As I walked past one particular feature around this lake (as pictured above), I wondered how this once beautiful water fountain had ended up as it is now. In many ways it seems quite symbolic of Moldova’s infrastructure in general, where so many buildings, factories, roads or whatever have been left to fall apart. From a glance, it seems as though these features have been this way for around 15 – 20 years, which may coincidently align with when Moldova officially ended its communist regime. From a western perspective this seems quite confusing, because from our experience a move into a democratic government equips and empowers ordinary people with the ability to take pride in their land. But if you dig a little deeper it’s interesting to reflect on how Moldova might have ended up in the situation.

It seems to me that the problem has to do with the way people have been taught to think. Under a communist government, people were taught to do what they were told. If they were asked to jump, the only question that was permitted was ‘how high’. There were people who were told to build nice buildings, others paid to construct nice monuments in the parks, and others who were simply instructed to maintain them. To some extent it was a system that worked quite well, yet when people were left to their own devices… well, just take a look at the old water fountain and you’ll have a sufficient summary.  People who were told to do things no longer knew what to do or how to do it when set free – they were left to their own devices. Maybe that’s why it didn’t take all that long for the communist party to be voted back in.

As I was walking past the water fountain today I couldn’t help but make links of this with people’s lives. As a teacher, I clearly remember the battles I had with the changes that took place in students as they approached adolescent years – those dreaded years which parents so often brace themselves for! I often wondered why these years were so tough. Why is it that these years seem to either make or break people’s lives? As I looked at the ruins of this water fountain, it seemed very symbolic of many teenagers’ lives, where everything seemed so much better in the early stages of their lives under their parents. I wonder whether there can be subtle hints of communism in the way we raise our kids. As parents, teachers or whoever, we often have such strict boundaries for kids. We often have our own ideas on how every child should behave and what they should conform to, and everything soon becomes either black or white under our authority. Like communism, kids sometimes aren’t taught to think for themselves, they are told how to think. But the problem is, what happens when they enter adolescence – that period of significant transition. When they are told to jump, they ask how high – unfortunately from the wrong peers. They are used to being told what to do, so that’s how they operate when they are amongst their friends.

Maybe I’m making some big assumptions, but the shift in thinking that needs to take place seems obvious. Whether in Moldova or Australia, young people need to be both taught and nurtured on how to think and reason for themselves; otherwise young peoples lives can end up in a pile of rubble when controlling mechanisms are removed. Something I guess I one day will have to look forward to in parenting… I’m expecting it to be much easier said than done!

It wasn’t anything dramatic or seemingly out of the ordinary. It was a simple and innocent connection that Jessie made with one of the lowest of lows. Funny how these moments touch us the most.

It was a beautiful sunny evening and Jessie and I were tidying up our apartment, as normal people do, and then we both glanced out the window to see the same old lady Jessie spoke about in her blog, ‘scraps from a bin’; once again going through the daily routine of humiliating herself in front of her local community. To be honest it’s a little surreal seeing a human living like that – it’s as if it’s so wrong that we’re not seeing things right. How in the world did things get to a point where an elderly lady should have to pull down her skirt behind dirty bins and use discarded paper or a plastic bag out of the smelly bin for toilet paper? Jessie and I sat there speechless, our heart went out for this lady once again.

Yet as much as it feels like it’s accomplishing something, we’ve been talking together about the problem of settling here. So many times we see or hear of these experiences and our heart sink. We’ve seen this lady a number of times, rummaging for food and maybe finding a few scraps – if the dogs haven’t got in first. Doing her deed for the world to see, and every time the same thing happens. We simply feel sorry for her. The problem is, this hasn’t changed anything. Life is still rock bottom for her.

So this time we tried something different. Jessie grabbed a baguette and went to take it down to the lady. In typical western fashion I said that maybe we should only take half down so we can save some for dinner – our whole pantry is full of food, and I’m ashamed as I think back to my initial reaction. Running down the stairs, Jessie greeted the lady and gave her the bread. Only her eyes could express how thankful she was. It was a dream come true, and it made a difference… a small one, but a difference all the same.

After coming back up to the house, Jessie decided to take some more food down, so she took another trip with some fruit, biscuits and a few other bits and pieces – nothing we would take a second glance at in our own pantry. The next reaction is what got us. As Jessie handed the food over, tears welled up in the lady’s eyes, and she was dumbfounded. Jessie couldn’t help but react with a hug. The odours from weeks on end without a shower became even more evident. I’m no sure who was touched more, Jessie or the woman who has become known as ‘the lady from the scraps bin’ to us. This was so out of the ordinary for her.

Jessie didn’t want to write about this as she felt totally humbled by the whole ordeal – how such a little act could impact someone so much. But I feel that this is a story that’s worth sharing, and from a bystanders perspective it challenged me in ways I’ve never been challenged before. I admire Jessie for what she did, but more than anything I’ve learnt something very important. Sitting in our apartment and feeling sorry for someone doesn’t change anything. But if we listen to our hearts, we should never ever underestimate the power and impact we can have if we act on those feelings.

As we approach our first visitor, we navigate our way down a steep road where the recent downpours have left their mark in deep ruts. We enter onto the verandah of  a little old lady who hobbles her way out to greet us, which makes the walk down her driveway seem not so tough after all. The woman is delighted to receive a food package but in typical Moldovan fashion restrains herself from digging into the bag of goodies like a child on Christmas morning. We are quickly invited to take a seat, and the lady listens with intrigue as we briefly share the purpose behind our visit.

After we share, we are then invited into the world of a woman that has seen much harder days; as we listen we can’t help but notice the remarkable sense of health of this 92 year old woman – a woman who still reads without glasses. She goes on to explain that she had 12 kids, 7 of which died and 5 who currently work abroad in other counties. Her husband passed away around 30 years ago and she can’t remember the last time her children who were lucky enough to survive visited. She does have one nephew living in the same village who may have visited once or twice if her memory serves her correctly, however he has better things to do with his time. Whilst this woman’s health seems incredible, there’s no doubt that she lives in her own lonely little world – just her and her bitter sweet memories of the family members that survived.

As we listen to her struggles the typical response rolls of our tongues without really even thinking about what we’re saying… “How can we pray for you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but a polite one all the same. As she sighs she explains that she’d appreciate prayer for God to look after her, and we quickly nod in agreement, simultaneously bowing our heads together for her request. On completion of what almost seems a ritual, we make our way out the front gate and she invites us to lavish on her ripe apricots – a token of her appreciation for the food parcel. I always take a handful of fruit with me, as I figure that it provides them with a sense of pride; of having something to offer in return, rather than simply accepting our handout from their desperation and hopelessness.

But as I leave something bothers me, and a thought lingers in my mind as I think back to her request for God to help her. As Christians we believe that God uses His people to express love to one another, yet why has no one demonstrated ongoing love to this woman? We are so quick in asking God to look after such people, but how will He if people are stagnant in their love and concern for others? I leave wondering whether this woman’s prayer request will ever be fulfilled, and get the feeling that her belief in God will be very much dependent upon the answer.

Well life certainly is different here in Moldova during Easter. I recently had a chat about Easter with couple who I regularly meet up with as language contacts after bumping into them in the city. Whilst they were fascinated with the Western world’s custom of eating rabbits that are made out of chocolate (which is kind of strange when you think about it), we have been intrigued by Moldovan traditions over Easter, and it has been an incredibly insightful occasion that has brought a better understanding to the Moldovan way of life.

Whilst beautiful feasts (as pictured above), the traditional Pushca cake, along with the cracking of hard-boiled eggs with a partner may not seem overtly foreign, ‘the festival for the dead’ evokes a truly insightful perception on Moldovan customs. This event, a long time tradition celebrated during the easter period, provides a greater understanding on how a country dominated by Orthodoxy really is chalk and cheese to our home culture. The day typically consists of a family outing to the cemetery, where they celebrate a picnic lunch over the tombstone of deceased family members. At some stage during their outing, after the family patiently waits for the priest to make his way through peak traffic as other families take part in the tradition, the priest will pray for the deceased. Of course in a day and age where nothing comes cheap, the family is required to offer gifts of food, money and a drink of wine in return. The belief is that through such an ordeal the dead will earn more rights in heaven. By the end of the day you end up with a very drunk priest making his way around graveyards blabbering out prayers, whilst everyone else consumes a great deal of alcohol and becomes increasingly drunk as the evening passes bye.

We both experienced such events first hand as we travelled in a bus full of many drunk people during the evening of this festival. To paint you a picture, we quietly sat down in the bus while we listened to our neighbors hurling abuse back and forth as they debated the ‘true‘ language of Moldova – Romanian or Moldovanest. We made a decision to head up to the other end of the bus for some peace and quiet before adding the English language to the debate, where we were greeted by a grandmother who gazed into the distance in her drunken state. Every now and then she gave a little wave to her grandchild, a girl no older than 5 or 6 who was being cared for by her tipsy father who had just accidently smashed his phone on the ground. At one point the lady ended up in our laps as she tried to make her way off the bus at some random stop. It really was a sad sight, especially observing an innocent girl in the moment of it all.

So whilst Easter consists of many happy moments where the family place a major focus on celebrating this event together, this custom really does end up leaving an awful lot of people in a sorry state – a very sad thing to observe first-hand.

Today I walked past a beggar with no legs or hands – he could barely hold the rusty old tin shaking vigorously in his two stumps which he used to plead for money. I’m not so sure that he could speak either…

Generally speaking, I’m not the biggest fan of giving money to beggars who simply sit their, presenting themselves as unworthy and of little value (if any) to society.  I find it sad that such people merely resort to pleading for a bystander’s empathy to throw some loose change into their tin, conceding that they have nothing to offer in return. I like to to think that everyone in this world has something to contribute, and although many beggars may not share this perspective, I wonder whether throwing change into a beggar’s tin promotes an acknowledgement of their hopelessness; to accept their inability to provide anything of value to others in society.

On the other hand, I’ve seen plenty of beggars in Chisinau who, at first glance, may not seem as though they have much to offer, but are doing their utmost to provide something for others. A few days ago we passed an elderly man on the side of the street singing his heart out. Now it wouldn’t have taken a professional vocalist to realise that this man’s voice was a little off key. But the point is, he felt that he had something to contribute to society, and by putting money in his tin, he is being acknowledged for what he has to offer to others – he is being recognised as someone of worth; as a human that has significance in society.

So where does that leave the beggar with no limbs? This man has found himself in an extra-ordinary situation where his present circumstances restrict him from doing much except plead. Each day his existence is dependent upon the compassion of others, and my heart goes out to him. He can’t play an instrument, and from what I gathered can’t use his voice, in fact, he would have enough of a battle commuting to his office parked on the steps each day. The more I’ve thought about this, the more it has challenged my perspective on life – on what it really means to be having a bad day; on what it really means to need something; on what it really means to be finding life hard. Maybe living out of a suitcase for a few months on end, travelling on a mini-bus packed to the rafters for 3 hours a day, or language acquisition isn’t so tough after-all. My short encounter with the man with no limbs has challenged me to reflect on my present circumstances and ponder on the opportunities I have to use what I’ve got to contribute to society as best as possible… maybe he did have something to offer to me after all.

On arrival, we were greeted by the hostess’ pet turtle. This was simultaneously placed on our laps as we were offered apples as an entree. During our evening, an ‘animal’, which we are positive was a cross-breed between a dog and sheep, ran around the house going about its own business. To add to the atmosphere (literally), there was another dog which extracted several undesirable scents which rapidly permeated the air throughout the house. The owner reacted by picking up a fragrance bottle and pumping a few squirts into the air, behaving as though it was a somewhat regular routine. Strangely enough, the ambience was quite welcoming as our hostess displayed no sign of worry or embarrassment; in fact she seemed quite proud of her unconventional crusade of pets.

If this wasn’t enough, the night’s entertainment continued with a parade of the owner’s many toys and gadgets, which she seemed considerably proud of. Amongst this, she brought out a set of bathroom scales (the expression on Jessie’s face is beyond what words can describe). One by one, each of the guests were required to step up onto the scales and proudly announce their current weight. Jessie sternly muttered under her breath, “Juz, don’t you dare get on those scales, or I will be the only who refuses to do so.”

So there you have it –  an unforgettable first-hand experience of (typical?) Moldovan hospitality!

As expected, Moldova is significantly poorer than the rest of Europe, and the ramifications of this are enormous. Whilst a stroll down the main street, ‘Stefan Cel Mare’, or a glimpse at various parks or malls such as the newly constructed ‘Mall Dova’ might suggest otherwise, it doesn’t take long to realise that by and large, there are many great needs. The infrastructure of roads, the health system, public transport, along with the general standard of living all contribute to this status of being ‘poor’…and we haven’t mentioned the villages yet! On the positive side, such needs lend themselves to opportunities, as The Poor have a need for hope beyond financial measures, and we have something to offer there. However it also presents challenges, as we need to somehow cross a massive socio-cultural gap to relate to such people. There’s also a risk of dependence, where people with great needs may simply seek the hope we can lead them to with ulterior motives; they may purely seek a channel of hope which can meet their desperate physical needs. Whilst this presents opportunities, there is a risk of insincerity and distorted belief.

On the other hand, like most cities, there are a hand-full of The Posh, who live vastly different lives in the same country. We’ve seen dozens of Mercedes, modern housing, excessively expensive clothing and so on in our short time here. This adds a totally different complexity, where we need to somehow communicate a need for hope, when to be honest, hope is probably the last thing on their minds. From what we’ve gathered, the disparity between The Poor and The Posh seems to be widening as time goes by, and like many Australians, there’s a real difficulty in communicating the message we have for them.

So this leaves us as The Perplexed! We have some brilliant people to work alongside with here, who have a wealth of experience and understand the culture well. But in thinking about these differences, we realise there are many barriers which need to be crossed -missiologicaly, urban areas are said to be some of the most challenging, and we’re now beginning to see why…thank goodness we’ll also be working in the villages!

There’s a few things you may like to pray about.

The flight from Mosbach (Germany) was pretty good, with everyone clapping once the plane had landed (we’re not sure whether actually landing in an Air Moldova aircraft is a bit of a bonus or not, but considering their motto is ‘Born to Fly’ maybe people were just having a good day!).

It was nice to be greeted by a couple of the team members we’ll be working with at the airport. They took us out for tea, where we had a typical Moldovan meal made up of polenta, meat, sour cream and sauces, salad, sheep cheeses, a type of potato pastry, and other pastries made into a kind of flat pie with cabbage, cheese, cherries or apples. It was delicious and comforting to know their national dish is reasonably similar to what we’d eat at home.

On Sunday we took it pretty easy…had a nice sleep in and went for a bit of a walk. We are in the city outskirts of Chisinau, and as expected, it’s pretty poor. The streets are very muddy at the moment, and there are no footpaths to walk on. It’s interesting though, because there are plenty of nice houses around, yet they’re mixed with poorer down-trodden houses and wells that are well and truly in use. Many of the properties’ fences and walls are bright colours, and we can tell that in Spring and Summer the place would look quite pretty as there are so many trees. People have said the city is at it’s worst now with all the mud.

On Sunday afternoon we went to an English speaking church with a couple of the other team members. As soon as Juz walked in the door he got roped into playing guitar…Jessie will be up next service on keys. This follows the trend of the conference in Germany where we got thrown straight into things!

We’ve had a chance to check out the city centre, a twenty minute trip from the offices. This costs all of 30 cents to take a tightly squeezed bus (about 24 people in a 12 seater) into the city. The city varies immensely, where elegant buildings are mixed with shabby frontages. On the upside, this busy little city has beautiful parks which we’re sure we’ll spend a significant amount of time wandering through in spring and summer.

We’re both really happy to be here and are so glad to be joining a very friendly and welcoming team.