Today was very full of Fushekruje related work. I met with Pastor Kurt at 7:30 to get 35,000 lek, about 350 U.S. dollars. We need to have cash on hand for everything. Today we took delivery of cement and gravel and we also needed to pick up some sundry building supplies. God treated me to a few things today. The first was that I was able to have Fatjon with me all day. He is 14 years old, and he is my translator on site. He has also become someone I dearly trust. Secondly, his father was on site for the second time today to help with the installation of the church’s sewer system. I couldn’t have known how talented and careful this man is without having had the privilege of working beside him. He has a solid knowledge base and a work-ethic I respect. He is a builder.
Being a builder isn’t as common as one might suspect. If you know 100 people in construction, likely 5 or fewer of them are builders. Greg Vammen is a builder. Jeremy Culver is a builder. Being a builder requires a person to insist on excellence in all phases of construction. It also requires that they can do it themselves, and are eager to perform their duties well. Meeting a builder in construction is as rare as finding a house-cat worth feeding.
The third blessing of the day came at the hands of my pastor, Alban. He was supposed to handle the final payment of Astrite, our former guard. However, Alban was delayed today with a church-task-gone-awry, so he asked me to handle it. At 4PM, Fatojon and I walked less than a block to Astrite’s house. I briefed Fatjon as well as I could before we headed over. Mostly, I wanted him to translate exactly what I was saying, and for him not to leave out anything that Astrite was going to say to me. Often times Fatjon will not translate something which he has assumed that I will take offense to. At the base of the stairs to Astrite’s house Fatjon said “Joshua, will you please stop here and call to him?” “I don’t know if he’s home,” I replied, my instinct to press ahead. “Yes, I know but you will please stop here and call to him?” Fatjon was insistent. I understood some amount of danger at summitting the steps uninvited.
“Astrite, oh Astrite,” I called. “Po,” soon he was out of doors and down the steps to greet us. He invited us inside to talk. Fatjon and I were told to keep our shoes on. We were seated on an overstuffed couch in the living/dining room. Before any real discussion had begun, there were eight people from his family in the room with us. Some were sitting, and some stood. All of them were intimate members of his family. All of them were silent and very attentive. Astrite and I exchanged our feelings through Fatjon. There were grunts of accord and satisfaction as I explained our relationship with Astrite. Our relationship is good, and it is an important relationship to us. Soon Fatjon and I left, having accomplished something good for God. On the way home I felt empowered and encouraged.
On the walk from where the forgon terminates in Tirana, to the bus stop in Qender where I take my final bus home, a crowd had gathered. Near the Skenderbeu statue, about 120 people stood in a circle. It was to protest the violence in Syria.
In the center of the crowd, 9 children were staged. They were lying on the ground with their faces painted as though bloodied. They were covered with Syrian flags as though martyred. The future of Syria lay dead in the center of Tirana.
Please pray for Syria.
albaniacalling 