Szia Baratom. Bye friend. And Happy Mother's Day

This was the first picture Erzsebet Borzasi and I took together in 2004. I was 17, had no fashion sense, and was just beginning to seriously ask myself if I was called to long term missions. I had been feeling my heart tugged the entire week that Romania was someplace I could and would spend a considerable amount of time long-term in my future.

My first memory of a decent interaction with Erzsebet was when I was on my way to the outhouse and the dog decided to jump up at me and bark/snarl/snap at me. Scared me to death. I jumped back and let out a yelp myself. I turned around and there was Erzsebet, trying to communicate something to me in Hungarian. finally she made a thumping motion on her heart and with her eyes dancing with exultation at finding the right English word said, "Fright! Fright! yes?" Those were the only words in English I ever remember her saying, but it was by far not the only communication we had.

The day I left Ipp in 2005, Erzsebet came to me and gave me a hug and we took that first picture. She turned to me and asked me a question. Her grandson translated: "Will you come back to Romania?" I looked in the dear old lady's eyes and knew I couldn't tell her a flippant comforting nothing. Could I commit to coming back to Romania? I said a quick prayer and felt the Lord's peace say, ''yes." So I told her. "Yes, one day I will come back." And I did, a year and a half later, and two years after that, and a year after that.

Last summer as I was once again preparing to leave the Borzasi's house to travel to a Gypsy village to do ministry, Erzsebet found me packing in the bedroom. "When are you coming back?" she asked. We looked at each other. She nodded. "You don't know. Well, we pray it will be soon, and I look forward to seeing you again." Me too, Erzsi.

The thought at the time briefly crossed my mind, "What if something happens to Erzsi? She is old." But then I felt assurance that I'd see her again.

Two days ago I checked my email and saw the message with the subject, "Funeral" from Erzsebet's grandson. I thought it was one of the many humerous forwards he often sends me. Instead it was a brief message that caused me to try not to cry there in the library. Erzsebet had gone home to be with Jesus an hour before he wrote that message.

His cousin Johanna gave me more details this morning. Erzsi had been sick for a while and suffered a stroke last week. Apparently she had shown some recovery, but Friday wasn't feeling good. That evening, with Magda her youngest daughter there, she died. Her older daughter, Marta, was in the village but not present when she went.

This picture was also taken in 2005, and is Magda and I just before our vans left Romania. Magda and I have been good friends from the first. Our relationship has been rather odd, as we muddle our way through stilted English and worse Hungarian. But she's put up with my cultural 'woops' moments and I'm sure I've accidently insulted her more than once as I've tried to piece together my thoughts into a foreign language and grammar. She's held me while I cried and smiled while I ranted at the various momentary crises I was going through at that particular moment. And she's always had a cup of tea and hot meal waiting as I return from various adventures and eagerly listened and even asked for stories of said adventures.

When I had mentally registered the fact that Erzsebet was Home, my first thoughts went to Magda. Erzsebet and her husband, Marton, lived in their younger daughter's home. I knew Magda would be hurting. Talking with her on the phone today confirmed it. Having gone through some rough times myself recently, I knew words could only do so much. She asked me twice if not three times, "Just come here. Just come visit. When are you arriving? Please come." Ohhhh my friend. If only the doors were open, but they are closed now. As soon as they open, be sure I will come and sit by you in the garden once again. All I could tell her though was the truths I've clung to throughout the storms of the last seven months: God loves you. God is with you. Its okay to cry. Be strong, but don't see tears as not being strong. Its okay to cry. I love you. God loves you.

I know Erzsebet is in Heaven now. while I loved reading Psalms to her in Hungarian, I'm glad she doesn't need someone to read to her anymore or use those big cumbersome spectacles; she has a new body and is staring in the face of Jesus. Although I loved laughing with her about how we were both a minority in the village with our blue eyes, I'm glad she is in Heaven where she doesn't have to worry about her blue eyes getting weak and sore throughout the day. While I miss hearing her shuffle down the hallway, I'm glad she can jump for joy at God's goodness now. While I am sorry I won't hear her rasp when I visit the village again as she walks, I'm so thankful she can breathe easy now. Our loss, her gain.

This is Magda and Marta, Erzsebet's daughters. Marta is herself a Grandma, and Magda hopes to be one soon. :-) The Hungarians of Transylvania are a strong breed, and as I told Magda, now her heart is hurting but soon she will smile again. And I am thankful that I too am smiling again. My mom scolded me once last year because she said I always brought home the saddest stories from Romania. Well, yes, that's true. But they make me so thankful that these aren't MY story, and they help me realize how much I have to be thankful. This mother's day, while I'm grieving for my friend Marta's loss of her mother, I am reminded again how blessed I am to have my own mother still around.

She's not a Transylvanian Hungarian, she's an American of Germanic heritage. She isn't quiet, but full of snap and spice. She doesn't wait for me to come back from my adventures, she is right there helping me plan them out (often obnoxiously making me very much aware of the holes and problems of my ideas, making me re-think them and improve them so much more than I would have on my own) She helped make me who I am. While we have plenty of miscommunications -even though we both speak English fluently - we always laugh and hug at the end of them. She's the best mom ever, and I love her a lot.

So Happy Mother's Day, near and far!