Shoeboxes

I dropped the boxes in the corner of the room before taking my seat. It was a grey late November day, nearly the season of Christmas lights and jingle bells. My classmates chatted around me, carelessly placing their boxes on top of mine. I had probably spent less than $15 to fill it with a toothbrush, some toys, a coloring book, and fun socks, then I had sealed the lid with tape and slapped a label to identify the age and gender it was meant for. I was seventeen, and had probably done this exact thing for seventeen Decembers of my life. 

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It is almost surreal to be handing out the same shoeboxes I had packed back home. Well, not the same ones. The ones that are currently stacked in Hope Church’s office like lego blocks are from a non-profit based in Germany, while I remember always sending my boxes to Samaritan’s Purse’s Operation Christmas Child. But still, I now get to see the “fruit of my labor”. Honestly, it isn’t as sweet as I thought it would be. We pull up to the Roma community. Romas are outcasts in Romanian society. Historically, they migrated from India years ago, but the years of neglect and prejudice on both sides has matured past common racism into complete culture imbalance. My team was told to keep everything in the car and our phones in our front pockets. Abbi hops out, her camera in hand, surveying the landscape. It is desolate, for lack of a better word. Colorful trash dots the brown field like wildflowers, and in the distance a convention of mangy dogs huddle from the wind. Down the road is a gate, over which we can see the sad roofs of a few houses. Some Roma children and their parents are already gathered early, where our van has pulled up, grinning and waving. Even though it was about 20 degrees outside, some didn’t have any shoes, and their bare feet squelched cheerfully in the mud as they hopped up and down to get a look at us. A horse-drawn cart brought more children and parents, and soon enough, we had a crowd of Romas waiting for us to do something. Every Roma event goes the same way- we sing 2 Christmas carols in Romanian (stumbling over the accents and mispronouncing words, I’ve been told), then someone tells a Bible story (translated by a Romanian), then we hand out boxes. This is the chaotic part. Our Romanian hosts have to stand by the door of the car as people crowd thickly and frustratedly, mouths wide, and hands pushing and grabbing.

My team and I watch as the cluster of humans grew angry. Children would pop out from between their parent’s legs and hurry to the cart, as if someone were chasing them. Abbi clicked photos of smiling children, the rest of us couldn’t do much but smile and wave. What I was feeling wasn’t pity. I think when you walk into that kind of environment, it’s easy to get caught up on their material lack and desperate faces. But I know that those who are poor in the eyes of the world are made rich in the kingdom of God (James 2:5). I’m not trying to diminish their pain, but I know someone who takes away pain. I’m not saying that we should ignore the physical needs of people, I believe the opposite. But I wanted so badly for these people to know how deeply they were loved. If we drove away from that community, and only fed them physical bread without giving them access to the Bread of Life (John 6:35), then what good were we to them at all? Raul always said before going to the Roma communities “With Jesus in their hearts and gifts in their hands.” I pray for that every time we go. 

Keep praying for your brothers and sisters. To the best of your ability, assist them with their physical needs. But when you have the chance, tell them that they are loved. Tell them that they are justified and made righteous and FREE. Tell them about the gift that came down from heaven, and that our humanly love is a mere reflection to the blinding affection of our Father. 

Photo taken by Abbi Manos. Go check out her blog page for more incredible photos! https://abbimanos.theworldrace.org/