Tap, tap like a hammer

Bringing down an empty glass

Again bringing it down

I meet your eyes

Reading nothing

What is my reply?

You shift gaze to my friend

I sit

Hands together

Reaching now for cold tea

Another tap

Words louder now

How bound are you

To tapping

Reaching inside your polo

To slap your fist over your heart

This is serious

Not to me

An accord imminent

Resolution predetermined

For just after

The next tap

Worth killing for

You think

You have honored me

With emotion

Waving your hand

You stand

Shouting now you

Take the lawn

Cafe side entrance

Take your seat or do not

Speak with me

Or do not 

We are brothers

I know it

#1

I just turned in the last paper I need for graduation from Fuller Theological Seminary.  I think you are currently reading the ramblings of a Masters in the Arts of Theology. 

#2

I have Giardia.  Yes, mom and dad, I am taking my medication as prescribed.  I have been reassured by the Plagenhoefs that this illness is quite common in Albania, which should make us all feel much better about me contracting it.  This is what had me in non-participation mode on Children’s Day.  Aside from the side effects of feeling like I could sleep constantly due to a higher than normal temperature, the parasite is not so terrible.  I am surprised that no one has put this little microbe in pill form to sell to Americans who are desperate to lose weight.  Over the past four days I have been avoiding most foods.  I think I may have gotten it from a common hand-washing bucket in a restaurant in Fushkruje on Wednesday.  Thankfully, my stomach still likes Snickers bars.  

Yesterday at the job-site in Fushekruje a problematic neighbor ran my crew off the job, threatening violence.  I am still trying to get a feel for the culture here.  Apparently police are the very last people you call in an instance like this.  Most conflicts are resolved by reaching out to an individual’s family.  I am respecting this tradition.

The school I am living in has all but cleared out for Summer.  After tomorrow I will be the only person living here and I don’t know what I am going to do with my free-time.  I don’t know if anyone saw my use of a hyphen in that last sentence, but you can thank my friend Cory for that.  About six of the students who will be returning next year would like to learn English, so maybe I will be able to get a class going in September.  It would be an effective outreach to involve local non-Christians as well.  It is something to think about.  See you soon.

An entire world

Young and lawless

Old yet ageless

A canvas unscarred

You, my friend

Write the history of

This place how

Does it read?

Poetic aspirations from

A sharp mind

Carefully gliding the placid

Seas

Gypsy builder called

From the mountains

To the house of God

Temple of friendship

There was a graduation ceremony here at the school in Sauk yesterday.  8 student graduates brought in a crowd of about 250 family, friends and other congregants to the school.  Of the graduates, none lacked maturity and clarified purpose in what they intend to give back to the kingdom of God.  The most exciting person to see, however, was Dardajan.  

At the head of his class, Dardajan was the only person at the school to complete his third year in the missions field. He has spent the last year in Macedonia, one of the most challenging fields in all of Albanian Europe.

Standing with Petrit, Kreshnik and David, Dardajan is admired by everyone who knows him.  He is fluent in Albanian, Italian and English and can stand in to translate college level courses from any of these tongues to another.

The night before graduation I was lying in my bed, watching Inception on my laptop with my earbuds in, trying to get a handle on why I feel so miserable.  Dardajan touched me on my shoulder which sent me into a surprised, awakened, disrupted response.  I was so glad to see him.  He has an effect on the people around him which is undeniably positive.  God is with this man in a rare and exciting way.

International Children’s Day is held annually on November 20th.  I don’t think we have this in the States.  In Albania, Children’s Day is held on June 1st.  Yesterday morning, 11 of us piled into the forgone (van) and headed off to Fushekruje.  Alban and another pastor in that city had been working together over the past few months to plan the events for this day, but I hadn’t realized just how big the event would be.  In retrospect before the fact i.e. in the van, I shouldn’t have gone anywhere yesterday.  I had been awake most of the night with some kind of intestinal issue.  Between that and Gensi’s driving, it is truly a miracle that I was able to keep from vomiting until less than a minute after we reached our destination.

First we had a meeting in a church located on the second floor of a nondescript building in an area of town I would never be able to find again on my own.  Fushekruje is about as big as Auburn Washington, but it is a relatively featureless place.  The back-roads are as twisted as the thatch of a sparrows nest.  We were all issued black t-shirts and white baseball caps, and off we went.  I was working with Fatjon, who is the young man who translates for me on Sundays when I am in town.  Fatjon is going to do great things for God.  Because I was not feeling well, we went to his house where his aunt served me a glass of kos.  Kos is like a yogurt with a consistency somewhere between cottage cheese and Chinese egg-flour soup.  I was also introduced to Fatjon’s father’s mother, Fatjon’s sister, and four of his cousins.

The kos had a settling effect, which I was very thankful for.  I am often times conflicted between following common wisdom which says that the only way to protect your body while living abroad is through polite refusal of these kinds of offers; and the local wisdom of the people who deal with this type of malady, in this context, daily.  Fatjon and I soon departed to lend our hands in carrying the day’s water.  Our route was interrupted because a major street had been taped off and cleared by the police.  Part of the day’s festivities involved a footrace along the main drag in Fushekruje.  There were half-a-dozen heats between the two sexes and various age categories.

I couldn’t be relied upon for anything which required a sustained effort.  I wanted to sleep, or to be comforted by a big bowl of pho while remaining close to an American style bathroom.  I spent a good part of the day resting in the shade of an umbrella provided at a bar-cafe near the school where many of the day’s events took place.  On Friday afternoon I saw a child of less than 18 months walking alone in the pasture lands near the school I’m living at.  She was about one-hundred yards from home.  Her older brother was calling for her to return, but there was no sense of alarm to speak of.  The children here are often given responsibility for each-other.  I was a curiosity to two such beautiful boys at the cafe I took rest at.

After an extended break, I rejoined the people working at the school.  Fatjon had assured me that, of course, his school had bathrooms; it is the largest middle-school in all of Albania.  “Of course,” I thought.  I soon had need of locating these bathrooms.  Bathrooms the world over are stacked one floor above another so that the builder can then use a common drain system between them.  This also saves on plumbing costs for bringing water to the bathrooms, because it cuts down on redundancy of supply piping.  There were two toilets for men on the bottom floor, just inside of a room with no door between it and the hallway which led to it.  The toilets were located just below a broken drain pipe which had water pouring out; a continuous shower of what appeared to be clean water.  Each stall had an aluminum frame door with the glass missing, but what I hoped to accomplish was something I had hoped to secure privacy for.  I’m sure you understand.  I headed upstairs to try my luck there, only to find that the broken drain I had seen on the first floor was from the toilets on the second floor.  I couldn’t in good conscience put this system under strain.  I soon paid another visit to the bar-cafe I had so recently patronized.  Ali, I have mentioned him before, soon found me and asked me to go with him.  After I had gathered my confidence to venture out, Ali and I headed to the town square to run an errand for Alban.

After that, we walked back to the school where Valentina asked me if I could help with something.  “Of course.”  “Can you help carry this bag for us?”  “Of course,” I said again hefting the large yet surprisingly light duffel bag under my arm.  About four blocks later I asked where we were going.  “To the Cinema,” she said.  I had never been there before.  When we arrived I saw that it was a performance hall.  We made our way back-stage behind the black curtains, maintaining relative anonymity of movement and purpose.  Once we were in a back room Valentina said “I need you to do something for me, can you?”  “Of course,” I replied.  The contents of the duffel bag were soon made known to me.  Few experiences could cap a day like the one I had already savored like dressing up in a lion suit and going on stage to perform in front of my friends and a few hundred kids.

God invented comedy.

I am falling asleep as I type, so this will be brief.  

Preparations for installation of the sewer lines continued today.  The trenches are almost a full meter deep.  I don’t know how this preparation could have been accomplished had it not been for Eduardo, our skilled scavajger driver.

We should be ready to begin installation of the tube (pipes) and the pussets (catch-basins) on Monday.

I like the way this photo captured the scene on my way home.  You really should come here.

Good night.

I met up with Pastor Alban at around 8:30 in the morning Jamiya e sheshi Qender Skenderbeu (at the the mosque in Skanderbeg Center).  On our way to Fushkruje, we exited the furgon (minivan) early to pick up a few shovels and some other sundry tools.  Soon we were on sight, helping to clear the material which had built up around the building over the initial construction phases.

Ervis and I worked in concert with a man named Eduardo who was operating a backhoe.  He was very precise, which made for less digging by hand, and no damage to existing structures.  We were able to locate the drain hook-ups for the pisets and get them cleared as well.  It was good to sweat through a set of clothes.  I don’t love digging by hand, but it does get the blood moving and the brow dripping.  Ali, one of the young men from church, came by to offer a hand.  Below is a photo of him in front of the church building at the end of the work day.

On the way back through Fushekruje I took in a few sights.

The local wedding dress shop.

Chickens for sale.

After exiting the third bus home at Qender Sauk, I bought some small peaches, a bunch of bananas and two small salcica.  Max enjoyed his treat.  As I walked up the road behind the school I am living at, I spied my friend Chimey.  He asked if I would like a cup of coffee; of course.  Soon I was seated on his couch with him next to me.  His daughter brought out a glass of Pepsi, a cube of powder-sugar covered gelatinized fruit, and a cube of chocolate.  Good, I thought, this isn’t coffee, but after a quick hello I should be on my way.

Ten minutes later, did I want regular coffee or Turkish?  What was Chimey having?  Turkish?  I’m with Chimey.  A cup of Turkish coffee, some more conversation, and I’m out of here.  But wait, what’s this?

Hospitality in Albania is difficult to pin down.  It seems that the idea is, if a little is good, then a lot must be really good.  Try and remember the first time you took a spoonful of whipped cream from the tub in the fridge.  Yes?  Maybe just one more spoonful.  Soon you find you are pushing the empty tub to the bottom of the garbage can and masking it with other garbage over top; groaning at your over-sugared, cream-sick stomach.  But, its so good!  I know.

Chimey’s wife, daughter and mother-in-law all collaborated to make me feel at home.  The five of us sat in the living room while everyone politely watched me eat.  Looking at Chimey from time to time, he would say one word: “Mir?”  “Mir, schum mir,” I would say.  They wanted me to eat, and relax with them and enjoy their home and their labors.  I guess I’m trying to think of a time when a family I barely knew offered that to me before.  All Saints was that for me in the beginning.  With Chimey, his every action conveys to me the words “I love you.  And I am so glad you are here.”  It really is a beautiful experience to be treated as the honored representative of an exalted God.

Things are better in other ways as well.  This was a good day to reset myself.  I love you.

Over the last 9 years I have connected with quite a few people in Seattle.  I have my best friend, Dave, whom I get a beer with every-other week or so.  He has been a blessing in my life since the first time I heard him preach.  I am beginning to appreciate how much I depended on having people like him in my life.  There is not a single person I can talk to here. 

Years ago it was probably far more isolating to be in my situation.  But even with access to the internet, there are only outlets for good news.  I lack even one outlet for venting frustration, or hurt, or disappointment.  I also am without a person on whom I can give an update of my life to get back an accurate reflection of what it is that is happening.  I have always struggled in my relationships with other humans.  Albania is no different.  How does the saying go?  Every fighter has a plan until he gets hit.

There is a saying here in Albanian which translates to “it is normal to be normal.”  Maybe this is the equivalent to saying “people are people.”  The human condition is universal and I am even more likely to be misunderstood in this place.  My world view is one which gives me the perception that everything is happening for a reason all of the time.  I do not understand the reason for what is happening here, over the past few days.  I would have thought that I had enough character, but God must want me to have even more.

Tomorrow I will be going to work in Fushekruje, which is a good thing.  I think that being able to focus on work and just getting things accomplished through physical activity will be good for my mind.  I am hoping for an endorphin boost or something positive being dropped into my brain naturally.  All of the comforts I have come to depend on in my life I have left in the States. 

This post is ambiguous as it has to be.  Almost everything we put on the internet is benign by necessity.  You honor me by walking with me in this time.  God bless you.

Max: 3

 Team Hotdog: 0

The internet was knocked out in a storm on Friday.  The fix was simple, as so many fixes turn out to be; but only if you know the fixes.  Today is Monday, and this is the first day that I have ended on a down note since I arrived in Albania.  It would have been lovely to author this post for you yesterday.  In fact, I think I’m going to do my best to forget about today, and do my best to illustrate the victories of yesterday.

Sunday: Today I woke up after a relatively short, yet restful sleep.  I was only able to fall asleep after successfully transmitting my brief sermon for church to a handwritten note at around 2AM.  Writing by hand isn’t as easy as it used to be.  Etmira accompanied me to the church in Durres, which is the second largest city in Albania.  Durres is the home church of Pastor Gezim and about four of the students from my school.  Quoting from Psalm 139, I tried to illustrate the energy and effort it takes for God to know the members of His Church Body as intimately and as completely as He does.  God is invested in you, and there isn’t a person in a chair for a Sunday service, the world over, whom God did not intend to be there.

I hadn’t realized until after I spoke that I was the opening act for Pastor Salvatore.  Salvatore is my friend and is a missionary from Naples, Italy.   There was a translator for the audience from Italian to Albanian.  I haven’t any idea what his message was or anything about what he was saying.  However, after his sermon we had the opportunity to share fellowship in his home with about 20 people from the church.  Peridi played guitar and the people sang and danced.  It was like the kind of day you could never have in the States, like something out of a Francis Ford Coppola film.

After a big meal of pasta with salcica and salse, we all went down to the beach of Durres to kick around a volleyball and enjoy the Adriatic.  The beach of Durres is like taking the best of Huntington Beach, Conney Island, and Zihuatanejo and putting them down on a single stretch of sand.  I could imagine myself living there very contently.

At the end of our time on the beach, we all walked to a cafe and shared more time together; taking photos and telling stories.  The girl who was translating for me did her very best, but jokes are rarely funny even in their native language.  At the end of our time there, Pastor Gezim showed up wearing a full black Adidas jogging suit.  I got him a chair which guaranteed him sitting next to me.  As he sat and told stories and shared jokes, he leaned on my knee, which I found really endearing.  The men here are not as afraid of appearing homosexual as the men are back home.  Two men holding hands or walking with their arms around each other is a sign of brotherhood, which is celebrated here.  If I could, I would be mentored by Gezim.  He really seems to do everything with all of his energy, leaving nothing behind, and he is absolutely adored by everyone.  Some people just “get” people.

After that, we drove to a bus stop at one of Durres’ suburbs.  Etmira and I headed on back to Tirana.  We had fun, she is fun, and she is funny too.  On our way from Sauk Qender to the school, I stopped to feed Max.  Sunday was the first day that upon seeing me from a distance he made the effort to meet me half way.  After feeding him, I had to convince him that he didn’t want to follow me.  Dogs are sweet creatures by nature.