Jesus and the Little Children: Learning to Love Like Him
One of the most rewarding parts of RevivEE has been volunteering at a foster care center on the northern outskirts of Bucharest. This Saturday activity has quickly become one of the most meaningful aspects of my time here.
Romania has a complicated and painful history when it comes to orphan care. In the 1980s and 1990s, under the dictatorship of Nicolae Ceaușescu, Decree 770 outlawed contraception and abortion in an attempt to rapidly increase the nation’s population. When this policy collided with widespread poverty, unemployment, and food shortages, it created an orphan crisis that lasted decades. Families who could not afford to care for their children were forced to place them in state-run orphanages and adoption centers. At its peak, nearly four percent of Romanian children lived in institutional care, and many faced long-term consequences—children raised in orphanages were significantly more likely to experience poverty as adults.
In the 1990s, the church I am now part of operated a ran center that housed about 20 children at a time. Disciples from around the world partnered with the church to adopt children from this home. Dozens of lives were forever changed—including two people I know personally. Many members of the Bucharest church still speak fondly of their time there, sharing stories of joy, sacrifice, and deep love.
By the early 2000s, however, Romania ended international adoptions due to government corruption and pressure from the European Union, shifting its focus toward national adoption and family reunification. Though well-intentioned, these efforts struggled to meet the growing need. Today, nearly 56,000 children remain in the foster system, with too few Romanian families able—or willing—to adopt. Many children eventually age out of care without the education, support, or life skills needed to thrive independently.
This is where our role as volunteers comes in.
Our purpose is not to fix the system, but to create a space where these kids can simply be kids—where they feel seen, safe, and valued, even if only for a few hours. We volunteer on Saturdays, since the children attend school during the week and our Sundays are filled with church commitments. Sometimes the foster centers (orphanages have been outlawed, but most “foster youth” still live in temporary housing centers) come to the church building; other times, we visit them—at the very center the church once ran.
Our afternoons usually begin with fast-paced, team-based “minute-to-win-it” games. The kids love them—and honestly, so do I. Their competitive sides come out, laughter fills the room, and for a moment, everything feels light. The kids range from about 10 to 18 years old, and it’s fascinating to watch teenagers—who might normally pretend they’re too cool—jump into the fun.
After the games, we shift into a more reflective, sit-down activity focused on interpersonal skills like communication, problem-solving, and emotional awareness. These moments aren’t therapy sessions, but they offer space for the kids to express themselves, listen to others, and share pieces of their stories. Some struggle to focus, a few boys joke around, but overall, their personalities shine through. You catch glimpses of their worldviews, their humor, their resilience, and sometimes, their pain.
We end each visit with a shared meal. The kids naturally break into their own little groups, and it’s beautiful to watch the older girls step into big-sister roles—sharing food, helping younger kids, laughing freely. I try to sit where I’m welcomed. Sometimes I’m invited right in, other times I’m not—and that’s okay. Little by little, connection has grown.
When we first started volunteering, the kids were hesitant. Conversations felt awkward (especially with the language barrier), participation was minimal, and many preferred stepping outside to smoke—a common pastime for Romanian teens. But week by week, something shifted. Now they run up to greet us with hugs. They call dibs on who they want to play games with or sit next to. Trust, slowly and quietly, has been built.
These children have endured more than most ever should. And yet, at the core, they are still just kids—full of energy, curiosity, humor, and longing for connection. If for a few hours we can help them forget their worries and simply experience joy, then every awkward moment and language barrier is worth it.
As I leave each Saturday, I’m reminded of Jesus’ words: “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Christianity is not for the religious who claim to be “holier-than-thou”, but to those who do the will of the father. Volunteering here has reshaped how I see service—not as something grand or impressive, but as showing up consistently, loving quietly, and trusting God with the impact.
Please keep these kids in your prayers as they navigate a world that has not always been kind to them. And may we all strive to love those in need around us—wherever God has placed us.
