Meeting my Roma sister: a tale of two thirty-somethings
Today, Marta has six children, ages six to eighteen, and a granddaughter, almost a year old. All eight of them live in a one-room house (a former storage shed) with no electricity or running water. Marta’s husband left three years ago – left her for another woman, left the country, and left not a cent in alimony. In addition to these circumstances, the Lacatus family is Roma, part of a large ethnic minority that suffers widespread discrimination throughout Europe. The majority of Roma lives well below the poverty line, and is often considered untrustworthy and a burden on society – a mind-set World Vision is working hard to change.
I live alone in a 900-square foot condominium in a well-maintained Seattle suburb. In the six years I have lived there, the power has never gone out, even during severe storms. (The power is housed underground, and not being able to afford it has never crossed my mind.) One winter my kitchen floor became water-damaged due to a leak, but the homeowners’ association repaired it quickly. And until I traveled abroad, I had only read about outhouses, let alone had to use one. In terms of daily living conditions, I’m very comfortable.
Over the years, I prayed for the Lacatus family and the community, and I prayed that someday my work would bring me to Romania. Finally it did, and preparing for that trip felt like Christmas Eve – complete with wrapping some presents for the children I’d grown to know.
But it does depend on how you define “living.” In contrast to my solitary existence in a heated house with indoor plumbing, Marta is surrounded by children she loves (albeit in very close quarters), and beams with the pride of a new grandmother. She reminds me of the woman in the nursery rhyme who “lived in a shoe and had so many children she didn’t know what to do,” whereas my reality is having more shoes than I know what to do with. (I am embarrassed to admit that the only crowding in my house is in my clothes’ closet.)
For these and many other observations and revelations, I’ve grown to appreciate family sponsorship as a powerful way to be part of a family if you don’t happen to have children of your own. I became a child sponsor when I began working for World Vision, but when I learned about family sponsorship and how it can make an even deeper impact within a community, I decided to try it also. I requested a family headed by a single mother (reasoning that if it’s challenging to be a single parent in the U.S., it must be overwhelming in the developing world).
When I received my welcome packet introducing me to the Lacatus family, I studied each of their faces, especially Marta’s tense expression. Her face showed just how harsh life had become for them without her husband – even more than for most families in the rural community of Aghires, near Cluj. One of Marta’s daughters, Alina, began writing to me on behalf of the family, since Marta’s literacy is limited. She shared the struggles of the family after the father’s abandonment, and how her mother worked long hours at whatever day labor she could find on local farms to pay for food and rent.
Adults in Aghires long for stable jobs. In the communist era, the mines provided employment, but they closed in 1989. About 7,000 people remain in Aghires, and those who are able to work struggle constantly for steady income. The land is difficult to farm, but the people try anyway, or they travel to Cluj for work. However, transportation is expensive, and children are often left alone at home for too long – or even neglected or abandoned. The school drop-out rate is high.
Over the years, I prayed for the Lacatus family and the community, and I prayed that someday my work would bring me to Romania. Finally it did, and preparing for that trip felt like Christmas Eve – complete with wrapping some presents for the children I’d grown to know.
Strangely though, by the time the meeting day arrived, some nervousness mingled with my anticipation – mostly because I had never corresponded directly with Marta. Even with my connection to the family, I wasn’t sure how I would be greeted. Would Marta and the children be guarded, or would they warm up to me?
The picture I painted in my mind of what could happen turned out to be the polar opposite of what did. The moment I entered the room and Marta saw me, she leapt out of her chair and darted across the room, grinning all the way. She hugged me tightly, then squeezed both of my hands and kissed them.
Soon we were chattering away like sisters through our World Vision interpreter, the language barrier shattered as I met and hugged each of the children. The little ones’ heads were still wet from baths for this special occasion.
Marta shared that before she learned that her family would be sponsored, she hit an emotional rock-bottom, so worried that she couldn’t possibly keep her children fed and in school in the wake of her husband’s rejection.
“Working in the field one day, I collapsed. I cried out to God to help me,” she recalls.
Seeing her in person, I could almost picture that moment of her deepest despair, and I couldn’t help but wonder what I had been doing at the time. I’m pretty sure I was warm, safe, and well-fed somewhere, but if our places of birth were switched, her plight could have easily been mine.
She said she didn’t feel better overnight, but hope came back in a trickle, and then in a rush when she found out she was sponsored. She considered it answered prayer. Through World Vision, her children and granddaughter have received warm clothing, help with educational expenses, and chickens for nutrition and extra income. (And on a larger level, World Vision Romania is working to fight discrimination against the Roma, promoting understanding and integration at the grassroots level and into the halls of government.)
Even with the assistance that’s helping Marta to provide for her family, she still has a lot working against her, so her joy and \'quiet center\' struck me. Hope has clearly taken root. Even with my knowledge of sponsorship and of this family, I hadn’t fully comprehended the power of my $40 a month. .
Even with the assistance that’s helping Marta to provide for her family, she still has a lot working against her, so her joy and “quiet center” struck me. Hope has clearly taken root. Even with my knowledge of sponsorship and of this family, I hadn’t fully comprehended the power of my $40 a month, nor the occasional financial support I donated directly to the family through World Vision. Even the time my donation helped buy them a gas stove and Alina’s words, “Mother cried,” made me do the same, I didn’t fully get it. A woman on the brink found her way back, and my simple acts had something to do with that.
As we continued talking and our connection deepened, I decided to ask her what had been on my mind for some time, knowing her specific hardships, “You live in a place where it is not unusual for an overwhelmed mother to feel as though she has no way out other than to give up her children. It’s an issue in many parts of Romania. During your hardest times, did you ever have such thoughts?”
Her reply needed no such context: “I will leave them only when I die.”
That day there was a lot more talking, laughing, and even crying, but these are the words that will always ring in my ears when I think of Marta. At the end of our time together, we said our goodbyes, with Marta nudging the kids and saying, “Give her hugs and kisses, she has no children!” Then we set off on the separate paths that God planned in advance for two different girls born in May, 1970.
If this was a television program about sisters separated at birth and how their lives came together one day, this is where the credits would roll, soft music would play, and the channel would be changed. But this story is long from over. There are many scenes to share with Marta and the family – probably across the miles, but hopefully in person again. I have a new sister, she is Roma, and she is a remarkable mother.
I live alone in a 900-square foot condominium in a well-maintained Seattle suburb. In the six years I have lived there, the power has never gone out, even during severe storms. (The power is housed underground, and not being able to afford it has never crossed my mind.) One winter my kitchen floor became water-damaged due to a leak, but the homeowners’ association repaired it quickly. And until I traveled abroad, I had only read about outhouses, let alone had to use one. In terms of daily living conditions, I’m very comfortable.
Over the years, I prayed for the Lacatus family and the community, and I prayed that someday my work would bring me to Romania. Finally it did, and preparing for that trip felt like Christmas Eve – complete with wrapping some presents for the children I’d grown to know.
But it does depend on how you define “living.” In contrast to my solitary existence in a heated house with indoor plumbing, Marta is surrounded by children she loves (albeit in very close quarters), and beams with the pride of a new grandmother. She reminds me of the woman in the nursery rhyme who “lived in a shoe and had so many children she didn’t know what to do,” whereas my reality is having more shoes than I know what to do with. (I am embarrassed to admit that the only crowding in my house is in my clothes’ closet.)
For these and many other observations and revelations, I’ve grown to appreciate family sponsorship as a powerful way to be part of a family if you don’t happen to have children of your own. I became a child sponsor when I began working for World Vision, but when I learned about family sponsorship and how it can make an even deeper impact within a community, I decided to try it also. I requested a family headed by a single mother (reasoning that if it’s challenging to be a single parent in the U.S., it must be overwhelming in the developing world).
When I received my welcome packet introducing me to the Lacatus family, I studied each of their faces, especially Marta’s tense expression. Her face showed just how harsh life had become for them without her husband – even more than for most families in the rural community of Aghires, near Cluj. One of Marta’s daughters, Alina, began writing to me on behalf of the family, since Marta’s literacy is limited. She shared the struggles of the family after the father’s abandonment, and how her mother worked long hours at whatever day labor she could find on local farms to pay for food and rent.
Adults in Aghires long for stable jobs. In the communist era, the mines provided employment, but they closed in 1989. About 7,000 people remain in Aghires, and those who are able to work struggle constantly for steady income. The land is difficult to farm, but the people try anyway, or they travel to Cluj for work. However, transportation is expensive, and children are often left alone at home for too long – or even neglected or abandoned. The school drop-out rate is high.
Over the years, I prayed for the Lacatus family and the community, and I prayed that someday my work would bring me to Romania. Finally it did, and preparing for that trip felt like Christmas Eve – complete with wrapping some presents for the children I’d grown to know.
Strangely though, by the time the meeting day arrived, some nervousness mingled with my anticipation – mostly because I had never corresponded directly with Marta. Even with my connection to the family, I wasn’t sure how I would be greeted. Would Marta and the children be guarded, or would they warm up to me?
The picture I painted in my mind of what could happen turned out to be the polar opposite of what did. The moment I entered the room and Marta saw me, she leapt out of her chair and darted across the room, grinning all the way. She hugged me tightly, then squeezed both of my hands and kissed them.
Soon we were chattering away like sisters through our World Vision interpreter, the language barrier shattered as I met and hugged each of the children. The little ones’ heads were still wet from baths for this special occasion.
Marta shared that before she learned that her family would be sponsored, she hit an emotional rock-bottom, so worried that she couldn’t possibly keep her children fed and in school in the wake of her husband’s rejection.
“Working in the field one day, I collapsed. I cried out to God to help me,” she recalls.
Seeing her in person, I could almost picture that moment of her deepest despair, and I couldn’t help but wonder what I had been doing at the time. I’m pretty sure I was warm, safe, and well-fed somewhere, but if our places of birth were switched, her plight could have easily been mine.
She said she didn’t feel better overnight, but hope came back in a trickle, and then in a rush when she found out she was sponsored. She considered it answered prayer. Through World Vision, her children and granddaughter have received warm clothing, help with educational expenses, and chickens for nutrition and extra income. (And on a larger level, World Vision Romania is working to fight discrimination against the Roma, promoting understanding and integration at the grassroots level and into the halls of government.)
Even with the assistance that’s helping Marta to provide for her family, she still has a lot working against her, so her joy and \'quiet center\' struck me. Hope has clearly taken root. Even with my knowledge of sponsorship and of this family, I hadn’t fully comprehended the power of my $40 a month. .
Even with the assistance that’s helping Marta to provide for her family, she still has a lot working against her, so her joy and “quiet center” struck me. Hope has clearly taken root. Even with my knowledge of sponsorship and of this family, I hadn’t fully comprehended the power of my $40 a month, nor the occasional financial support I donated directly to the family through World Vision. Even the time my donation helped buy them a gas stove and Alina’s words, “Mother cried,” made me do the same, I didn’t fully get it. A woman on the brink found her way back, and my simple acts had something to do with that.
As we continued talking and our connection deepened, I decided to ask her what had been on my mind for some time, knowing her specific hardships, “You live in a place where it is not unusual for an overwhelmed mother to feel as though she has no way out other than to give up her children. It’s an issue in many parts of Romania. During your hardest times, did you ever have such thoughts?”
Her reply needed no such context: “I will leave them only when I die.”
That day there was a lot more talking, laughing, and even crying, but these are the words that will always ring in my ears when I think of Marta. At the end of our time together, we said our goodbyes, with Marta nudging the kids and saying, “Give her hugs and kisses, she has no children!” Then we set off on the separate paths that God planned in advance for two different girls born in May, 1970.
If this was a television program about sisters separated at birth and how their lives came together one day, this is where the credits would roll, soft music would play, and the channel would be changed. But this story is long from over. There are many scenes to share with Marta and the family – probably across the miles, but hopefully in person again. I have a new sister, she is Roma, and she is a remarkable mother.
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