Flakes of old dry blue paint fell
to the ground as the big wooden door closed behind me.
The peeling paint smelled of urine, as did the door, as
did the entire building to tell you the truth.
Sounds from inside the mental institution in the small
town of
Siret in northeastern Romania
were muffled as the door closed behind me. I had just
closed the door to what some people call “home sweet
home,” while I still call it hell on earth.
Walking
down the steps into the dark, dirty courtyard, I took a
look around and saw for the last time the bars that
stood like prison walls keeping prisoner those closed
inside for the rest of their days. The bars stretched
upward covering every window, every balcony, every place
where those inside could get a peek at the world
outside. The scene was branded by the dark reality that
they are there to stay. No running away, no release, no
future. Looking all around at the bars I felt like I was
leaving some twisted filthy zoo. Yet locked inside,
behind the cage walls, were not animals, but precious
people who think, feel, laugh, and hurt. The
too-familiar sounds wafted down to bade me farewell as I
trudged toward the gate---the barred gate that meant the
end of the planet to the people I was leaving, and to
me, just another gate.
From the open doors leading
into the dingy rooms all above me, I could hear the
cries, animal screams, eerie laughs, and shouts of angry
workers who act more like violent animal trainers than
nurses. Those noises still haunt me.
The
reality is forgotten humanity and unloved, uncared-for
people pushed into corners of our world and left there
to rot. They long for the
same joys in life that I so freely have, yet they are
never able to actually feel what it’s like to have joys
warm their hearts or make their days.
Then I
was at the gate---the edge of a world---a border that
those behind me couldn’t cross with passports. These
cold gates are as real as dungeon bars for the forgotten
remnant inside them. These gates are too high for those
inside to look over and too low for them to crouch down
and look under. They see the tops of trees and wonder
what the bases are like. They see the tops of buses and
wonder what the busy people inside are like. They hear
the sounds of people, of children playing, of babies
crying, of horses trotting by, or the scary sound of an
ambulance blaring past.
They
also hear the sounds of music---music which they’ll
never be able to sit and enjoy the words to because the
words are racing past their world in a car radio or with
a boy singing as he rides his bike. Yet the ones closed
behind that gate dance when they hear the music. Some
break into twisted, but brilliant smiles when their ears
catch the tunes. Still others catch the tunes and,
staring out into space, begin to rock back and forth,
back and forth, back and forth. They dance, they smile,
and they rock because they love music. The music touches
their hearts like nothing else can, even though their
ears can only catch a weak, blurred tune as it passes by
their little world.
Then I
was outside the gate---back in my world. As I watched
the people hurrying by, I had to wonder how many of them
knew about the hell, the hurt, the existence behind
these gates. I was back in the cruel world of the
tough---the one that pushes the broken behind gates and
locked doors and tries to forget that they exist---back
in the world of business where nobody has time to sing
to a broken heart. I was back in the world that makes
gates so high that those behind cannot see over into the
beauty beyond. Those outside don’t want to have to look
back and see the pain in the eyes of those looking out
at their world, dreaming of the day when they might also
get to be one of the free people. I was back in the
world of “fend for yourself” and “watch your back.”
Behind
those walls, the precious prisoners are in pain, but
they’re in pain together. When one hurts, then they all
hurt. When one cries, the cry touches the whole group.
They stick together because nobody else will stick with
them. They know each other’s hurts and pains and in some
ways try to comfort each other. They always have time
for the person with the biggest hurt and they don’t seem
to forget each other. They know what it means to
sacrifice for their brother and give up what they
treasure so that he can also have something to treasure.
So here I am, back in my own world…this world I’m
traveling through now…
Yet as
the door closed behind me, shutting in those people I’d
come to care about and love over the past two months, it
hurt to watch their world be locked behind me---probably
never to be opened to me again. As I heard the door
slam, the thought hit me: it’s over! Every chance that
I’ll ever have to change the world of these people,
every opportunity that I’ll ever have to love them,
every time that I could make their days or brighten
their worlds is over. I’ll probably never have another
chance. I’ll probably never see their faces or hear
their cries again or feel their pain with them ever
again. My time here is over.
How did I do? Did I give my
all? What could have I done differently?
I don’t know. I really believe that I gave these people
my all. I didn’t hold anything back there.
But then I started to think about
my life in general. Every day the door to someone’s life
is closed and locked behind me forever---how did I do?
If I have ten minutes to change somebody’s world, a day
to revolutionize somebody’s life, a few moments to
brighten somebody’s day or give them the Good News that
has turned my life around, do I take up God’s challenge
to do it? Alone, I’ll never make the difference, but I
have the Treasure that will. As I got to thinking, real
true life is life that’s poured all out for God and that
sometimes means being a freak. Sometimes it means being
“overboard” for my Jesus. [A freak and “overboard”
because it’s crazy to most people to stick their necks
out for Jesus every chance they get.] Another way of
saying it would be that God is looking at me to take
every chance He gives to change somebody’s world for
Him.
At Siret
He gave me two months and as that door closed behind me,
it closed on a place that looks and feels just as dark
and desperate as it did on day one when I first went,
but that’s o.k. I took the challenge and I ran with it.
I did all I could do.
But God
doesn’t always give me two months. Usually people race
through my life without my really even noticing that
they’re there. Yet it’s my place, my job to do what I
can to change their world for Jesus. Siret taught me so
much these two months, yet the lesson that I hope always
stays fresh with me is to live every drop, out of every
moment, for Jesus. Once that moment is gone, I’ll never
get it back and never make up for it. To live a life
that shines undeniably to the world for my King so that
I won’t look back and wish I had once the door is
closed. To shine undeniably every moment for my King,
Benjamin
