Meetings

Warmed by the hot soup with shining faces and spontaneous laughter some children were playing in front of the church. They did not hurry to go back to their poky, tumble-down houses. In the gypsy neighborhood the children can hardly survive, thrown into the dumpster of life. The destiny of these children is one and the same but it has somewhat changed lately. It's the second winter now of visiting the Mission Possible soup-kitchen in the local church of the Fakulteta suburb.

The confidence of having some hot soup also for lunch tomorrow makes them more peaceful, they even sing some songs they had learned from the cooks:

The children look exactly like that - like small flowers ready to blossom, at the sunshine.

This picture caught a happy moment. Unfortunately in the gallery of life we also saw many dark pictures. On the street around the church, some 14-15 year-old teenagers, drove a horse-carriage. Standing proudly, they were looking at the world from "above". To our question, "Do you go to church?", they replied provocatively, "We are not Christians. We are thieves!" In their answer we could feel pride, and a little malice. And pain.

Such a contrast - the children in the church and those outside! Praise God, for the Great Artist hasn't stopped painting. In His hand the soup-kitchen turns into a good "brush" which He uses to put some more light nuances for the future of these children.

And on our hearts too!

The van slowly turned and stopped between the dilapidated huts. I can't say houses because this word is too strong for these not-plastered, built with materials at hand, one-two rooms, where whole families are living.

While we were wondering where to step because of the mud we met some children's eyes full of expectation. Then we entered the simple church building which in spite of its simplicity looked big, compared to everything around. The children, gathered around the big stove, were singing a song about the Savior accompanied by a small accordion.

I thought how important were these simple things for them - the food that we brought, the warmth and the peace of this small place built especially to meet their spiritual needs. Could they - while going in the mud to their cold homes - keep the joy they had experienced? I don't know. But looking at the smiles on their faces and their shining eyes I realize that only the blessed heart knows how to multiple the joy.