There have been times since coming to Albania when I have had to bend like a reed in heavy wind to the will of others. I suppose this has brought me to a place of greater flexibility and resilience. The wind will push the reed in a direction of its own choosing. I only need to have the willingness to dance with bellowing bluster as it sweeps over the land. I like the wind, it carries me to the place God wants me. Yesterday I was invited to have lunch with a man from church named Bashkim. He wanted me to come over to his house today at noon. Without Christ as my example this is an invitation I never would have considered accepting. Please allow me an author’s discretion to demure from giving the reasons why.
I arrived at around 11:50, mostly because I misjudged how long it would take to walk from the church job-site to the Rama home. Yesterday afternoon Fatjon and I walked to within a few blocks of the house so that I would be properly oriented for today. I knocked on the gate, waited, and then yelled “O Bashkim!” I learned early-on not to cross the threshold of a persons’ gate or house without their leave. Bashkim let me in, and then I sat in his living room, attended by his wife Eva. Neither of them had expected me to come, which I found curious.
Bashkim’s aunt Halla and his daughter Samantha sat across the coffee table from me so that I would not be without company while Bashkim went to the store to buy groceries for his wife to prepare for lunch. Before long the house was alive with the aroma of food frying; potatoes, salcicha, and peppers. Bashkim joined me on the couch and asked me some questions about what I did and did not like about the church and the work I was doing. Soon he brought out his laptop computer to show me photographs of his and Eva’s wedding; an event which took place about two years ago. Before long I found myself genuinely engaged in conversation with a man I have never been entirely comfortable speaking with. For a moment I thought “what is happening here?” Nothing is impossible with God.
Lunch was a lovely affair. Eva, Bashkim and I each had a bowl with hardboiled eggs, salciche, and potatoes. In the middle of the table were the peppers, a bowl of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, home-made bread, and byrek. Bashkim poured me some of his home-made wine. When juice spoils and gets that funky smell, coupled with effervescence, that is what home-made wine is like. They apologized a number of times for the lack of food, ignoring the fact that between the three of us only about half of what Eva prepared was consumed. Bashkim explained why he had thought I wouldn’t come, and I explained to him why it was obvious to me that I would. We laughed, and there was a sense of ease and satisfaction around the table.
When Bashkim and I meet again, it will be as friends.
albaniacalling 