Cut the Cake

“Make the pieces nice and straight!” the children bring the hand-in-hand formed circle and the mumble of this foreign English song to a stop. The “knife,” the little boy dressed in traditional Romanian shoes made of tire tread in the middle of the circle, cuts the “pieces.” “Run, run, run!” we yell in Romanian as the “pieces” break apart, one giggling little girl in one direction and one confused but happy little boy in the other. Finally they reach the starting point again and the little girl becomes the knife. We resume the song, “Cut the cake! Cut the cake!” This was more fun than when I played it as a first grader. Here we were on the hillside of the village school house; all else seemed so far away, the messiness of politics experienced in the bigger cities, the cold of the coming winter chill, the poverty that threatens their way of living. “Nice and straight!” we yell. And I think about broken pieces. Romania is a country trying to put the pieces back together but jagged edges do not mend so easily nor do shattered parts. How do you make things nice and straight again? Often a nation looks to the next generation, the children to rebuild but what might be asked of them is rather resurrection. This requires faith. The sentiments expressed among the people are shared; they are frustrated with the idea that the new politicians are merely the old regime with new attire; they are dismayed as the educated and the youth flee to other countries when presented the opportunity. Dennis and Carol Way, the founders of Romania: Rebuilding the Next Generation, see this need and are bringing inspiration. Through the building of a youth ministry house and providing camp experiences for the valley's youth and orphans, the organization partners with a local Romanian family to instill a sense of longing for their nation built upon the eternal Hope. This is the redemption the country needs. The world needs. On a simple hillside, we march in a circle singing a song about cake. How does this offer such truth? They giggle and laugh and this cheerfulness perhaps is what is necessary for hope to ignite. The pieces are being put back together. Maybe they are jagged, the wounds still fresh as the bullet holes are seen in the building frames, but I remember the Promise is not just to be made straight but to be made new. We will feast one day, all of us broken pieces together. Cake will be in abundance I am sure.