Camp of the Good Shepherd

I've just returned from having the priviledge to travel to Romania for two weeks to assist at a weekly Bible camp. Camp of the Good Shepherd offers a week of respite for children in state orphanages and from poor villages while building a foundation of faith in Christ. Funded by Heart of Hope Ministries International, which in 1998 purchased land in this mountainous region of Transylvania, the camp changed my own heart during my two-week stay.

The first week was devoted to about 60 village kids from 8 years of age to around 18. Seeing their faces peer through the windows of the vans as they arrived set in motion months of anticipation. Their arrival removed any anxiety I had prior to coming.

It proved to be a rewarding week as well as a trying one. It was rewarding to visibly see how important this week was to each an every kid and be a part of that. It was totally obvious they wanted to be there and that they knew we were there for them. Every night my mind would get carried away with thoughts and conversations from that day. Fortunately, each morning I awoke energized for the day ahead. It's been a while since I've devoted an entire day, let alone a week, without inserting my own needs into the mix.

I wasn't alone. In addition to our American team of eight, there was an awesome Romanian team that handled the Bible study and worship time and any interpreting needs we had, which were many. The week was structured with activities, games, small group time and meals--with the right amount of free time to just hang out.

The camp is situated in the mountains about 45 minutes outside of Sibiu, Romania. This probably means nothing to you, since it meant nothing to me. What was helpful was knowing I was in the middle of Transylvania. That I had hear of.

When I first arrived, coming from the Pacific Northwest, I was a little underwhelmed with the scenery. I've done green before. However, as my stay progressed I began to take in its beauty. A nice river runs through the property and provides a calming background noise as it snakes its way past the chalet-like main building, the soccer field and the kid's cabins. There, too, is always the sound of sing-song birds flittering around as they are usually ignored by the goings-on. Looking east there is a mountian with grassy patches reminiscent of Austria with its thatched haystacks.

Outside the camp gate, horse-drawn wagons would pass transporting heavy loads of hay along the dirt road to market. Only to be followed by a Dacia, driven by a local resident as he stirs up dust that would collect on the plants alongside the road. Along this road I passed one elderly man outside his home tending to his barking dog, for which I was thankful. I asked him for his photograph which he obliged with some hesitation.