Whose are you?

Last week I took a public van by myself into the village to work on painting the living room in our new house there. Luke was already in the village doing the kids program, so I arrived alone on the main road and headed toward our house. As I was walking, a little old woman standing on the street was staring at me. I smiled and said to her "Hello. How are you?" She smiled back and the first thing she said was "Whose are you?"
Not "who are you?" but "whose."

Who do you belong to? 

That was a deeper question than I was expecting that day and it got me thinking. I told her that I'm married to Luke and we work with the church in the village. She asked how long I'd been there and I told her about us moving into the village soon. We chatted a little bit more. She encouraged me in my Albanian learning and went on her way. But her question stuck with me throughout the day.

Whose are you? 

She was asking me how I belonged in the village. It was one of those "one of these things is not like the other" moments for her, which is something I personally feel often. I think it's something anyone who comes to a strange place feels, particularly when there is a language barrier. But the funny thing is, I was walking through the village like I owned the place that morning and feeling an unusual amount of belonging.

Whose are you? also meant to me What right do you have to be here?

The first thing that came to my head when she asked me that was I belong to Jesus. But I thought that might be pretty confusing and might not lead to a second conversation with her, so I answered the question she was asking. Yet it was encouraging in my own soul... who do I belong to? And how do I belong here? The answer is the same: Jesus. 


 

Our progress on the painting: 

We are just renting it, but the salmon colored paint had to go.