In February, some girls from the school and I went out to one of their families’ restaurants in a little corner of Budapest. We met the owner of the restaurant on a sunny afternoon, and he and his daughter walked us to the not-so-easy to find little spot. There were 8 girls, ages 13-16, and me. When we were seated, I looked around the table in wonder as I thought about all of the places and stories that had brought this collection of people together... here, now. The girls were all from Korea and China... places I know so little about. Places whose soil my American feet have never touched. Yet, here we sat. In Budapest, Hungary.
I asked them about school. How was it in your home country? How is it different here? As soon as the chopsticks were in their hands, their conversation began to flow... directly from their hearts. They told stories. Stories that left me speechless... of their school and life experiences, where the pressure to succeed has far outweighed any support they have received. Many of them were sent to boarding schools, with military-style classrooms of 50 or more students... no one knows you, no one has time for your questions, the goal is success. Memorize. Pass this test. Then you are valuable. Your grades are posted for everyone to see... shame is a great motivator.
When they speak of the school here, there is light in their eyes. They speak of people who smile, of how surprising it was when they first came that everyone said "Good Morning" to them. The road is hard, having to learn English and all of their core subjects at the same time. And they still have a whole lot of family pressure. But they are being healed... I really believe it. The love that they have encountered is allowing them to blossom into the people they were created to be.
We ate and ate, and I asked them what questions they might have about life.
“Who am I?”, “Why should we believe in God?”, “Why do my parents care more about my grades than they care about me?”, “How can I have friends?”... quietly the girl to my right leaned in closely and whispered, “What I really want to know is... Why did God create me?” I sat in wonder, again.
I wrote down their questions, feeling totally inadequate and without a whole lot to say. “We’ll talk about these. I just need to think first.”
We talked about friendship a little bit, and ate some more. After our stomachs were far beyond a normal level of satisfaction, we left the restaurant and walked to the tram. The girls invited me to the park to play a game with them, but I had to be getting home. We parted ways, “Happy New Year” they said, as they waved through the tram door.
I read a quote from Ravi Zecharias recently that said, “It’s not questions that need answering. It’s people.” Yes. These girls need to be answered. Their lives have left them seeking.
We met again last weekend. There were a few different girls than the first time. A couple were not there, and a couple of new ones came. Still all Chinese and Korean... and me. We decided to call ourselves The Noodle Club.
We had a nice time eating and playing Uno (Chinese style), and them showing me their favorite K-Pop boy-band singers (their husbands, they said). There was not the same kind of conversation as the first time we were together, and, to be honest, I was feeling a little disappointed. But I was still thrilled that we were together, and that they chose to spend their Saturday afternoon with someone like me.
On the walk back to the tram, one of the girls (the same who leaned in to ask her question previously) walked along side of me. We chatted, and I’m not quite sure how we came to the topic, but suddenly I found myself listening in amazement as she shared with me that she and another of the girls had secretly become Christians. She told me, in her own sweet words, that she had not believed in God before coming to the school. That her family is Buddhist, and that they do not believe in God. That her teacher here taught her that God offers her HOPE. She was sick, and she prayed, and God answered her. Her parents were fighting, and she prayed, and God answered her.
She tries to remember verses from the Bible to help her pray. She hasn’t told her friends or family, because she is afraid of the consequences. She has heard that people have been kicked out of their homes for becoming Christians. “Maybe God will think I don’t really believe in Him because I am afraid to tell people. Do you think He will be angry with me?”
“God is not a man”... is all that came to my mind. She nodded her head firmly, seeming to really understand.
We come to her tram stop, and part ways. I am smiling and crying... making a spectacle of myself among the elderly Hungarian crowd. “I’m ok”, I want to say. “Don’t mind me. My heart is so full I just might burst.”
These are the people. They are all around us, and God is answering them. We are amazed.
I asked them about school. How was it in your home country? How is it different here? As soon as the chopsticks were in their hands, their conversation began to flow... directly from their hearts. They told stories. Stories that left me speechless... of their school and life experiences, where the pressure to succeed has far outweighed any support they have received. Many of them were sent to boarding schools, with military-style classrooms of 50 or more students... no one knows you, no one has time for your questions, the goal is success. Memorize. Pass this test. Then you are valuable. Your grades are posted for everyone to see... shame is a great motivator.
When they speak of the school here, there is light in their eyes. They speak of people who smile, of how surprising it was when they first came that everyone said "Good Morning" to them. The road is hard, having to learn English and all of their core subjects at the same time. And they still have a whole lot of family pressure. But they are being healed... I really believe it. The love that they have encountered is allowing them to blossom into the people they were created to be.
We ate and ate, and I asked them what questions they might have about life.
“Who am I?”, “Why should we believe in God?”, “Why do my parents care more about my grades than they care about me?”, “How can I have friends?”... quietly the girl to my right leaned in closely and whispered, “What I really want to know is... Why did God create me?” I sat in wonder, again.
I wrote down their questions, feeling totally inadequate and without a whole lot to say. “We’ll talk about these. I just need to think first.”
We talked about friendship a little bit, and ate some more. After our stomachs were far beyond a normal level of satisfaction, we left the restaurant and walked to the tram. The girls invited me to the park to play a game with them, but I had to be getting home. We parted ways, “Happy New Year” they said, as they waved through the tram door.
I read a quote from Ravi Zecharias recently that said, “It’s not questions that need answering. It’s people.” Yes. These girls need to be answered. Their lives have left them seeking.
We met again last weekend. There were a few different girls than the first time. A couple were not there, and a couple of new ones came. Still all Chinese and Korean... and me. We decided to call ourselves The Noodle Club.
We had a nice time eating and playing Uno (Chinese style), and them showing me their favorite K-Pop boy-band singers (their husbands, they said). There was not the same kind of conversation as the first time we were together, and, to be honest, I was feeling a little disappointed. But I was still thrilled that we were together, and that they chose to spend their Saturday afternoon with someone like me.
On the walk back to the tram, one of the girls (the same who leaned in to ask her question previously) walked along side of me. We chatted, and I’m not quite sure how we came to the topic, but suddenly I found myself listening in amazement as she shared with me that she and another of the girls had secretly become Christians. She told me, in her own sweet words, that she had not believed in God before coming to the school. That her family is Buddhist, and that they do not believe in God. That her teacher here taught her that God offers her HOPE. She was sick, and she prayed, and God answered her. Her parents were fighting, and she prayed, and God answered her.
She tries to remember verses from the Bible to help her pray. She hasn’t told her friends or family, because she is afraid of the consequences. She has heard that people have been kicked out of their homes for becoming Christians. “Maybe God will think I don’t really believe in Him because I am afraid to tell people. Do you think He will be angry with me?”
“God is not a man”... is all that came to my mind. She nodded her head firmly, seeming to really understand.
We come to her tram stop, and part ways. I am smiling and crying... making a spectacle of myself among the elderly Hungarian crowd. “I’m ok”, I want to say. “Don’t mind me. My heart is so full I just might burst.”
These are the people. They are all around us, and God is answering them. We are amazed.