As we celebrate thirty years of Remember the Children in Romania, I’ve been thinking about how this journey has shaped both the ministry — and me.
My earliest memories there are not easy ones. They’re marked by the lingering weight of communism, by hardship, and by the quiet tragedy so many children endured. For many Romanians, those scars are still close to the surface.
What I remember most clearly, though, are the children on the streets — and sometimes beneath them, living in the sewers.
One of them was a boy named Florin.
Florin slept on the fire escape outside the hotel where I stayed. Each evening, we would gather leftovers for him. He survived on what others didn’t finish. For a couple of years, that was our rhythm.
One night, I finally invited him inside to eat with us. The hotel management hesitated, but eventually agreed. When the server placed the food in front of him, she smiled and said, “Tonight you will eat like a king.”
I will never forget his face in that moment — the dignity, the joy. It wasn’t just about food. It was about being seen.
Years later, I heard someone call my name in a pizza shop. It was Florin — older, healthier, still living on the streets but no longer the fragile boy I first met. We shared another meal. That was the last time I saw him.
I never considered feeding children on the streets heroic. It felt like the only reasonable response to a child who was hungry and alone. I didn’t know most of their stories. I just knew they needed someone to notice them.
A Romanian friend once told me why the children would run to me:
“Because you see them. And you are safe. You hug them and give them the love missing in their lives.”
That changed me.
Romania taught me to really see people — not as problems to fix, but as beloved children of God. Over time, my focus shifted from tragedy to resilience, from heartbreak to hope.
The children taught me how to love without boundaries. They drew me closer to God and reshaped my understanding of compassion.
As we mark thirty years, I find myself asking:
Who around us needs to be seen?
Where is God inviting us to notice, to care, to love?
Florin’s face still reminds me — everyone is chosen. Everyone is loved.
May we keep seeing.
May we keep serving.
And may love guide our next thirty years.