When No Words Are Needed to Share God’s Love (Monday June 14)

We were headed out of Romania and had to catch a train in Bucharest. A 7 pm train out to Budapest, Hungary. Trying to find a parking place near the train station is difficult. The 100+ degree heat made finding a parking spot seem even more difficult and driving a big van makes it even more challenging finding a space. Carolyn was our faithful driver. I have seen a lot of crazy drivers, but Romanians take the cake for me. (Nice driving always, Carolyn, you are incredible! I must admit, you are one of those crazy drivers!)

Coming around the corner, there was a spot and there was a younger man standing in it. “Surely he is saving it for someone,” I thought. But a bright, big smile welcomed us into that parking spot. I stepped out and he approached me. I tried a few words to see if he was friendly or something else. The smile grew bigger. He pointed to my sun glasses and with one motion put his fingers together on his lips and then pulled them away making what I guess is the universal sign for “sweet!” he made the motion again. I guess he liked the glasses. I took them off. He examined them, made the sign again, and handed them back to me. I smiled and shook his hand.

I am rather good at figuring out what people are feeling and I was getting the feeling that I had made a friend. I tried some more words and he shook his head. I tried a few more. He made the same head motion. The using his fingers he pointed to his lips and to his ears and then shook his head. Ah, he is deaf and mute, I realized. At least at this point my not really knowing Romanian was no longer an issue. Sign language works in every time and place.

He pulled out his wallet. I thought, “This is a switch. A guy on the street is about to give me something from his wallet.” He pointed to three pictures. His picture. He wrote on the dirty window the number “32.” A picture of a woman. He made a motion to his heart. His wife. Same window. The number “24.” He pointed to her, his ears and his mouth and then shook his head. “Ah, she is also deaf and mute,” I surmised. Yes, he nodded his head. And then he pointed to a picture of a young boy, again to his heart, and this time he took his hand, pointed to his own ears and mouth and then made the hand gesture, you know, the one that indicated “blabby.” And he smiled the biggest smile as yet. He and his wife are deaf and mute but his boy is not. He pointed up in the sky. Now he was talking my language. I pointed up to the sky too.

For just a moment I though about how incredible this was. Here I am in Bucharest, Romania, in 100+ degree heat, standing in a parking lot talking to a man I just met, a man with whom I cannot speak and know we are praising God. That is the way it is supposed to be, isn’t it?

Our pointing up to the sky repeatedly prompted him to open his wallet. What was he up to now? From his wallet he pulled out two cards. Both were from his church and both were celebrating God. Though I could not read the Romanian words on them, he handed them to me. I looked at them and then looked at him. Together we pointed up to heaven. And then with the biggest grin yet, his fingers drew to his lips and away. God is “sweet.”

We had to get some food before the train trip so our “conversation” had to end. But I tell you for a brief time on a Romanian street two guys from two different sides of the globe got to celebrate the “sweetness” of our God.