It was 1992 and I had a group of about 20 Americans with me in the little village of Moldova Noua in the southwest corner of Romania. Brother Adolphe Copriva was the pastor of several churches – he was sort of like the old circuit-riding preachers of days gone by. He was of Czech descent from a village way up in the mountains nearby. We scheduled in a visit to his village. On the way up we drove over roads that were some of the worst that I have ever seen. They were paved with rocks the size of softballs. Our five-speed car never got out of first gear for almost an hour. When we finally arrived, the congregation was all assembled. They had been waiting all afternoon, just for us to come and to preach to them. They were simple and poor, but their clothes were clean and pressed for church. We had a wonderful time that day!
