This last year

 A sunset over Korçë

People told me it would be hard when I stepped into overseas ministry five weeks after saying "I do."

I wish I could say those five weeks in between were restful, rejuvenating, and prepared me for what awaited me in Albania. But the truth is, we slept 19 different places in 35 days. We moved my things out of my former roommates' house and stayed up until 3am packing 6 suitcases with wedding gifts and the things from my life that were important enough to bring halfway across the world. We spoke at churches, were given another wedding reception, and drove 862 miles to see my grandma. I met dozens of the people who are my husband's community in San Diego and said my goodbyes to the ones who are my community.  We saw ancient ruins* in Mexico and visited Disneyland and the San Diego Zoo, thanks to people's generosity. Then we went to the British Museum when we had to stay in London on the way to Albania. We carried a sewing machine through five airports. We spent hours trying to get our borrowed car out of a tow yard. It was a wild, wonderful, and sometimes tearful ride and we couldn't have done it without the help of our parents and friends.

Then we arrived home and slept for 19 hours straight.

And home meant new things.

It meant Luke.

It meant that when I left the house I greeted people with "Mirëdita" or "përshëndetje" and said "faleminderit" when the lady at the store gave me my change.

It meant sitting and smiling with a group of women in a village during Bible study, without understanding more than a few words of what was going on.

It meant saying, "I'm sorry, I'm learning Albanian and I don't understand very well." Saying it often enough that people would tell me, "No, you speak very well."

And eventually it meant saying, "Watch it. I understand more than you think."

It meant learning to follow God in a new way… a way that meant commitment to one place instead of options and maybes and "I wonder if this is it" thinking.

And one day after another, one moment full of meaning followed by another that seems so mundane, and we are almost at a year of marriage.

I've learned a lot.

And yet, I feel much less smart than when I arrived.

There are moments I wouldn't trade for anything… like finding Luke waiting for me after a language lesson, hanging out with three young street kids and a street puppy. The street kids know our names. They come to me for hugs and often ask Luke for something to eat. We bought them sandwiches that night and as we walked away from the shop one of them reached up and held my hand. My heart melted… then they ran off into the night and I washed my hands as soon as possible. Heart melting or not, there's only so much I want to ask of my immune system.

Or like listening in on Luke's Bible study with the young men. They met in our apartment yesterday after church and talked about the life of Peter. I was encouraged to hear so many of the guys getting in on the discussion. Luke told me later some of what they were saying and I was even more encouraged. It's exciting to see that their spiritual understanding is growing.

There are moments of disappointment too.

We invited the teenage girls in the village for an afternoon of Christmas crafts. Two girls came. After discussing the way I'd invited them we realized that they might not have seen the invitation. So we did it again the next week inviting each girl personally. And nobody came.

Luke reminded me that everything here is about relationships. That's what this was supposed to be, I thought. I want to build relationships with the girls, but it's difficult when they are in the village and I am in the city. I know it will be better when we live in the village. Right now, all I can do is invite myself over to their home or invite them to the church building. The first is awkward to me and the second is apparently not appealing to them. But when we live there it will be possible to say "Come over and have a coffee. Bring your knitting if you want." In the village, there are coffee places but girls don't go. It's a men-only environment. Women and girls get together in each other's homes.

I long to have that community with them. To invite them to feel comfortable in my home.

And yet I wonder if I'm ready.

My language skills are growing, but even trying to have a conversation by myself can easily become challenging. "Fjalet! S'kam fjalet…" The words! I don't have the words.

One of the most difficult things this year has been learning to function in a different way than I ever have before. It's exhausting and the exhaustion leads to discouragement. My mind gets confused about whether English is still the primary language or if it should retrieve the word I'm looking for in Albanian instead. I feel like I'm living in slow motion, but time is moving more quickly than ever. I lose thoughts in the middle of thinking them.

I feel fragile. And I desperately miss feeling on top of things.

And yet, I suspect both of those are just feelings.

Still, I wonder if I can handle the villagers… their expectations and the culture clash.

The expectations of a spotless home, a young bride who should be (but is not) expecting a baby by the first anniversary, who should know the right things to say and that it's her job to offer the candy to the visitors. 

They can surprise me though. There is a boy about 13 years old who comes to the program and is learning to play guitar in the music classes afterward. He uses my guitar for his lessons and we've had some conversations about how exactly he is to handle it. He likes to make fun of me for having a guitar and not really knowing how to play it. Or for anything really that is outside his experience as a 13 year old shepherd from a poor family in a small village. Several days ago I was having a hard time and he saw me and started to make fun… but then he stopped and asked me, more seriously, "How are you?" I said I was ok and he asked further. "Have you been upset?" I didn't know what he meant exactly, but the question surprised me with its kindness. "I've been sick," I told him, which was true. "People get sick," he said, again in a kind way, and continued,  "…then they get better," as if to remind me that life goes on. 

Maybe he has learned something in his 13 years that I've yet to learn in my 30.

I so often look at the challenge of living here the wrong way… the American way of "get it done!" Life should be successful and success is measured in results, right?

But that's not how life works here.

And maybe it's not even how life works at all.

Maybe life isn't in the getting done. Maybe it's in the doing. Maybe it's not "staying well" and "functioning at top capacity" that means I'm alright. Maybe the cycle of getting sick and getting better is what's normal.

Maybe struggle and pain and success are all part of the same path.

In a nutshell, to all of those who told me it would be hard… eh… you weren't kidding. To those who said it would be hard and then prayed for me…. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. To those who have walked beside me here in Albania and through encouraging emails, etc… you are a blessing beyond words. I thank God for you. 


(*edit... this said "pyramids" before... but I just realized that's not what we saw.)  

Meteora

We had the opportunity to visit Meteora, Greece last weekend and I wanted to share some photos from one of God's beautiful places in the world. 

This was my first view.... 

There are a handful of Orthodox monasteries which were built in the 13th-15th centuries and are still occupied. I can't imagine being the monk who first decided to build a monastery not just on a cliff, but on a rock pillar. How....? I'll probably never know. 

We stumbled upon a trail going down into a valley from one monastery and decided to be adventurous. It was like we'd stepped into Middle Earth.

I really like my camera's panorama feature. (You can click on a photo to see it bigger.)

If you look really, really closely on the right in this one you can see a person traveling in a bucket across some wires from the hillside to the monastery. Most people get there by stairs and a bridge, but I guess this guy likes to travel in style.

I can hardly wait to go back. Who's going to come visit with us? :-)

Three for the price of one

I'm coming to this empty page with a question:

Why is it so hard for me to write a blog post?

I could write one on the stages of culture shock…. here's hoping I'm entering the last stage now. That's when rejection (everything here stinks!) rolls into acceptance and you start just living instead of feeling like you have to defend yourself from a hostile environment. It's where you start realizing once again that there are beautiful aspects of where you now live, after feeling so overwhelmed by the things you don't understand or appreciate that you'd rather just hide in your apartment than face the world. But it's through choosing to face the world that you find your way to the start of a new season... Even if you do have to walk through sewer smells and perpetual road construction to get from your apartment to the outside world.

I could write one on learning how to navigate the pazar, Korce's version of the middle eastern bazaars. At first the bustle and noise sent me straight to the Italian chain supermarket half a mile down the road. At least at the supermarket, the clerks only follow you around with body language that tells you that they have better things to do than make sure you don't steal anything.

The pazar is full of color and the shouts of fruit and vegetable sellers hawking their products.

What are you looking for, girl?
 
Come here, sister, I have what you need.
 
Bananas! Bananas! 200 lek a bunch! (That's about $2.)

Socks! Shoes!
 
Come this way!
 
What do you want?
 
Take a bag!

The pazar requires a set of skills I'm still figuring out, but I'm finally able to understand enough to buy my produce there.

I'm still learning whether something is a high price or a low price. At some booths, the products are marked by a piece of torn cardboard with a number. Plums are generally 80, peaches are 100, apples might be as low as 3 for 100. That's all in kilos… which makes the plums $.36 a pound, peaches $.45, and apples a whopping $.15 a pound.  I've come to appreciate that cardboard. Although most people there may tell this American-accented girl the same price as everyone else, I'm just not sure they're going to.

Of course, there are other tricky things in the pazar.

Recently I saw some beautiful apples and asked the price. Sixty-five, the old man told me. Want to try some? He sliced off a bit from an apple on the side. It was spicy and delicious. I said I'd take three kilos. My applesauce was going to be spicy and delicious, never mind that I was buying the expensive apples. Later, while slicing up all those apples I tasted another one. Not so spicy and delicious, clearly not the same kind of apple I'd tried... yes, I'd been had. Cinnamon and lemon juice made up the difference, but I learned my lesson that day. You have to pay attention in the pazar.

I could write a blog post about how God is teaching me that the value of what we are doing does not depend on numbers.
There is an ebb and flow to life in the village. That means that some times of the year, work takes priority over Bible study. There is a lack of trust in the village - because after years of only atheism or Islam, the idea of "church" does not come with the respectability that it tends to have in the states. There is a struggle to see more people become interested. And that's what we want, right? After all, we are planting a church - and that means numbers... Right?

We began a girls' bible study earlier this year and were excited to see 8 or 9 girls come. But slowly that number trickled down and then with the comings and goings of summertime - people going to Greece to see family or having that family come visit them. Many weeks nobody came. We took walks through the village, inviting the girls we saw and knocked on doors to find more. And then after a few weeks of this, we realized that persistence eventually gets obnoxious.

Kam punë, they say. I have work to do.

Last week I made a house visit with the woman who leads the Bible study in the village. She'd had enough of hearing about all the work that the women do… the same women who always have time to invite someone in for a coffee, and who we found shooting the breeze on the porch. It's true that women in the villages have a lot of work. But it's also true that "I have work" is often a polite escape.

She let them know she'd rather just hear the truth… Kam punë. Kam punë. Don't tell me you have work. It's an hour a week, a twenty foot walk from your gate. We made the time for you, at the time when we know you don't have work. You just don't want to come.

My mouth nearly dropped open. You can say that?

Well, perhaps not everyone can say that. But she could.

What I am learning is that while numbers are obviously helpful - you can't have a meeting if nobody comes - they aren't the goal I need to be reaching for. I can't make anybody come.

When I feel discouraged about girls mostly not coming to the meeting we prepare each week, I have to remember that God is working in the village.

There is one girl who comes when she can, who loves Jesus, and who wants to live for Him. Jesus is the one who is drawing her to come. That's ultimately His job, not mine.

There are a handful of young men who love the Lord and are growing tremendously.

There are a dozen or so children who come nearly every week to learn more about how the Bible tells us that God loves us and that Jesus came to save us.

Our job is to show them the love of God when they do come. It is not to make the numbers look good in our updates. It is to pray for the people in the village that they will desire to know God.

If I look to numbers to find my value, I will allow discouragement to overshadow the fact that God is much bigger than us or the meetings we plan. He is working even when we don't yet see significant results.

What He has called us to do is be faithful in all things and trust Him.

A friend quoted this recently (as in, I just got distracted on Facebook and saw her post) -

"The goal of the missionary is to do God’s will, not to be useful or to win the lost. A missionary is useful and he does win the lost, but that is not his goal. His goal is to do the will of his Lord." --Oswald Chambers

Going "postal"... Albanian style

This post is basically "an hour in my life".... 

I spent some time at the post office recently, sending out some postcards. There were half a dozen people in front of me, sort of. The way that a culture forms a line says a lot about a culture....

(This is an infographic by Yang Liu illustrating the differences between the cultures of China and Germany. I borrowed it for the blog because it pretty well shows the difference between American lines and Albanian lines.)

A group of us, mostly women, were crowded together at the post office window.

Two men came up behind us.

The last man to join the "line" spoke to the clerk, asking how much something cost. She gave him an answer. He gave her the money. She stopped what she was doing for the person in "front" and gave him what he asked for. Then she finished with the first person.

The second man behind all of us started to go, but was interrupted by the person now in "front," a young woman, who said to him, "Wait your turn!" His response was something that Luke had told me about before, but I didn't quite believe. Rough translation: "I'm a man, you're a woman. It's my turn."

(Luke had explained to me that in the past there would be "the man line" and "the woman line" and they would sort of take turns. So if a man comes, no matter how long the woman's been waiting, he's first.)

She didn't look happy, but didn't say anything else. After he left, she went.

Then I knew I would have to fight for my turn. So as quickly as possible, I pulled out a postcard and showed it to the woman. "I want stamps for postcards for America. And a receipt for all the stamps. How much does one stamp cost?" The number she told me was higher than the last time I'd sent a postcard a few months ago... almost twice as much. I paid it anyway. She started to take the postcards to put the stamps on one by one. I told her I'd do it, pretty sure the people behind me didn't want to wait.

As I left the post office I found Luke, waiting just outside at a fast food place for the lunch he was going to deliver to a junior high camp. He was with two Albanian friends. I told him about the price increase on the postcards. "They ripped you off," he said. Our friends agreed that they had probably given a higher price to "the American."

So we went on a little reconnaissance mission to figure out if I had been ripped off. One of our Albanian friends went alone to ask how much it should cost to send a postcard to America.  As it turns out, the price went up for him too... It just gets me that the first thought about the post office is that they must have charged me more and pocketed the difference. It's hard to imagine growing up in a place where you have reason not to trust things like the post office.

Summertime food fun

One of the things I love about summer in Albania is fresh produce! It's beautiful, tasty, and cheap. :-)

Here's what I bought today ~

 It cost $5 for all of that - nectarines, pears, lemons, carrots, red peppers, zucchini, eggplant, and eggs.

There are some things here that are not so cheap (gas is more than $6 a gallon), but fresh fruits and vegetables we can enjoy in plenty. A woman in the village Bible study sold me some you-pick apricots from her trees for about 25 cents a pound. They weren't beautiful, but they made pretty good jam. Luke and I also picked cherries several weeks ago to help another woman in the Bible study. She sold them for 50 cents a pound to someone who would take them to the outdoor market in Korce.

(The downside to cheap produce is, of course, that the farmers aren't getting a decent price for their produce. It's a big problem, part of a larger cycle of poverty. If someone works as a waiter or a housekeeper for $5-10 a day, how can they afford to pay more for food? But if the going price stays this low, how can the farmer afford to keep growing it? The village we work in used to have a farmers' market nearby to help sell the food more locally, reducing the cost of transport and cutting out the middleman... but corruption eventually closed up the market. It's not easy for the farmers in Albania.) 

Ok, back to happy food things.  I found out where to buy whole wheat flour this week and set about making bread today. It's pretty much delicious. I can buy whole wheat bread at a bakery nearby, but I don't really like the way they make it.

It's yummy with homemade hummus too. Tahini was the exciting find at a little shop nearby that made that hummus possible. We call that shop "the Greek store" because it's pretty obvious that they go to Greece (to the same store we do sometimes) to buy the stuff they sell.

We also found some local milk to buy - a few months ago we met a Mennonite couple from the midwest who were in Albania to set up a milk processing plant in Korce. Some of the other milk processors here are a little bit sketchy, so we usually get imported UHT milk (processed for a long shelf life) or bring it from Greece ourselves. The new milk plant is up and running now and so we tried it - yay! No more weird UHT taste and we know that they are testing the milk properly. I can taste more "cow" in the milk now, but Luke is happy. :-)

Ladies Conference

At the beginning of June, there was a two-day women's conference in a nearby resort town put on by a short term team from America. Three women from the village were able to go! This was their first time meeting together with a large group of believers like this. Through times of worship, prayer, and teaching, they heard about knowing God through His word, continuing in prayer, and standing firm. One of the things that I thought was very encouraging was that the ladies seemed to get more interested in the teaching as the conference went on!

Practical love - dental and eye clinics

The past two weeks have been a lot of fun. We've gotten to see people with bad vision get new glasses and people who badly need dental work done leave smiling. Actually many of them left wincing, but I think they were smiling on the inside - glad to have had that painful, beyond-repair tooth pulled.

We had a team come from Marine Reach Ministries, a medical professional arm of YWAM (note: I got their name wrong in the newsletter I just sent out), to put on both the dental and vision clinics. We had the privilege of hosting the dental clinic in our building in the village. They were such a pleasure to work with - we would have them back in a heartbeat. :-)

Luke was one of the main translators for the clinic. We got as many translators as we could, but through sickness and schedules and unplanned emergencies, we were a little tight on translators. Even Lydia was helping translate (as much as possible) for registering people.

One of the great moments of the clinic was getting to see this young man's smile transformed. He walked in with his front top teeth looking almost rotten, but the dentists were somehow able to save them (with only fillings or extractions offered)!

And this little boy with new glasses stopped by to say hi at the dental clinic --

Let the redeemed of the Lord say so!

Time moves differently here. Or maybe it's just me. Some weeks whiz by and I wonder what happened. Other weeks are just as full, but somehow last forever. This was a forever week.

I think it culminated this morning with me in the church nursery, holding a crying toddler and trying to explain in my broken Albanian that he's not my kid but it's ok that I have him in the nursery, while getting stares and advice from enough people to make me think that he's disturbing the entire church service. (His parents are from the village and we wanted them to have a chance to hear the sermon without having to keep a toddler happy.)

It's been a week of feeling, alternately, like I did in the nursery and like little Seldi did. What do I do to make this crying baby happy? and Agh!!!! *tears*

Interpersonal dynamics are difficult. Cross-cultural work is challenging.

I knew those things before coming here. I just don't think I realized what understatements those are.

It was a week of realizing just how much this either had better be God's work or it's worthless. It was a week where the best of plans don't always pan out. (Seldi and I only made it through half the sermon.)

But at the end of it, it was a week where God was the one working, and I was reminded of that.

Psalm 107 was a great comfort to me this week, especially in this one statement: Let the redeemed of the Lord say so. Why? For the benefit of others. For the reminder to themselves. Because we ought to boast in what God did. Because it really is His work. We can't save anybody, including ourselves. It's God who does that.

Oh that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness,
And for His wonderful works to the children of men!
For He satisfies the longing soul,
And fills the hungry soul with goodness.
Those who sat in darkness and in the shadow of death,
Bound in affliction and irons -- 
Because they rebelled against the words of God,
And despised the counsel of the Most High,
Therefore He brought down their heart with labor;
They fell down and there was none to help.
Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
And He saved them out of their distresses.
He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death,
And broke their chains in pieces.
Oh that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness,
And for His wonderful works to the children of men! 
For He has broken the gates of bronze,
And cut the bars of iron in two.

I'm thankful that God provides what we need -- grace. For a restored relationship with Him. For the strength to make it through a week full of personal and interpersonal stress. There were moments this week when it didn't feel like there was enough grace to cover it all. But I think sometimes God allows us to feel our need for Him, to be reminded that we are not enough. Because we're not.  

Let the redeemed of the Lord say so!

-Lydia

Gezuar Pashket!

"Happy Easter" (in English)!

Easter is here and with it... winter. At least that's the joke here in Korce, where we had snow on the ground for a couple of days last week and have pulled out our winter coats again.

But snow or not, we had a great time in our Easter festivities this last week - movie days for both the women and the jr. high boys groups, a special program for the kids, a party for high schoolers, and bringing a couple of families to the church in Korce for the Easter service.

The weekend, of course, had a few bumps in the road... like a flat tire that left us waiting in a fugon (public van) for a while to get to the children's program. (The vans don't leave until they are full.) While there, I got to observe some of what traditional life is like here in Albania. Across from the furgon stand is the pazar (open market) and yesterday they were selling sheep - probably for Easter dinner. The Orthodox religion is about 20% in Albania, and higher in Korce.

We borrowed some speakers and microphones for an extra special children's program. Luke told me later that those speakers were brought to Albania in 2005, with the short term team from his college. That trip changed both our lives (though mine much much later), since it's what prompted Luke to come to Albania as a long term missionary after he graduated college. But enough about that, the kids had a great time singing and hearing a testimony from one of the believers in the village.  

For the "youth" Easter party (high school and up, with special guests, the jr. high boys) we had lunch and some singing, a neat video, and then (of course!) dancing. Albania is a part of the world where a celebration just isn't a celebration without a little dancing! We did a sort of "musical chairs" style dance, where the leader is holding keys and starts dancing, then people join in and at some point the leader tosses the keys and everyone runs for a chair - because the last person standing has to pick up the keys and start the next dance. In this video (click here), the leader fooled everybody in the middle of the dance, but really still had the keys.

And with that, I wish you a Happy Easter! We are celebrating ours with a restful afternoon. And pizza. :-)

A psalm for Monday morning

The wind is blowing hard outside
On this morning I hoped would be peaceful
The sky is spread over with a gray threat of rain
And I hear the rustling of the plastic that covers the tires on the balcony
If the wind keeps it up, I might be chasing that plastic
Is March going out like a lion? I wonder
As the wind is rattling the windowshades
I'm inside, planning a day and a week that will be full
Again
It comes in rushes, this storm blowing in from the mountains
Like the blustery rhythm of our work
A moment of quiet
Then a torrent of activity
I watch the road for a moment
People coming, going, being about their business
The everyday road chaos of cars and people
Momentary traffic jams and horns honking
Because everyone has the right of way
Debris - caught up in the wind - joins the cacophany
But as the storm blows on, outside my windows,
I suddenly find my peace
Hidden in the secret place of His presence
O Lord, how I need You!
Selah

Little moments of transition

I'm getting used to seeing the mosque as I look out my window from the breakfast table and hearing the calls to prayer as I go about my day.

 

the mosque on a rainy day

~

 

There was a peaceful demonstration outside our apartment last week. Luke and I stepped out the balcony to see what all the honking and noise was about and watched a parade of furgons (vans used for public transportation) blaring their way through Korce. Some had signs in the windows with messages like "we want to work" and "a respectable wage". Furgons are the most common form of transportation in Albania - and they are so cheap I have wondered how the drivers even pay for gasoline. I'm not sure how the system works, but the government is somewhat involved in prices and availability of furgons. When we drove to Tirana (the capital) recently we noticed that police were stopping furgons at checkpoints outside of each city. We had some Albanian friends with us who explained that Korce-Tirana furgons could only take passengers to Tirana; they had to drive back empty. Likewise, Tirana-Korce furgons shouldn't be competing with Korce furgons for the drive back to Tirana.

~

Earlier this week, on the way to meet a new friend for coffee, I took the trash out to the dumpster across the street from our apartment building. I tossed it in and awkwardly met the eyes of a man who was walking up the dumpster, just as he reached inside and ripped open the bag full of my trash. My first instinct was to tell him that I had already separated out the bottles and not to bother, unless he really wanted empty milk cartons, egg shells, coffee grounds, and other nasty garbage. But my grasp of the Albanian language is just not that good yet. Even if it were, I was getting distracted by the fact that he was rummaging through my toilet paper. Yes, that kind of toilet paper. The kind you don't flush down the toilet here and therefore have to dispose of with the rest of your garbage. There was something so humiliating about it that only thing I could do was turn and walk away. I had almost forgotten about it when, on the way back home, the same man passed me on another street. Again, he held my gaze for a long moment. "What are you thinking about me?" I thought. Perhaps my strongest feeling should have been compassion - the man digs through garbage for a living! - but I wanted to run, to hide. I've never felt so exposed.

~

After getting home and getting a much needed hug from my husband (see above for why I needed the hug), I headed out to the closest "supermarket" to buy some food for Sunday when several of the youth from the village will be eating with us. I wandered through the little store for a while and paused at the bread display, trying to make sense of what was in a basket on a shelf about half way up. The last few times I've stopped and looked, wondering if they were selling some kind of unusual mushrooms. Today I could see that it wasn't a mushroom, but a basket full of bones. I am definitely never buying bread here.

~

A much more appetizing moment is just a few blocks away though, hidden on a side street in the form of the best bakery I've found in Korce. They have huge, crusty loaves of bread, the kind you could almost eat as a meal, and they cost about 80 cents. Bread is a cultural pillar in Albania. In fact, to ask if someone is eaten is to say, "Have you had bread?" They only thing they don't eat bread with is pasta because it's kind of like having bread twice (and they laugh that that's the only thing many Americans do eat bread with). This bakery also has meat byrek - a flaky pastry filled with goodies and eaten for breakfast, lunch or dinner. The meat filling is something I'd enjoyed in some other Balkan countries and been sad about not finding here in Albania. It is much easier here to find it stuffed with tomatoes and onions, cheese and spinach, leeks, beans, or even pumpkin.

Albanian graffiti - photo

I took this photo on a walk to the store last week... a graffiti artist's rendition of a double-headed eagle, the Albanian national symbol.

Setting up housekeeping in Albania

We've been back in Albania for two weeks now and are getting back into the groove of life here. I'm finding it really fun to begin "home" life and work - and also trying to sort out the importance of things.

I was thinking yesterday about hospitality and what it means, when our home was opened to a dozen or so people after church. I remember reading a blog about how the heart of hospitality has nothing to do with the condition of the home and everything to do with the heart and friendship of the host. I wasn't too worried about the young men from the village whose lunch we provided right after church - they come over frequently. A little while later we also had a visit from two sets of parents, one from the village and the other from Korce. Their daughters work closely with us, and they have invited us into their homes on other occasions. These families were visiting us to wish us well after our wedding. It was a sweet visit, with many "te trashegohesh" (a traditional Albanian wish for "an inheritance") blessings spoken and plenty of laughter and visiting.

It was actually while I was vacuuming after they left that I realized how little my housekeeping has to do with someone enjoying time in my home. Most people probably vacuum before their guests come, but I had been preoccupied with cooking for everyone and feeling a bit tired from a busy week - that and we gave them all lokume (Turkish delight) covered in powdered sugar, so it really was necessary to vacuum afterward. As I looked looked around, I realized that there was much more dust than powdered sugar in the living room... and I also realized that no one had seemed to notice or mind.

Certainly, it is good to keep a clean house... but it was good for me to remember that the heart of the home is not kept in order with a vacuum cleaner.

-Lydia