Saturday is a day like any other in Albania.  In the countryside where people live on pasture lands there seems not to be a concept of a weekend, as such.  Sunday is the day for going to the beach or spending the entire day with family.  Taking two of every seven days off has not become institutionalized here, nor has the eight hour work day.  Today was a Saturday and officially the first of two days known as Tiranafest; a celebration of Albanian culture, and business with an overarching theme of Evangelical Christianity.

In a nearby park there were many vendors with prepared food for sale.  Corn-on-the-cob made scalding hot over red-hot coals is pronounced “meester.”  The man I encountered for this photo made me swear that I was only taking his picture to be shown outside of Albania.  I could not begin to wrap my mind around the logic of that request, but it seems that the internet is a fair place for display.  The kernels of the corn, when it is prepared in this fashion, come off the husk easily and with no mess.  It is a terrific summer food.

A nearby pavilion was open to show the many agricultural products of Albania.  I was told that the hall itself is where parliament holds its meetings.  There was a woman within who immediately took my attention.  One of the symbols of socialism is a character I will here name the “fearless woman.”  The Fearless Woman appears in artwork throughout the nation; striding forward with her eyes on the horizon.  The spirit captured by the artist who wrought this particular image of the Fearless Woman is one of indomitable strength.  She is a shoeless, peasant queen blessed under the double-eagle which is crowned by the five-pointed star.

The show this evening included performances by many well known, Albanian entertainers.  The crowd responded in a manner which revealed a love not only for the individuals on stage, but also for Albania and Kosovo.  There are many here who would like nothing better than to see the two countries united under the same banner.  That would of course destabilize an already tenuous peace with the nation of Serbia, so it is unlikely to happen.  Entertainers have the luxury of making statements of any kind without thought for consequences.  The crowd loved it.

Chimmey and his wife Homa were two of the people I stood with during the concert.  It has been good for my heart to have both of them so close at hand throughout my missionary experience.  Chimmey is the guard and maintenance man at the school; his wife cares for the grounds outside.  They each live a life of unabashed hospitality; fine examples of the Albanian culture’s finest attribute.  We have grown to love each other over the last 5 month.  This truth is one more example of my call to be here.  The baseline of Call is continuous while the peaks and lows are constant reminders that the world is a broken place.  Friendship, like finding gold minted just for you, has been a much needed reassurance for me.  God’s fingerprints can be found in every friendship.

This week has given me many and more opportunities to expedite my learning of the Albanian language.  Shqip is what Albanians call their tongue.  On my list of things to learn are two sayings that Vissy told me.  Translated into English, the first one says “a snake never shows his feet.”  The second one says “a wolf can change his fir more easily than he can change his habits.”  Vissy and I don’t spend a lot of time talking about snakes and wolves, but there is of course the occasional need to ascribe to specific humans the attributes of creatures and beasts.

My teacher has asked that I make note cards to expedite the learning process.  Our sessions thus far have mostly consisted of her very patiently answering my questions about Albanian.  A part of me wishes that I had began taking lessons in April, when I arrived here.  Wisdom reminds me however that only Satan would have me thinking that way.  Of course it is always too late to make a difference, to have an impact, to learn a skill.  That is one of the Devil’s half-a-dozen or so lies that he has recycled to the detriment of the human race over the past million years.  If there is a God, then His timing is perfect, and I am learning just as I should.

There are some yellow wild-flowers peaking up over the wall at the church project in Fushekruje.  I love flowers.  I love the bright, vibrant colors that nature exhibits so effortlessly.  

After our lunchtime coffee break, Vissy and I visited a small market.  The school playground feeds directly into the store itself.  I wonder if Albania will have to bring laws with reference to age for the purchasing of cigarettes and alcohol into effect before it will be admitted to the EU.  Self governance is something I always wanted to experience first hand but now that I am in a place that has it, I am missing the rule of law.  There is a simplicity and an intrinsic reliance on community where law enforcement is absent.

I don’t really miss it that much.

Yesterday was the first day that someone has tried to set me up on a date with one of their relatives.  Unbidden, a man I have known since first arriving in Albania offered for me to meet one of his eligible, unwed cousins.  I was flattered, of course, and curious as to who this woman was and is.  After thinking on it however, I declined his offer for us to meet.  There seems too much to risk and little to be gained in following that particular rabbit down that particular hole.

This morning on the jobsite I sat down with two men who have been brought in by Fisnik to perform a special treatment to the concrete.  Our conversation turned personal quickly, as the people here always seem to be curious about why I am here and what my life situation is.  The older of the two men, a man named Agim, asked if I would like to meet a young lady who is in his family.

Again I was flattered, and at a loss as to how I might respond, how I should respond.  I am here to serve God, but I am a young man who is single and might enjoy taking a woman out on a date.  Having said that, I believe that a date would be an exercise in disorientation for me.  To my knowledge dating is not done in Albania like it is in the States.  In English, and especially in a Christian context, we have a term called “intentional dating.”  Albanian has no need for a term like this as it seems that intentionality is implied here.  Built into the mores and folkways of the Illyrians are rules for the interactions about how men and women interact which I am only on the periphery of grasping.  I felt fortunate to leave my conversation with Agim without a visit scheduled to meet the parents of this poor girl, whoever she is.

While out for coffee during the lunch hour, Vissy and I were dropped in on by Alban Datsi.  Alban is the man who taught me how to say the months of the year.  Vissy and I joked with him about being part of the secret police because he always seems to know how to find us when he wants to.  Alban might drop his duff in a chair across the table from half-a-dozen friends or acquaintances in a given day; ordering a short macchiato every time.  He never seems to have money, nor does he ever offer to pay.  His taking part in our conversations is as assumed as is my or Vissy’s privilege to pick up the tab for him.  

Walking up the road toward Kruje through the center of Fushekruje, I was looking for someone I knew.  Not looking for anyone specific, my eyes recognized the recognition in the eyes of three boys.  As I approached they crowded shoulder to shoulder in an attempt to compose themselves.  “Cha bone?  Mir?” said Gisti, raising his open right hand to bring it sweeping forward to catch my hand.  At the same moment Amarildo was saying “Si ke chen?”

“Mir,” I responded shaking Amarildo’s hand, “Dhe ti?”  Inquiring about Ersid’s soft cast, I was told that he fell and injured his arm falling off a bike.  He will need the cast for seven days.  While we stood together Amarildo asked me for a book.  “Nje libre Anglisht?” I asked.  “Per chfar?”

“Yo, yo, per shkolen,” he explained.  “Me Bashkim.”

“Un nuk kam,” I told him.  It was then that I asked if I could take their picture.

At the church jobsite I met Fatjon, a schoolmate of his, and Bashkim.  Bashkim explained the deficiencies of the design for the parking lot and play-areas while giving his opinion on design changes that would result in a facility more to his liking.  “Every person has their opinion,” I responded through Fatjon.  “One hundred people, one hundred opinions,”  I said.  Bashikim agreed and left abruptly.  Fatjon and his friend also departed leaving me to confer over the morning’s progress with Vissy.

On my way home from the bus stop in Sauk I was greeted by my pack.  There are five dogs now, all of the young ones died about a month ago.  The last time I saw them they were too sick to eat.  I wonder if they might have been poisoned, or gotten into poison without realizing it.  Max is still among the living, however.  He seems to trust me the least of all his street-mates.  I tend to long the most for the love of those who spurn my efforts to care for them.  I can’t blame old wolf-face though. If I was missing both of my ears and half of my tail I would probably be either cautious or dead.

For the children of God to dwell together in fellowship.  Today was the first day back to school here at the college in Sauk.  The morning was spent in prayer and worship.  The rest of the day consisted of class and orientation for the students.  I didn’t know until around 11AM that I would not be needed in Fushekruje until tomorrow.  I took the spare time to rest, read and catch up on some internet communications.  

The day was far more full of interruptions than I have grown accustomed to, living alone for the past three months.  Paridi is always playing his guitar when he isn’t in class, eating or working on the computer.  We had some time to reconnect last night.  He is a good friend to me and it is good for my heart to have him back so close at hand.  This evening he came into my room playing the chords for “No woman, no cry.”  He likes to play while I make up lyrics about whatever it is I see around me.  

This evening all of the students had dinner together around 9PM.  Marinella invited me to eat with them.  Besides Paridi and Marinella there is another married couple living here now.  Erald and Jona are two of the people on staff with pastor Gezim in Durress.  Also at dinner were Hana, Etmira, and a new student by the name of Oneda.  This group of young people are so alive with laughter and friendship.  It is going to be a very good year, a very positive year here at the Bible school.  

Albania is a nation composed of parts of ancient Illyria, and ancient Greece.  Modern Albanians will be the first to tell you that parts of Montenegro and Croatia used to be under the control of their ancestors; few will explain how the southern lands of Albania were first settled by Greeks.  Fier is within a few kilometers of one of those ancient Greek settlements.  Fier is a living city in an area of the world which has been held or controlled by the Greeks, Illyrians, Romans, Byzantians, and Venetians to name those whom history has left us the names of.  Coming into the city via Highway 4 there is no evidence that this city was ever more than a communist oil mining town.

This ancient center of mining and mineral exploration, a place which appears in the annals of Pedanius Dioscorides, is in some of the most secure hands in all of Albania.  Few men have a presence and understanding of God and His word than that of Pastor Fatjon.  This man would be a pillar in any community he chose to settle in, but he is not alone.  Matched, if not exceeded in both drive and intelligence by his wife Miranda, the church of Fier is headed by a power couple of rare caliber.  Their children, Grace and David, are wonderful little blurs of brain-rich energy.

The last time I had the opportunity to sit down with Fatjon and Miranda I missed the experience for what it was.  I was so blessed to see them again and to see from a fresh perspective who it is that they are.  Both of them work regular, 40+ hour a week jobs, raising two children.  As volunteers, they lead a thriving church of believers who are in every stage of their walk beside Jesus.  It is with excellence that they do everything they set their hands to.  My Aunt Nancy and Uncle Norman are like this.  Pouring all of themselves into their passions.  And why do this?  Why participate in the building of God’s Kingdom?  Because they can, because they love it, because service is what brings them closest to God.  Fier is well provided for.

In reading through Genesis over the last few days I am struck by the depth to which I have looked over so many of the Bible’s finer points.  If you think you know the stories in Genesis, you don’t.  Scripture gets boiled down in my mind like my favorite parts of a movie.  I remember what my life brought me to appreciate at the time that I read Genesis last, and much of my interpretation is guided or manipulated by what it is I want the scriptures to be saying.  Has anyone ever discerned fully who the Nephilim were?  

It has been stormy here for the past few days now, a good time to crack open and reread the pages of the man Noah; the first human that God made a covenant with.  It is good to be reminded that God intends for human kind to flourish in spite of its nature; that it is His purpose for us is to enjoy the earth and to thrive here.  He did not create the earth for us, nor did He create us for the earth.  It really is a very unique perspective on both the world and humanity.  This world is humankind’s dancing partner with God playing the instruments that guide our feet.  

I love you, dear reader, truly.  We may never have met, but I know that God loves you and that I am called to be like Him.  May your every step be blessed.

Through warm air rain falls

As it will

Taken by wind and channel

Deep earth cracks slick faced

Revisited old roads

Tenderly placed the footsteps into town 

All is wet all

Dirty wet film greased glass

Solemn damp travelers

Hushed as surrounded by stacks

No one has noticed

You

Retracing a cloudless tour

Under the cast and cascade

Brass nob clears into a steep stair

Hallo

Welcome welcome from the rain

My home is yours

Joshua Hughes

14.September.2012

Before getting picked up by the Plagenhoefs to ride into Fushekruje for a meeting with Fisnik this morning, I took some time for journaling and coffee.  Getting out to a Bar/Kafe is good for my head no matter what time of day it is.  The experience brings a focus probably not unlike the effect craved by so many millions of nicotine addicts around the world.  There is the finding of a good spot, resting into the seat, asking for something the delivery of which you are certain, the taking out of your effects and the relaxing as the world continues around you for awhile, while all you do is watch the wheels.

We met Fisnik on the jobsite.  Vissy had already been there for an hour or more, working on the sprutso for the wall.  He continued to mix and throw as I walked the Plagenhoefs through the work.  I told them all of my misgivings and fears, with physical examples of each readily at hand in the new, gray floor below us.    Fisnik offered reasons/excuses for what our eyes took offense to, claiming that all would be put to right in the future.  I hope he has the will to deliver.

The day was good.  It is definitely cooling off here in Albania.  This evening it began to rain at around 10:15.  I was already down to a pair of swim trunks so I took the opportunity to stand out in the rain.  That is a mind-quieting discipline.  Each tap of rain surprises your skin wherever it lands though your mind is expecting contact as a matter of course.  The tiny wet impacts are expected and yet utterly surprising.  Each sense becomes engrossed amidst the blessed drops; alone yet surrounded, at peace in a storm’s embrace.

Today was good, every day with God is good.  I had plenty of food to eat, having woken up in a dry, clean room which provides for me more space and amenities than any person truly needs.  I am more richly robed than the flowers of the field and have more provision than the birds of the air.  God is faithful.  The book of Jeremiah reads more each day like a manual to prepare my mind for Mitrovica.  Each day I am one step closer.

Vissy and I met with Osman to go over the design for the security fence which will adorn the cap of our wall at the church.  I asked him to give us the price for four different designs.  An hour later he came by the jobsite to drop off his hand-written quote and to invite us out for coffee.  The design I like best calls for vertical iron bars every 11 centimeters for the entire 165 meter length of the wall.  Osman plans to hand forge spear tips on the ends of all 1500 pieces.  He thinks that hand forging, as opposed to welding, will make for a stronger, more lasting and beautiful product.  I’m sure he knows.

The concrete on site is not going as well as I had hoped.  I debated with myself weather or not to include this fact in an online post.  The concrete finish appears rough and uneven.  After a brief consult with Fisnik this afternoon, we decided to halt progress for one day at least.  None of the workers were happy about delaying the project, but I think it is the proper thing to do.  Concrete is forever, even more forever than diamond adorned wedding rings.

Life is good in the mission field.  Provision is abundant and timely, the people are fascinating and friendly, the air is clean and the mountains are beautiful.  I am thankful for this time in my life.