When you hide in your den, lessons find you among the pines

Aaaahh, What a Lovely Vacation! Especially When You Have Work to Do…

You know those summer days when you just sit there, staring at a mountain peak with a steaming cup of coffee next to you and the scent of the pine forest right under your nose?

Right in a moment like that, your phone rings. It’s a former high school classmate you used to get along with really well. You tell her honestly, “So good to hear from you!”, and she drops the line: “I’m hosting a 5-day camp for kids from a rural village. Wouldn’t you like to run a theater workshop with them?”

I pause and scratch behind my ear. Kids from a small rural community… Some come from troubled families, others have never seen a play in their lives. Not to mention that this camp might be the absolute coolest experience of their lives so far—a life otherwise fairly limited to school, peers, relatives, and… the tablets they received during the pandemic.

I look at the forest, I look at my mug of coffee, I settle a bit more comfortably in my chair, and hear my classmate’s voice: “So, Ștefan, what do you say? Are you in?”

A flash goes through my brain: “No, I’m not! I’m on vacation, I’m looking at trees, I’m being lazy, and I have plenty of moments where someone simply needs to ‘do nothing.’ I don’t want workshops, I don’t want hustle and bustle…”

I take a deep breath and say: “Yes. Let’s do it!”

“Wonderful!!!”, I hear waves of joy through the receiver. “It’s five days. 42 kids. Can you work with them every day? And at the end, on Friday, have a sort of performance where we showcase everything they worked on during camp?”

So… 42 kids, 5 days of work, and a show on Friday. What a vacation! Now that’s what I call a break. How nice would it have been to just sit quietly next to my pine trees?

“Okay, give me a moment to think about how to organize everything.”

Long story short, I put together some ideas, gathered a few texts, and was gearing up at full speed for a 5-day marathon with 42 children. Friday—the show. Putting on a show in 5 days with 42 kids… I wonder if there are any spots left in psychiatry?

A few days before the workshop, Ioana calls me: “So, our schedule has changed drastically. On Wednesday we’re going on a field trip, and I don’t know if I’ll have everyone on Monday and Tuesday. Let’s do your workshops only on Thursday and Friday. Is that okay?”

Well, why wouldn’t it be okay? Who couldn’t pull off a show in two days with 42 kids? What a task! Of course it’s possible—I’m basically a Spider-Man in the world of kids’ theater workshops.

“Ioana, just tell me when and where I need to show up.”

The week in question begins. Wednesday arrives. Still no news. I was sending a series of messages only to receive the same reply: “I’ll call you and we’ll set it up…”

Wednesday evening, I finally get news: “So… it’s tough with the little ones. You’ll only work with the older kids, ages 12 to 15. There are about 20 of them in total. But we can only do Friday. Will Friday from 1:00 PM to 2:30 PM be enough time for you? Then we take a break, you have another hour from 4:00 PM, and at 5:00 PM the parents arrive and the show starts.”

Hmmmm! Preparing a performance with 20 kids in a 90-minute workshop, doing a bit more for another hour, and then… the show?! Well, now that takes the cake!

“Yes, Ioana, let’s do it!”

Good heavens! What is wrong with me? Am I out of my mind? But… the pine trees were looking at me, swaying gently in a breeze coming down from the mountain crest. They stood there, silent, peaceful, as if they needed another 25 years just to understand why my face was turning a bit red.

I prepared my texts, sketched an idea of what I could accomplish, and headed to the venue.

I arrived at a community cultural center in a village nestled in the mountains. The building was renovated with European funds, so it looked quite nice. The kids? They were little nuclear generators to which God had attached two legs so they could run around all over the place.

I found Ioana. She had the look of someone already in their eighth youth. In her speech, the Romanian language seemed to retain only two moods: the subjunctive (“take this, do that, go out, gather”) and the imperative (“get out! leave! gather! come here!”). It was understandable. She, along with about 10 volunteers, was responsible for 42 barrels of TNT.

We started the workshop. The children were attentive and joyful. Much calmer than I would have expected. They were curious about how we were going to pull off a show in a timeframe that was slipping away ridiculously fast. I explained what we’d be working on, how we’d organize, and especially how much fun we were going to have.

And just as we were about to dive into the texts… two men with cameras walk into the room and shout from the doorway: “Hello! The mayor has arrived to take some photos!”

Immediately followed by a gentleman in a dress shirt, short hair, and a distinct political smile. He steps onto the stage with us, followed by the two press photographers. Flashes popping, video rolling from every angle. My precious time was ticking away.

“Come on, kids, let’s take a group photo with the Mayor!”

I truly believe that nothing happens by accident and that God has his own quiet way of fitting things together. There is a reason behind all of this. I smiled nicely for the photo and looked at my watch. Another 15 minutes of my precious working time had just evaporated.

The mayor left, the photographers left, and we got down to business. The kids were having a blast. I was giving instructions with the speed and efficiency of three people rolled into one. In under an hour, 23 kids each had a page with a short comedic story in hand. I threw together a quick run-of-show (didn’t even write it down, as there was no time) and sent them on a break to memorize their lines. After the break, I had just one hour left.

During the break… there was a water fight. Yes! They memorized lines, sure, but pouring water over each other’s heads and clothes was infinitely more fun. So when they came back to the stage, they were soaking wet. And no change of clothes in sight. Oh well… we ran through their parts twice, I gave a few more pointers, and at 5:00 PM, the parents arrived.

A few introductory words. The kids sang the camp anthem, a couple more songs, and then… the big show!

I don’t even know what happened on stage. I was looking more at the audience, watching the parents’ reactions. And here’s what I saw: a father with years of hard labor in a farm machinery repair shop written on his face, a mother who probably hadn’t left her village in years, others who had barely put down their farm tools in the shed to come see their children or grandchildren. And two or three parents from the city, but with faces lined with stress and worries.

From the very first story spoken on stage, smiles appeared on their faces. Then the first chuckles. Then full, genuine laughter. And a few tears of joy.

The show lasted 30 minutes. It was essentially a collage of awkwardly delivered stories by kids. But filled with immense joy—both on stage and in the hall. No scenery, soaking wet clothes, reading from papers. But with wide grins and full hearts.

At the end, I collapsed into a chair, trying to process what I had just experienced. I went back to my pine trees exhausted, as if I had worked an entire week compressed into a few hours. Everything I knew about this profession evaporated like steam when the sun shines over the forest.

Nothing matters: not technique, not script, not costumes, not talent. Nothing! Just joy. That’s it! The joy of giving and the joy of receiving (which is just another form of giving). Those kids didn’t want to show off their talent. The parents didn’t want a rigid school recital either. They just wanted to share a bunch of playful mischief with one another.

My pine trees stared at me with their branches and seemed to ask: “Did you get it? How could you shed more of the ballast you keep accumulating, and how could you live more in joy?”

The answer was right there: by sharing the playful mischief you’ve made to bring joy to others.

So please accept this story. I offer it to you from the heart. It’s my bit of playful mischief from last week, for which I am deeply grateful, and which came with its own lessons. No spotlights, no press reviews, no shiny awards. Just a community hall in a mountain village and a room full of hearts experiencing authentic joy. What a miracle!

Thank you for being among those who share joy with others. By doing so, you make this world so beautiful!

Warmly embracing you,

Ștefan

P.S. 1 — When I saw how many children Ioana and her volunteers were coordinating at this camp, I genuinely asked myself: how on earth did Ioana have the courage to organize something like this? Where did that determination come from? Because it wasn’t a business camp made to yield a profit, but a true sacrifice, a pure act of charity. I was sitting slumped in a chair, whispering to myself: “I would never have the courage to do something like this…” Exactly that day, I opened a book collecting fragments from C.S. Lewis’s work—pocket-sized wisdom. I opened it at random and stumbled upon this sentence: “Don’t you dare not to dare!” It was written right for me! My daily dose of courage and determination. I recommend looking for the book in bookstores; it’s called “The Pocket C.S. Lewis” (or “The Little Book of Wisdom”.

P.S. 2 — I know, it’s somewhat ironic that I’m the one needing such a reminder, like a cold shower. But I admit, courage and fighting the resistance born of fear are daily practices. Sometimes I win, other times hesitation beats me up a bit. But I’ve conquered a few territories too. I talk about this in my book, “DARE! A Practical Guide to Breaking Free”. I recommend it with all my heart. It’s an easy read, fits in any bag, and I guarantee it will entertain you, make you think, and most importantly, help you take action. With small but steady steps toward that new story of yours waiting to be written.