"Julieta?" I call. I knock again. "Julieta? Doma si?" Are you home?
It's not the first time I've waited on the front porch of my friend's home, standing amidst a pile of discarded shoes that seems way too big for the two people that live in the house. Due to medical problems that have prevented her from having children, Julieta doesn't stay at home like the other Roma women. With no children to look after, she spends her days visiting friends and having guests. After a few more knocks, I assume this is the case today. As I turn to leave, I hear movement in the house, a key turning, a door opening, a woman greeting me.
"Abbey!" But it's not Julieta.
"Hajrie! What are you doing here?" I greet my friend, surprised to see her here and glad that I visited her the day before so she doesn't have a reason to scold me. She tells me Julieta went out of town with her husband, so she is staying at their house. Hajrie (High-ree-ay) is going to be away from home for a few days--she and her husband have been fighting again.
We move into the living room, where Hajrie's one-year-old son is taking a nap. I turn down Hajrie's offer of bread. And then Hajrie asks The Question.
"Abbey... Does your organization give out money for food and clothes?"
Outwardly, I sympathetically tell her no. Inwardly, I sigh. It's a question I've come to expect from each of my Roma friends at some point, and it's a question I dread. I try to look at it from her perspective. If I were in her position and I met an American, wouldn't I ask the same question?
But her question reminds me that I didn't even plan to see her today. I wanted to see Julieta. Why did Hajrie have to answer the door? After all, I see her more than most of my other contacts. She never listens to me when I try to talk about spiritual things. She doesn't want to hear. And usually, her three older kids are trying to play with me, leaving little opportunity to talk to her at all...
And then I hear the Voice. Like a whisper. Reminding me of my own prayers. Prayers that I would see opportunities to turn conversations to talk about spiritual things, and that I would take those opportunities. Prayers that He would let my Roma friends hear and respond to the Truth. And, even more specifically, that He would give me time with Hajrie alone, without the distraction of her adorable but rowdy children.
I look again at the baby asleep on the couch.
And I know He's given me this opportunity.
"Have I ever told you about when I was little, Hajrie?" I ask her. She shakes her head no. So I tell her my story, about how we didn't have a lot of money when I was young, but God always provided what we needed. "And He still gives me what I need, every day. When I was young, it was daily food. When I moved here all alone, He provided me with friends like you. When my dad died, He gave me peace and faith to know that he's in heaven because of his faith in Jesus." And we proceed to talk about what we both believe will happen when we die. And she really listens.
"So I know I'll see my dad again, but it's not because he was a good person. It's because he had faith in Jesus. He's in heaven now."
"You're sure?" A simple question, and I silently thank God that I have a simple answer.
"Yes. I'm sure."
Pray that I would see more of these opportunities and that I would be bold enough to take them. Pray that I would "make the best use of the time" (Col. 4:5-6). And pray that He would open Hajrie's eyes to see Him.
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| My Roma sister, Hajrie |
