I love my life in Romania. I really do. But sometimes I wonder why...

So many years of piano lessons. Half of a music minor in college with daily 2-hour practice sessions. The nightmarish stress of choir rehearsals, bus trips, and that awful black performance dress with the pinchy waistline.

Speaking of college... All those times I saw 3am on the clock beside my dorm bed -- you know, just hanging out with Aristotle after hours. All the literary critiques. The theorizing, philosophizing (is that a word?), and those perfectly-constructed sentences. So. Many. Books.

And for what? I see music videos like this and think, "But God, I could've played a synthesizer!"

I could've written awesome songs! Or poems. A book. I still dream of writing children's books.

Does God not know how talented I am? I could've been famous. (Or delusional.) So why do I live in Lugoj, of all places? Oh, you obscure little town in one of two countries in the world where Romanian is spoken. I love you, but why?

But then there are these faces...

And there are questions like, "What's the Bible?" And there's that Muslim kid who prays to Jesus every morning. And there's that girl whose dad is known as "the street's child" because that's where he grew up, so you don't have to wonder why she acts a little different, but she's so smart it lets you know that God is in the business of making beauty from brokenness. They are my "why."

As I make up stories to help my kids learn to say "please" and "thank you," I realize that maybe in a way I did become a writer, after all. As for music, well, I rehearse with over 100 children every morning, and we perform for a full house every Christmas and Easter.

Sure, there are more glamorous ways to be useful. There are stages you can stand on, and dirty orphanages you can work in, and countries ravaged by disease and famine. Those are awesome places to share God's love.

So is Kindergarten.

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