Once upon a time... there were some children in a village forgotten by the world. They grew up year after year barely clothed, barefoot and always hungry. They went to school and many tried to hide from the others the stigma with which they were born - poverty.
They tried to hide and compensate by taking good grades and gettting a good education. They read many stories from the books borrowed from the library, because Santa Claus couldn’t make it to their houses due to the high snow drifts... They learnt prayers all by themselves and read religious books from cover to cover, in their pursuit of finding answers about life and mankind.
The world they have been born in seemed to be hostile towards them. From time to time, they found themselves daydreaming of a better life and made wishes that they believed to be great, yet unfeasible. They wished for pencil cases and notebooks with brightly coloured covers, as they had seen at other children.
Once upon a time... there were some children who were born in families with numerous members. There were children who had many siblings and on many occasions shared two or three pairs of shoes in order to go to school in turns. There were children who were born in misery and who still believe that there is nothing else in life but poverty. For them, the world is a mess and they have no idea what beauty really is.
Once upon a time... there were two girls and a boy who ate for days in a row only bread and water. To them, a feast is the day when a colleague doesn’t show up at school, and the teacher offers his croissant and glass of milk to them as a gift. They mostly suffered when their mother was on the brink of death after a car accident. Although it’s been months since the crash, you can still perceive the sadness in the little girls eyes. They read prayers all the time, never giving up hope that one day God and Saint Nectarios will help their mother recover her mental capacity , her ability to speak and show them the same love and affection just like the time when she was buying books and notebooks on debt.
For these children and for their little prayers, in the village that seemed to be forgotten by the world, God sent one day, not long ago, a young priest, who wanted to help them. He started to get to know them well: Jeny is the girl who knows many tales by heart; Loredana is the girl with sad eyes who wouldn’t dare say to anybody how difficult and harsh this life is for her, but you can tell from her eyes in tears, everytime someone talks about poverty and living in misery, because she knows the meaning of it all; Marian is the boy who survived a cold winter living for many days in a row in a clay-brick house without electricity and heat.
Oh, Lord! How much suffering lie in the heart of these children. It is for them that Father Tudor is fighting and struggling. I'm fighting for them, too. And so are all the people who joined us. We can’t do this battle all alone. Their message must be heard. These children deserve a second chance. Because they have no guilt for having been born poor. They have no guilt that some parents were not able to do more for them. It's not their fault that their parents are sick. It's not their fault that they are living in dirt and walk with their feet in mud and eat polenta for days. No! These children have no guilt. We can think of a thousand reproaches to their parents, because we are used to denigrating them, but for these children we should certainly do everything we can. Just as it is mentioned in those fairytales heard in our childhood, when everything was attainable, we should be able to build with our mind’s eyes a fairy tale house, with dwarfs' stools, with plentiful tables and copious plates. As in the stories of our childhood, as in those times when everything was possible, we could build a little house with dwarfs’ chairs and with abundant tables and plates. A clean house where children could eat every day, they could paint, draw, learn along with educators and teachers.
What holds us back from making it possible? Why do we keep setting up barriers and find excuses? Why can’t we be elder brothers and sisters for these children? Hasn’t God left us connected to each other?
P.S. The names in this story are not imaginary. Neither the situations described above. It's all about the children breathing and living in a small village of Buzău County, dreaming far away to a glittering world. The children from Glodeanu need a social center. A social canteen. They need friends and older brothers to visit them and explain to them that the world is a bigger place and it is wonderful. To tell them that man can change his/her destiny. And that God listens to their prayers.
written by Nicoleta Ţintea, translated by Andreea Olteanu
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