How would I summarize the week of Christmas Hope 2018?
I don’t think it is possible to summarize the week. It can only be described in moments.
Years ago, we set out to do something simple in Romania.
We wanted to train Roma men from small villages to lead churches in their own communities. The goal was straightforward: equip local leaders so the church could grow from within.
But we quickly ran into a challenge.
Can I tell you about someone I met in a small Romanian village?
Her name was Domnica. Whenever our volunteers gathered with the kids, she was almost always nearby. Not in the middle of things—just quietly watching from the edges. You could tell life hadn’t been easy for her. Poverty had left its marks. But she always had this warm, steady smile.
One day we decided to stop and talk with her...
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.
Then his wife passed away. The group ended soon after, and life moved forward. My own wife is still here—a gift I don’t take lightly. I often wondered how he was doing, but we had kept our lives fairly private, and time passed.
Until the letter arrived.
The envelope was simple, but the return address stopped me. As I read his words, I felt that familiar connection return. He wrote to say thank you—for the conversations, for the honesty, for being known in a season when everything felt uncertain. Then he shared something I hadn’t known.
Four years after war forced families from their homes, the effects of displacement are still deeply personal. I felt that reality most clearly through the story of one young Ukrainian man I met shortly after he arrived in Romania. He came with little more than a backpack, carrying the weight of leaving home, loved ones, and everything familiar behind. The loss was heavy, but even in those early days, there was a quiet resilience in him—rooted in faith and a longing to belong again.
