Dear Katherine Grace,

Hello from Albania.  I decided to dedicate this puppy and a poem to you.  As my only niece I hope you know how important you are to me and since I cannot tell you in person, I am telling you this way.  Please let me know what this little beast is to be called.  You make us all very proud.  Sincerely,

Uncle Joshua

Oh, honey-haired lady

I might have said

One thousand years ago

Of course you do not know your place

It melted with the snow

For truly there were times

It seems

An angel you would make

Pressed plastic mold

In miniature

Atop white frosted cake

A running out with cocoa cream

Placed from a baker’s bag

A swirling red

A border round

An endless game of tag

Your legs tread heavy

Stuck to the knees

A going here to there

You found your place 

Vanilla lace

Ground sweet as apple-pear

I love you and I miss you all so very much.

At the church in Fushekruje we have had quite a few shifts in leadership as of late.  Our regular worship leader is pursuing other avenues of service within his home church in Tirana.  Alban’s sister Adda has stepped in to lead worship.  Ervis has stepped into the role of being Pastor Alban’s right hand recently, and today even the pastor himself was not at church due to the addition of Abiel to his household.  Vissy and I discussed the order of the service before we began.  He also had me read Psalms 50 and 117 to prepare my heart for the day.

I rode to church this morning with Adda, her son Joshua, and a friend of theirs.  After we arrived, the four of us had coffee at Buyar’s cafe where Adda extended an invitation to one of the patrons to join us for the service.  The young man accepted, which meant that I would be preaching the first time he ever heard God’s word.  To my surprise and great pleasure, Buyar also came to listen to the message.  I found myself relying on my notes more than usual today, because I didn’t want to leave out anything important.  Adda was my interpreter.

Following the groundwork I laid two and three weeks ago, I continued to preach on Romans.  Chapter 1:16-20 was the perfect amount of scripture to cover.  It is interesting to communicate through an interpreter.  I have preached three times now and each time I have had a different person hearing, filtering, and speaking back my message to those I intend to reach.  Adda and I got into a rhythm where we enjoyed the interplay with each-other and the audience in turn.  On the way home she told me that Alban would have had to cancel church today had I not been able to preach.  She also thanked me for delivering a good word and invited me to a day of fasting and prayer this coming Saturday.  I told her I would think about it.

It is my hope that the people of my church will find the Bible relevant enough that they will read it on their own, becoming familiar enough with it to ask questions and to seek its many answers.  After the service I felt a great peace.  I didn’t feel either high or low, simply peace; like a glass-calm lake with neither crests nor valleys in its mirror-still surface.  It is difficult to explain this, I haven’t felt it before.  Mostly I felt like I was participating exactly as God would ask me to, and that felt like home.

On my way home from Fushekruje yesterday I received a text message from Pastor Alban.  It read “Hello vella.  I come back to tirana becouse My second son is coming.  Can you preach this sunday?  @lb@n”  Just a few months ago Alban’s wife Lida was hospitalized because she was having signs of labor far too early.  Yesterday the miracle now known as Abiel took his first breaths.  With special permission, three of us from the Fushekruje church were able to visit him and his mother in one of the hospitals in Tirana.

This little, red faced, long fingered bundle was awake and smiling for us.  Fatjon, Ervis and I were only permitted to stay for five minutes and that was due to generosity regarding my nationality.  In almost every instance where permission from authorities is the key to special privilege, I hear Pastor Alban drop the work “Amerikan” and we are suddenly given license to move about at will.  No one ever asks for identification.

In the room with Lida was Alban’s older sister.  She has been a blessing not only to Alban during this time, but to the church in Fushekruje as well.  Tomorrow she will be driving from Tirana for the second week in a row to lead worship.  Alban comes from a servant family.  To my Amerikan eyes the Albanian hospital was clean and also free of clutter.  It was also nearly entirely clear of personnel.  There weren’t any nurses coming or going, no sound over a PA system, no buttons to push should assistance be needed.  The room had two simple, metal framed, single sized beds with clean sheets.  Lida checked in yesterday and is expected to be back in her own home by tonight.

It was good to spend time with Alban outside of the hospital.  Fatjon, Ervis and I got a coffee with him at a cafe in the center this morning, and again at a cafe near the hospital later in the day.  I could feel the relief he felt at having the pregnancy over with.  I can only imagine how relieved his wife must be.  Through this entire process, God has been faithful.  I am looking forward to having Lida, Abiel and Abiel’s older brother David at a service in Fushekruje.  I know our church is eagerly awaiting the arrival of its pastor’s new boy.

Today was the only day this week that I was able to go into Fushekruje to work.  My crew was under the guidance and supervision of Ervis in my stead; a man whom I am growing to rely on more each day.  It is difficult to appreciate how much work goes on under the concrete slabs we walk on and drive over without being a part of that process.  Even I am often surprised at just how much time, work and resources it takes to get an area ready to be forever hidden.  Vissy had a pile of receipts to go over and a few stories to tell.  We were both happy to see each-other.

The tile layers were finally getting started on the rooms on the bottom floor of the church.  Uli, his two sons, and a fourth man spent the day diligently making silk purses out of scabbed-over, rough-poured, slab-on-grade, sow’s ear floors.  Uli is a man who is impossible not to like.  As with so many of the men here, he is grounded, sincere, intelligent, motivated, talented, kind, skilled, humble and honest.  I have come to admire him both as a craftsman and as a father.

It was also good to see Agim, Sajmir and Fatjon.  Pierin has been let go due to a lack of work.  Agim has probably lost as many as 20 pounds since work began and his energy can only be matched by his positive attitude.  When I see him I always ask “O Gimmy, mere ti?  Si jeni, mir?”  

To which he will always respond by putting a fist in the air and saying either “Top, top,” or “Chelik!”  And he means it.  Agim is one of the members of my family I wouldn’t have chosen after our first meeting, but again I am humbled by God’s choice for me being the proper choice.  Agim is a good man.  He and Fatjon moved gravel for most of the day.

Sajmir, as always, the very best.  What a gem of a man he is.  It was good for the two of us to have almost an entire week away from each-other.  We came back to a fresh friendship, unencumbered by recent frustrations or perceived insults.  I think we both had fresh ears today, which is one of the keys to respect: listening.  He and Fatjon will work tomorrow to get next to the last curbs in place.  We cannot finish them completely until after we hook up our underground water handling systems.

I was happy to return to my routine today.  Some things are impossible to like until you begin to miss them.  Soon enough this chapter will be over and I will be in search for new routines.  Until then I plan to crack the bones and suck out the marrow. 

Coming off a few days at a Greek resort has left me feeling refreshed and rested.  I am also feeling ready to get back to the project in Fushekruje.  My crew has been working without me all week and I am eager to see them and to take a look at their progress.

On our way back to Tirana, we took a detour through Thessaloniki.  “Thess,” as it is referred to by the missionaries here, is where the two letters from Paul to the Thessalonians get their names.  I was told that nothing remains of early church structures there.  All of the physical remains of Paul’s church have been lost to time, decay, war and deliberate deconstruction.  We did find the White Tower, however; a 23 meter in diameter, 27 meter tall structure near where the city meets the sea.  I looms like a giant chess piece near the shipping center of the ancient coastal city.

We stopped a total of three other places along the 8 hour road back to Tirana.  About 30 miles from the Greek border with Albania is the last center for fueling one’s body or one’s vehicle.  There may be a level of government control involved in the placement of gas stations in Greece which is unknown in the States.  Roadside quick marts are few and well outfitted.

The next place we stopped was a fish farm.  One of the passengers of our van couldn’t wait for a restroom any longer.  There was a long, loose-haired dog guarding the cellar of one of the buildings near by.  He was young and curious; never barking at or coming very close to me or my companions.  One beautiful, bright blue eye and one less vibrant brown one stared at me with interest as he waited for us to leave.  This dog may have had a name, but I didn’t know how to ask the woman who owned him what  it was.

If I didn’t know any better, I would say that one missionary is going to be getting himself a dog when he comes home.

Back in Tirana now it is cooler than it has been in about six weeks.  I was told that it rained here earlier in the week which is very good news.  We’ve only had one day of rain in the last few months which lasted for about an hour.  On the day we left for Greece there was ash floating through the air from a nearby hillside brushfire.  We passed about seven small fires on our way out of town on Monday.  God is sending rain, please send your prayers.  Thank you.

It is difficult for me to write about days like today without feeling totally and utterly blessed to be alive.  I am staying in a hotel on the Kassandria finger just east and south of Thessaloniki, Greece.  This morning I attended a seminar provided by the Assemblies of God in Eastern Europe.  There are missionaries here representing work in 10 nations.  The focus thus far has been on the maintenance of mental and family health for lifetime field missionaries.  Eastern Europe is one of the most difficult regions in the world to serve long term.  The speaker gave a definition of shame which I found to be very useful.  Shame comes from a belief that one is intrinsically bad.  If we believe in a Creator God, then to believe that we are intrinsically bad is to believe that what God made is irredeemably flawed.  If we are Christians, however, we believe in the redemption of our beings through the sacrifice of our Lord Jesus.  We are in fact redeemed, therefor shame has no true place in our lives.  Shame is not of God, shame is one of the lies we have been told by the snake who’s head God declared we would one day crush.  I come from a strong shame tradition; a tradition which permeates every facet of American culture.  Think on what I am saying.

The beauty of this place is inescapable; from the first dawning light to the blood orange moon sliver’s announcement of dusk.  Seven of us are here representing Albania.  The Plagenhoefs number four, and there is a mother and daughter duo from the Midwest who serve under pastor Barry at the International Church in Tirana.  After crossing the Albanian-Greek border we started to notice the Greek Orthodox buildings which are so distinct of shape and all carry a cross atop their highest point.  Some of these buildings appeared to be quite small from the road, and I was left to speculate as to what function they might serve.  There is one such building on the grounds of this hotel, and it is called The Church of Saint Anargyri. 

Within this tiny building is a trove of Orthodox artwork.  There are about six paintings which represent two men whom I had assumed were Peter and Paul.

Cosmas and Damian are the true names of these men, names I had never known before.  These twin brothers were executed for their refusal to recant their Christian faith during the Diocletian Persecution in 287.  Three of their brothers were executed as well.  They had been physicians who would take no money for their services.  Can you even imagine that kind of a witness to the people of America?  There are thousands of stories of saints like these in the Orthodox tradition just awaiting discovery by someone as ignorant to the heritage of our faith as I am.  It is important to remember the martyrs.

And so, here I am.  I am surrounded by the beauty of fellowship, the beauty of God’s creation, and the beauty of our tradition.  This is a peace bringing place.

Alati filled and still

Washing coastward under stars

Drift kick nutrient slick

Soft and soap-like

Smoothing quiet moon priest

Heal, sole, toe sander

Bringing down sloughing scale

Reaching twist, bending weightless

Standing palms wide spread

Tipping, curling, balling up

Traceless saint, snowless angel

Warships dot the floor

Innumerable imperial salt tears

Ancient coast recent Faith

Darkness meets crowned banks

Myth adorned modern song

Aegean

My older sister and her husband have four children; Katie, Noah, Nathan and Luke.  They are visiting my parents in the house I grew up in for the next few weeks.  Yesterday I took advantage of Skype and got to see my niece and nephews for the first time since Christmas; they really are beautiful children.  I made them an offer over broadband to let each of them name one of the dogs I have made it a habit to feed on my way home from the last bus stop in Sauk to my apartment at the college.  Noah seemed to be the most receptive to this idea.  Noah is an inventor first, an explorer second, an animal enthusiast third, and a soft, quiet soul.  He is a terrific young man.

And so, Noah I am addressing you now, say hello to your new Albanian stray.

You own him, you name him, and remember that your Uncle Brandon already named his dog Max, so that name is taken.  This little one first caught my attention about four weeks ago when Kreshnik hit him with the Land Rover.  A few weeks later, as the pack crowded around me for a piece of hot-dog, I noticed that this one hadn’t roused for the feeding.  I walked over to him woke him for some food.  I had to shew one of the larger dogs away with my steel-toed boot while he had a few bites.  Today he followed me for three blocks, well after the rest of the pack had abandoned the chase.

I wish I had a house, I would keep this one.  I would have a house full of animals by now.  Maybe one of these days your dad and you can come and visit this black and brown beauty with the pink tongue.  

The Evangelical Christian tradition of sending missionaries is not long on ceremony.  My final Sunday at All Saints Church in Seattle, a church I had attended for 8 years, the congregation stood and prayed for me.  Craig Mathison, an experienced missionary in his own right, led that prayer for both services.  That aside, there weren’t any formalities to mark my departure.  Knowing that, to have an evangelical congregation stand and pray for you is quite an honor.  It is the mark of a substantial turning point in a person’s life.  The prayer that is given before a sending is meant to activate the members of the congregation to prayer throughout the time that one is away.  Today the church of Fushekruje prayed that prayer for Kurt and Stephanie’s eldest daughter.

While the rest of her family is in Greece next week Hannah will be putting the finishing touches on her schooling in preparation for college in the United States.  The Plagenhoefs have been in Albania for 17 years save for a few one year cycles back to the States.  Hannah’s best friend is her sister Sarah, and she is the adoring overseer of her baby brother Joel.  She will know doubt be a blessing to the faculty and students of Central Bible College.

My prayer is that Hannah walk in the way of God with every step, that she be an example of grace both to others and herself.  I pray that she have the protection of God against all of the evils which seek to erode and bring into question the person she knows herself to be; a daughter of God.  May she flourish in this new environment and bring her calm, intelligent, thoughtful, lovely self to every encounter with the children of God.  And you, good reader, will you offer your prayers as well?

If you have visited Tirana in the last few years you may have seen the footprint, foundation, rough skeleton and ornamentation of Rinjallja e Krishtit Kishes Ortodokse (Resurrection of Christ Orthodox Church).  This palace of our Lord is now open to the public.

Today was my third visit to the church.  Each time I go I learn a little more about it.  I met an Albanian priest there the first time, a man named Gregory.  Pastor Alban and I were together that day.  Gregory didn’t want me to take his photograph, so I delayed telling this story until I went back to speak with him again.  Today Gregory and I sat down at his request to discuss my work in Fushekruje.  Over the course of our thirty minute conversation Gregory made three points.  

1: the candles we light to symbolize the bringing of the light of God to someone’s life needn’t be separated between the those who are living and those who are dead.  In the Orthodox tradition there is a high candle tray and a low candle tray.  The lower is for the spirits of the deceased.  According to Gregory there is no difference in the nature of a person’s spirit be they alive or dead, and we therefor needn’t separate the candles in this fashion.  I concur.

2: Gregory told me that he is praying for Pastor Alban and my work in Fushekruje.  Although we are not Orthodox, we are part of the Church, and therefor part of the Body.  In Gregory’s theology there is no real division by faith between he and I.  He has a great appreciation for the Catholic Faith as well.  I was happy to hear this wisdom from my new friend Gregory.  

3: that the work of God, in whatever fashion, is to be celebrated and appreciated by the people of God.  Gregory used the example of himself and the man who sells the candles for lighting at the church.  In his view both tasks are equally glorifying to God.  I found this word of encouragement to be life giving.  Just this morning I was questioning my value as someone who is only a builder, and not a pastor.  Gregory helped to reset my gauge to the standards of God.

We are, all of us, under the loving watchful eye of Jesus Christ who is our intercessor, our Lord and savior.  It is the work of the people of God to bring the gospel to those who haven’t heard it so that they to can be reconciled to God and given the keys of life.  I will be back to the Orthodox Church in Tirana.  I will go there to visit my friend and to sit in the peace of Albania’s newest holy place.