education in itself.

The best part, I think, is that this education isn’t limited by Romania’s borders. It doesn’t end here. Yes, I miss my comfortable home, and my brothers in West (my dorm), and speaking the primary language, but what I’m learning here, what I’m experiencing, will go with me wherever I go, even to the ends of the earth.

A Weekend Getaway

This past weekend, Taylor, Matt V., Emma, Matthew G. and I decided to venture out of Lupeni and take a trip to Constanta, Romania, which is a city right near the Black Sea, and pretty much to sum it up in one phrase: It was an adventure!! We packed our things last Thursday night, and Daniel was wonderful enough to take us all to the train station in Petrosani at about 11:00pm that night. Our first obstacle to overcome was to get the actual train tickets. We had a few "train station" vocabulary words written down, and I was going to be the brave one and try to communicate with the lady. Yep, I bombed that one and ended up getting us tickets for leaving two days later than that night! It was a bit of a mess, so Daniel called Janelle, and thankfully she was able to talk to the lady and clear up the confusion. We finally had our tickets for a train leaving in about 5 minutes, so we rushed out to the tracks, found our "wagon" and finally, our seats. Yes...we thought. We were on the train, it was moving, we had plenty of food, and we were now 11 hours away from Constanta. It was about 12:30am, and we were tired, so we attempted to get comfortable, which was a bit of a challenge. I think I slept about 4 hours that night, but soon enough we arrived at the train station in Constanta.

Now, we had met a friend, Razvan, at Viata camp who is from Constanta, so he met us at the train station and right away showed us how to use the public bus system. I think we were all very thankful that Razvan was there to help us because Constanta is not a small city; it is actually quite large, and not knowing the language can always make the simplest things a bit more of a challenge. So Razvan actually hung out with us the whole weekend, and it was a blast.

On Friday, we visited a historical museum, saw both an Orthodox and Catholic Cathedral, and of course, gazed at the Black Sea. It is not black, but rather a darker blue, and it really reminded me of the North shore of Lake Superior. It was beautiful, and it was so wonderful and refreshing to see a large body of water again. I did not think I would miss that so much! That night for supper we had Shoarmas, which were delicious. I guess they are more of a turkish food? It was chicken with peppers, tomatoes, pickles, cabbage, and a garlic sauce all wrapped up in pita-like bread. After supper we walked around the town and went to a part called Tomas, which had many more stores, shops, and a McDonalds! Now, apparently, McDonalds is considered a nicer place to eat in Romania than it is in the West and is actually more expensive. So we gladly stopped in and drank good coffee and had soft-serve ice cream! (This was the first time we had found soft-serve ice cream in Romania, so we were excited.) It was a beautiful evening and we were just able sit and relax.

Another part of our adventure was finding a place to stay for the night. It was such a blessing because Razvan knew a friend who had a cousin that rented an apartment, and they were willing to rent us the apartment for the night. The only problem; no electricity! However, we were totally ok with this and were thankful to even have a place to stay. So we stopped in a supermarket, bought some little tea light candles, and used them to light up the apartment. It was very cozy and fun.

Saturday was much more rainy and cold. However, we still wanted to go to the beach, so we actually went to a part of Constanta called Mamaia. Apparantly, it is like a resort town where all the locals go to in the summer. It was beautiful to see the beach and the Black Sea, but no one was there, and it was like a ghost town. So we didn't stay there for long and instead headed back into town to the "City Park Mall". Now I think for me, this place was the biggest surprise, or unexpected thing to see in Constanta. This mall was huge, and it had everything you could ever need or want. It was nicer than the mall in Sioux Falls or the one in Sioux City. I guess it just surprised me to see such a structure in any part of Romania, and it made me a bit sad because it reminded me too much of the West. We found out that the mall was just built about six months ago. I just hope that countries do not think development can only occur through big malls and restaurants, like it appears in the West, but rather through other ways of developing a community such as more youth activities, organizations, churches, parks, and other services for the people. Sometimes I think the West has got it all wrong with its massive malls that promote consumerism and materialism.

For supper that night we went to a Turkish restaurant, which was so much fun! We all ordered different things and tried each others as well. It was all so delicious and tasty. Matthew and I had a few bad spells with some fiery hot peppers, but it made for some good laughs! After supper, we needed to head back to the train station to make sure we were ready when our train left at 12:20am, but little did we know, there was no train leaving at 12:20am. When we began talking to the lady, again with our very limited Romanian vocabulary, she explained to us that the soonest train leaving for Bucharest was not until 5:45am the next morning, and then it would have a layover in Bucharest until 5:45pm that night, which would mean arriving in Petrosani at about midnight Sunday night. What?! This was NOT part of our plans. We thought we had our return tickets figured out and would be returning to Lupeni by noon the next day. Turns out we were wrong, and we had made a mistake. So, we spent the night in the Constanta train station.

At first, I was frustrated, but there was nothing we could do about it. We were together, and we were safe, so we made the best of it. We played a lot of Phase 10 and Hearts. I only slept for about 2 hours I think. Then we spent our 8 hour layover in Bucharest hanging out at McDonalds and then at a coffee shop in the train station. We played more cards, walked around, ate food, and talked. By this time we were very tired, needed showers, and just wanted to go home. However, we made it together, and it was an adventure for sure.

I am so thankful to have gone on this weekend getaway. It was very relaxing, full of memories and laughter, and we all learned things along the way. I feel that our group is closer because of the time we spent together, and we also experienced amazing hospitality by everyone we met in Constanta. Razvan was so willing to show us things and make sure we were ok and well taken care of. He was a wonderful tour guide, and we were blessed to have him.

Sometimes you just have to take risks in life. We headed out on this adventure not knowing what we were going to do, not knowing where we were going to stay, and not understanding the language very well at all. Yet, we were fine, and we had an awesome time. I feel we were blessed because we took the risk. I really hope there will be more opportunities such as this one to discover, experience, and learn more about the culture and people of Romania.

"This is Bet. She's from America. She has a brother and a sister. And she's Catholic."

This Monday, as part of our Eastern Orthodoxy class, we went to visit Father Otti, the Catholic priest in Lupeni, to hear about life under Communism. One of the first things Dana did was mention to Father Otti that I'm Catholic.

I've gotten used to being introduced like this. It was probably one of the first things this group learned about me. During an introduction to Tibi, who was instructing us regarding our involvement in the IMPACT groups, each of us was supposed to spend three minutes introducing another member of our group. Stalling for time, after telling Tibi that I'm Catholic, a certain member of our group proceeded to explain that my mom is Catholic, and my dad is Catholic, and that I have a brother and a sister - and they're Catholic. It's also on the list of things my host family tells people when they're introducing me. "This is Bet. (There's no "th" sound in the Romanian language.) She's from America. She has a brother and a sister. And she's Catholic."

The funny thing is that I don't mind. In fact, I kind of like it. I like the fact that, in their minds, it's right up there with my country and my family structure. It's an essential part of who I am.

After Dana introduced me, Father Otti asked (in Romanian and apparently jokingly) why I hadn't been in church on Sunday. Quite surprised, I replied that I had. In fact, I had gotten there in time for the second half of the Rosary before Mass. The church hadn't been that crowded. How could he have possibly missed the only American face in the building? How could I not have stood out?

Only later did Father Otti explain (through Dana's translating) that, when he saw me in church, he had thought I was Austrian. I was surprised - and, I'll admit, a bit flattered. Normally, walking down the streets, people know immediately that we're Americans. (Matt has to explain that he's actually Canadian.) It's common to hear people greet us with "Hello" instead of "Ciao" because they can tell where we're from. Father Otti could tell I was a foreigner . . . but didn't immediately peg me as an American. And he probably didn't give it a great deal of thought, either. Because it didn't matter whether I was Romanian or Austrian or American. What mattered was that I was Catholic.

For class yesterday, we were supposed to write a journal reflecting on the question: "What about you is Christian, and what about you is American/Canadian?" I ended up turning the question around and asking myself what about me was Catholic. Because a lot of things that are assumed to be uniquely Catholic back in the United States are beliefs that are held by Orthodoxy, as well. We share the same seven Sacraments - they call them "Mysteries". Our belief about the Eucharist is very similar, although they don't define it specifically as transubstantiation. We have similar beliefs about Mary and the Saints. We differ on matters such as Papal authority and the "filioque" clause in the Creed. And, oh, yeah, we use different calendars to determine the date for Easter. But, on the whole, we have a lot more in common than not.

I remember, during our first week at Straja, Matt VanderMolen and I went up to the Orthodox church and walked through the tunnel leading up to it. It was filled with pictures of Saints. A calendar covered one whole side of the tunnel - with a different Saint for each day. On the other end of the tunnel was one of the Stations of the Cross that lead up to the huge, glowing cross in Straja that can be seen from Lupeni. (The Stations lead from Lupeni, up the mountain to Straja - very nice, symbolically speaking.) I remember being surprised that, despite not having learned much Romanian by that point, I could tell, more or less, what the first part of the station said: "We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you, because by Your holy cross, You have redeemed the world." So familiar to me after years of going to Stations of the Cross with my family, my school, and at retreats. Something so familiar - here, in Romania, at an Orthodox church.

So what about me is Catholic? Does it really come down to the Pope, a different day for Easter, and three words in the creed? Is that it? Is that really all that's separating the Catholic Church from the Orthodox Church?

Well, no. That's not all. I'm learning, being here, that a large part of it is cultural. There's a vagueness, a mystery to Orthodoxy that is at the same time appealing and frustrating. We Catholics tend to define things more. The Orthodox pride themselves on the unchangingness of their beliefs, their worship, their way of life. Personally, I'm glad the Catholic Church has changed a bit - I barely know five words in Latin.

So what, specifically, about me is Catholic? I don't know exactly how to put it into words. But there's something special about being able to walk into the Catholic church here in Lupeni, and, aside from the homily, understand a good 90% of what is said - not because of my impressive Romanian language skills, but because I'm Catholic. It's good to know that, on the other side of the world, eight hours or so after me, my family will be doing the same thing. Sharing a common experience. On any Sunday I like - and some weekdays - I can walk into a fancy cathedral in New Ulm, Minnesota, or a small chapel at my grandma's nursing home, and Mass will be Mass. The Eucharist will still be the Eucharist. And a priest will still be a priest.

Which brings me back to Father Otti. What may stick with me most about the visit was when Dana told us that Father Otti and Father Ciocan (the Orthodox priest here) will sometimes officiate at each other's services. And my reaction wasn't, "What??? That's got to be against some rule!" My reaction was quite likely the goofiest grin ever, because, mentally, all I could think was, "Yes! Amazing! Awesome!"

It's people like Father Otti who make me really proud to be a Catholic. He knows what he believes and where he stands. Other people know what he believes and where he stands. But, at the same time, he's willing to reach out a hand of friendship to people who believe differently. He's willing to take part in an Orthodox service. He was willing to open his doors to a bunch of students from a Protestant school. And I couldn't help but smile when I saw a copy of the Koran on his bookshelf - not hidden away somewhere, but sitting right up front.

Maybe that's part of what's in me that's Catholic. It's not uniquely Catholic, but I'd like to think that, as a whole, it's becoming part of our mentality. A firmness in our own beliefs while accepting the beliefs of others with respect.

As for what in me is American, the question brought to mind a visit Pax Christi had from Professor Jundt last year. (Pax Christi - Latin for "Peace of Christ," accounting for nearly half of my Latin vocabulary - is a group on campus where Catholics and non-Catholics come to discuss various issues.) Professor Jundt was talking to us about the history of Catholicism in America. One of the things that came up was something John F. Kennedy once said: "I am not the Catholic candidate for president. I am the Democratic Party's candidate for president, who happens also to be a Catholic."

Well, I'm not. I'm not an American who happens to be Catholic. I'm not a student at Northwestern College who happens to be Catholic. And I'm not a student here on the Romania Semester who happens to be Catholic.

My Catholicism isn't a coincidence; it's a part of who I am. A part that transcends language and even culture. And, at the same time, a part that allowed and even encouraged me to, after going to Mass last Sunday, go down the road to the Orthodox church, then later to an impromptu sing-along-style worship service on a hill near our house with my host sister and brothers and a few of their friends, and, finally, to the Pentecostal church in the evening with my family. A part that reminds me to be firm in my own beliefs while, at the same time, respecting the beliefs of others.

That's what's in me that's Catholic. And I that, I think, is something to be proud of.

Pace si Duamne ajuta,

Beth

The seven of us spent five days backpacking in Retezat National Park a couple weeks ago as a part of our Experiential Education course. I could try to describe our experience but I wouldn't really be able to portray it as it was. The beauty, the struggle, the journey...

I miss the Retezat.

Life in Lupeni is not the trail, but I kind of wish it was. The lessons I learned in the Retezat are transferrable to everyday life but they have to be interpreted to fit my present reality rather than contain the rawness they had on the trail. Outbursts, tears, and extremes in general don’t seem to fit well into everyday life here. The Retezat demanded energy and engagement. We noticed beauty, we took time to process. The intensity level in the Retezat allowed for breakthroughs, for overcoming.

Each day here in Lupeni I seem to be simply going through the motions, quietly observing. Where is the intentionality? I think of myself as someone who is difficult to love and often times hard to understand. I don’t always fit in with those around me---most of the time feeling uncomfortable. I think that discomfort comes from always feeling like I should hold back. I think intensity is beautiful. I think honesty is worth the frustration it sometimes causes. It is my hope that the seven of us, together in Lupeni, would push the limit of this experience; that we might demand more of one another than we have thus far.

In the Retezat I learned that I have the capacity to love and trust others well. I learned that I am stronger than I once thought. I learned that to serve the kingdom I don't have to be the smartest or the best, I just sometimes need to take a step. I learned that though I trust the Lord, but I don't always trust myself. I learned a lot about fear and it’s power. I learned a lot about our group and how we get in our own way sometimes.

Lord, let the lessons of the Retezat invade our daily life here in Lupeni. Let intensity and intentionality be noticable in how we as a group interact with one another during our time together. Lord, I was aware of your presence when I was out on the trail, but here in Lupeni I struggle to find you. I miss you…the You that I am used to…take away my longing to worship and pray in a place and a community that makes sense to me. Help me to remain engaged as our experience here in Romania continues. Keep us safe.

♥hthr

Moving Beyond Misconceptions

My name is Matt Gray and this is my first blog post. I am currently writing from a small farm in Lupeni. It is Saturday afternoon, and it is harvest.

I am not sure where to start in telling the story of what has happened here for me in Romania, but I can tell you that I am extremely thankful and happy to be here. It feels as though life is put on pause yet is also put on fast forward. I know that in only two short months I will be back in North America and will be faced with the many issues that I do not have to face now. While these issues are real and I do look forward to them there is a wonderful peace that accompanies the reality that I do not need to worry about them or deal with them now. Growing up my mum always teased at a saying that her father used to say: “All in the fullness of time.” In Romania I have accepted this once thought dull saying, and feel extremely free to pursue and embrace the life and circumstances that God has given me now, in the present.

(Top Right: Small Orthodox Church at the Straja mountain community)

(Bottom Right: The NWC group in our second week on top of Mt. Straja)

On now three occasions I have had the privilege of attending a Romanian Orthodox church service. Every time I enter an Orthodox service I feel as though I am entering something sacred, bigger than myself, mysterious and yet familiar. Growing up at a church in the West when I thought of Orthodox churches I thought of something old, where people call themselves Christians and yet live differently on Sundays than they do throughout the rest of the week. I thought that we may have it right and they may have it wrong.Now that I am here I know that neither the West nor the East have it right. This probably is because there is a West and East – there is a separation in the body.

I appreciate the mystical and sacred atmosphere and thought of the Orthodox church. God is known to all and yet is unknown and cannot fully be known. It seems that in Western thought we tend to want to understand everything about God, and conversations on the nature of God turn to arguments. The fact that God is supreme and is beyond our understanding seems to be added as a clause the end of our arguments.From what I have encountered in Orthodox thought, when talking of God, the mystical and unexplainable nature of God is stated first and is crucial to their understanding of faith, worship, church life, daily life, and theological arguments. God is not known and yet has revealed himself on earth through many different means.

I also value how when God is spoken of it is naturally assumed that “God” refers to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. At least in my experience I often forget of the three-fold nature of God.

We have only begun our Eastern Orthodoxy class and I am eager to learn more. In the readings for our second class we read about the life of the Orthodox Church in Russia during the 80 ish year militant atheist communist rule. I was amazed at how oppressed the church was – even more so than any persecution during the Roman Empire – and yet in that time the Russian church survived and thrived despite opposition within and outside of the church. Church properties and buildings were stolen, monks, nuns, priests, bishops and patriarchs were arrested, imprisoned and in many cases killed. The church had the right to meet occasionally, yet they could not publish any church writings, could not meet outside of Sunday morning, could not talk of God, and were constantly persecuted via mental terror. I read that in these 80 years of extreme persecution the West had almost no idea of what was going on in the East. When interviewed by western magazines Orthodox priests could not report of the Russian situation because of either a switch of allegiance from their faith to communism, or because they were told that the communists would grant more freedom if they kept quiet.

When Communism fell in Russia and there now was the much wanted religious freedom, the Russian Orthodox church was overwhelmed. There was an extreme shortage of clergy, every church property was in dire shape, and there was a huge shortage of money. To add further complications, now that the doorways to the east were opened western churches came to the East in full force with more money and a louder voice than the East. The West had little regard for the life and persecutions that the Orthodox Church underwent let alone their triumph of keeping a Christian foothold in a broken nation.

It seems that the West responds the same in similar situations in today’s world. We enter with our money and banners raised thinking that what we have is what everyone else needs. I have heard people that have come to the West from the East say that westerners are ignorant. I think that this ignorance could better be named as insensitivity. I hope that the root of “Western Expansion” or “Globalization” is that we want to help. In future times I think that we would be better to listen to the stories rather than to come in and change the story to how we see fit. By listening, seeking to understand, engaging and then partnering with the people we want to help the West could both do good and reveal the dignity of others. If the West were to do this to the East, many of the hurts and divisions in God’s one Catholic Church could be healed, and it could grow and flourish as originally intended.

Adventures of a Picky Eater

Last night for supper, as a plate was placed in front of me, I could only think, “What is this abomination...?” They’d taken one of my favorite things—meat—and put it into a position of submission to that which is most vile and wretched: red peppers. Not wanting to appear displeased or unappreciative, I put on a surprised smile and said “Oh! Mulțumesc!” (Thank you), knowing that I would soon be in misery.

So far, this semester has been one surprise after another. Especially with food. I’ve never considered myself a “picky” eater, especially since I love backpacking and other outdoors experiences, many of which include eating random items from the “natural” world. But several of the foods that I had previously deemed “inedible to any sane person,” –namely mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, and, yes, red peppers—appear to be some of the most common delicacies. Brilliant.

It began on our backpacking trip through Retezat National Park. After our first day of hiking, our Romanian guides had found, cut up, and had begun preparing the largest mushrooms I had ever seen. Preparing them, apparently, for human consumption. I had never been more disgusted in my life. But, mustering up an adventurous spirit, I took some. And ate it. And it…was delicious! Absolutely, positively, without a doubt delicious! I’d never been more shocked! I took some more, and it was even better! The crack in my wall had begun.

It continued when my host-mother made, what she called, “pizza.” It was essentially toasted bread covered in a cheese-like substance, sprinkled with a few shreds of mystery meat, and decked out to the max with mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, and red peppers. All that is vile in the world was concentrated on this pizza. But, remembering my experience with the mushrooms, I took a bite with a smile. And it was great! Once again, I couldn’t believe my taste buds! I must’ve eaten about half a pan of that pizza…

Since then, I’ve been willing to go a little further, try other things that I had never liked, even taking the time to slice a tomato just to put it on my own sandwich. Realization of how much transformation I’d gone through occurred to me when I walked into our classroom building lunchroom and asked the other students, “Are there anymore tomatoes?” I never imagined that I would say something like that… Truly, I had come very far.

But then, last night, my host mother went too far. Even with all the memories of being surprised by Romanian cooking, stuffed peppers were one step over the edge. Just the smell of those horrid monstrosities brought my nose hairs to a boil. Nothing could make me enjoy these obscenities, these anathemas.

But, once again mustering all my adventurous spirit, I cut a piece, stuck it with a fork, brought it to my mouth, and tasted.

I cleaned my plate within a matter of minutes.

Moral of the story: Never judge a book by its cover. Don’t be afraid to try new things. And above all, always trust your mother, biological or otherwise.

Chaos

"Think like Malcolm."

That was the thought that came to me quite unexpectedly on Monday morning during my walk to class. It didn't really have anything to do with what I was doing at the moment. I had just left my host family's house after finishing a rather large breakfast of ham and eggs and bread with jam. I had the start of a cold, which was making the cold morning air a bit of a nuisance. And I was excited for our first class on Eastern Orthodoxy. None of this bore any real resemblance to being on an island full of dinosaurs, watching everything fall into chaos. Still, the thought made me smile.

It also made me smile later that day, on my way back home. Even though I had just heard from my mom that there has still been no news about my grandma, who was in and out of the hospital during our backpacking trip with what they think - but aren't certain - might have been a stroke. Even after learning that my other grandma's dog had been put to sleep because of some sort of tumor. And even after learning that my sister and her boyfriend of more than a year and a half had just broken up, quite suddenly and unexpectedly.

The thought also brought a smile to my face while I was journaling that night. Even after I had completely broken down in front of my host family. Even after struggling to eat even half of a dinner that I suddenly had little appetite for. Even after forcing myself to read most of the homework that was due the next day, even though I couldn't have cared less at the moment about community development or agency or solidarity or which group of people conquered Romania way, way, way back when.

"Think like Malcolm."

For those of you who haven't seen Jurassic Park - and for those of you who saw the movie, stared in awe at the special effects, and then went on with the rest of your lives without reading the book an excessive number of times - this probably deserves a little explanation.

Here's Jurassic Park in a nutshell: John Hammond has cloned dinosaurs from blood he found in mosquitoes and is keeping the dinosaurs on an island in the hope of opening up an amusement park. He invited paleontologist Alan Grant, paleobotanist Ellie Sattler, and chaotician Ian Malcolm to come check it out. Malcolm knows what Hammond has done and has already predicted that the park will fail . . . but agrees to come, anyway. The other two haven't got a clue what's going on until they get there.

So they arrive at the park, ooh and ahh for a while, and discuss how lethal velociraptors are. Malcolm insists that things will all go wrong, that "life cannot be contained. It breaks free. It expands to new territories. It crashes through barriers - painfully, maybe even dangerously. But life, uh, finds a way."

Hammond ignores him and sends them on a tour of the park - along with his lawyer and his two grandkids. And things do go wrong. The fences fail. The T-rex gets loose, nearly eats Malcolm, then ends up tossing him aside, deciding he wasn't too tasty, after all. In the movie, the lawyer gets eaten. In the book, two juvenile velociraptors are spotted on a boat headed for the mainland. And Dr. Grant and the kids end up lost in the park.

After this, if you ask me, is where the movie falls short of the book. Malcolm spends the rest of the book lying in bed with a badly broken leg, slowly becoming more and more delirious from the pain and the morphine. And, while it may not be great movie material, his conversations with Dr. Sattler and arguments with Hammond are fascinating, and reveal a depth to Malcolm's character that the movie could have used. These conversations are what I was referring to when I told myself to "think like Malcolm."

First of all, Malcolm realizes just how small, how insignificant, their little problem is. When Hammond expresses concern that the dinosaurs might have "gotten loose and destroyed the world," Malcolm is quick to put things in perspective, insisting that Hammond is an "egomaniacal idiot." "Do you have any idea what you're talking about?" he asks. "You think you can destroy the planet? My, what intoxicating power you must have. You can't destroy this planet. You can't even come close."

So that's the first thing. No matter how bad my problems seem, no matter how much chaos there seems to be in my life, no matter how helpless I feel, it is not the end of the world. It's not even close.

Second, Malcolm has enough humility to recognize when there is nothing he can do about a problem. He doesn't resent his helplessness, his inability to fix the situation. Instead, he accepts it with calmness, and even with a smile and a joke. He alone acknowledges that the situation has spiraled out of anyone's control - or, more accurately, that they never had control in the first place.

This is hard for me. But it's something I have to accept. Whether I like it or not, the simple fact is that I can't do a thing about what's going on back in Minnesota or Illinois or Virginia. Yes, I can pray, but, when I do, I've found myself ending with the phrase, "Thy will be done," acknowledging that the situation is out of my hands - just as it should be.

Lastly, and perhaps most relevantly, Malcolm never loses his sense of humor. Because he can see the big picture, because he realizes that he has no control, he is able to see the humor in the situation. He jokes that he was "trying to get a leg up on the situation." When the velociraptors get loose and almost get into the control room, he simply comments on how ugly they are. And the last we hear of Ian Malcolm in the book is this short sentence: "And he smiled."

So I'm trying to smile. To laugh. To see the humor - or at least the irony. The irony that this has forced me to trust and confide in my host family more than any trust fall or ropes course or even climbing a mountain could ever hope to.

Maybe the biggest irony of Jurassic Park is that Malcolm was even on the island to begin with. He knew what could happen better than anyone else there - even (or especially) Hammond. He knew he probably wouldn't get off the island alive. But he was there, anyway.

Well, I knew, coming here, that life wouldn't simply stop at home when I left. I knew communication would be hard. I knew I wouldn't be able to hug my sister or call my parents whenever I wanted to. I didn't know exactly what would happen, but I knew something could. And I knew that, if it did, I wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. But I am here, anyway.

"Think like Malcolm." I think God gave me those words as a gift that morning. He knew I would need them. He knew that my fondness for a fictional character could give me the will to face chaos and helplessness with a smile, rather than turning tail and retreating to the nearest sanctuary I could find. The advice isn't going to magically make everything better. But it's helping. And it still makes me smile.

So, if anyone has bothered to read this far, I would like to ask you to pray for my family. For all of us. Those of us who willingly stepped onto this island full of dinosaurs, and others who had no idea what they were walking into. Thank you for your prayers, and for putting up with my slightly obsessive metaphors that may or may not have made any sense.

Godspeed, or, as my Romanian friends would say, Pace si Duamne ajuta,

Beth

Zacusca! (the second post . . .)

To piggy-back off of Michele's post - I also wanted to say how much of a blessing it was to be a part of the Zacusca making processes. Dana and Brandi,

(The women are hard at work peeling peppers, while the men overlook with refined approval)

being the extremely gracious people that they are, offered their home and available garden veggies to the Szabo family for a day of Zacusca making. So, naturally, Dana and Brandi

thoughtfully herded all of us NW students over to their house to help with the ancient Zacusca creation process.

It was awesome to be a part of the Szabo family for a day - making a veggie spread that is a small piece of Romanian culture. Andre, Marianna, and Dani Szabo were very hospitable in their efforts to include us in the process, even though we understood them mainly through hand gestures and translation. Yet, work seems to be something that is universal - and it was a joy to work along-side and learn from this family.

(Above: Matt Grey gleaning recipe wisdom from the greats)

(Below: Taylor and Matt getting learned in grinding skilz)

Apparently, Zacusca is made and canned in the fall primarily so that it may be eaten in the winter, when fresh vegetables are scarce. It was truly an honor to be an active part in the Zacusca making processes, because it gives us a window into the greater Romanian tradition and heritage that has made and eaten Zacusca for centuries.

(The Zacusca crew)

Matt Grey was kind enough to prepare a recipe/instructions for anyone willing and/or brave enough to create the infamous Zacusca. Here it is (e-mail me if you would like a word document):

Zacusca Recipe

**For 1 Portion – 15 to 18 400 gram jars of Zacusca**

(1 Kg = 1 liter)

Ingredients:

5 Kg Eggplant

3 Kg Red Pepper (Kapia [long red pepper])

2 Kg Onion (white)

1 Kg Tomato Juice -OR- 200 g Tomato Paste

1.5 Kg Vegetable Oil (sunflower oil)

2-3 Bay Leaves

1 Packet of conservant

Salt and Pepper to taste (rock salt is preferred)

Steps/Preparation:

1. Peel and slice all onions on wooden cutting board.
• Peel, place in water, then slice on wooden board and place in large pot.
• Note: Since cooking peppers takes longer, begin step 2 before step 1 (order of steps is flexible depending on number of participants and group circumstances).
2. Blacken/burn all red peppers over wood fire and place in basin covered by damp cloth, until ready for step 3.
3. Using a large basin of water, remove stem, seeds, and blackened skin from burnt red peppers, revealing cooked red skin. Place cleaned red skin in a large pot/basin.
4. Once all red peppers are cooked, start to cook eggplant over wood fire. Rotate once a side is brown and the skin peels to reveal brown underneath. Each side takes approximately a half hour – cook time depends on fire. Eggplant skin will turn from Black/purple to brown. Skin will crack, and each eggplant will turn from hard to soft.
5. Cook all onions in 1 Kg vegetable oil in large pot on stove. Cook time is 30 min to 1 hour. Onions are done once they are very soft. Stir with wooden spoon. Once cooked, strain (but do not dispose) vegetable oil out of onions, and let onions cool.
6. Once eggplants have cooked and cooled, proceed to remove blackened skin and dispose of skin in a bucket. Place all remaining mushy inner eggplant (non skin/stem) in a large basin.
• Note: remove stem after all the skin has been peeled off in order to keep inner eggplant integrity.
• Have a basin of water nearby to continually rinse black skin off hands.
7. Using a hand-turned meat grinder/mill/food processor, grind all cleaned red peppers, cooled (cooked) onions, and eggplant and combine in a very large basin. Do not stir until all onions, peppers and eggplant has been ground.
8. Add tomato paste -OR- tomato juice to ground vegetables
9. Add strained vegetable oil (from onions) back into ground vegetables and tomato paste.
10. Mix using a large wooden spoon
11. Mix in ground black pepper and rock salt to taste (quite a bit for 1 portion)
• Continually check taste through remaining mixing
12. Mix in remaining .5 Kg of unused vegetable oil
13. Mix in 1 packet of conservant
14. Put mix in large cooking pot
15. Put 3 bay leaves on top of the pot contents. Leave pot uncovered.
16. Cook at a hot temperature for 2 hours. Stir every 30 minutes. Be sure to check Zacusca – cooking may not take 2 hours
17. When cooking is finished, place Zacusca in glass jars.