Kosova Revisited

And so I awoke to the unfamiliar way the emerging sun lights my house, to a sore throat, a complaining stomach, an inexpressible fatigue, and to thoughts and reflections as unorganized as the pile of dirty clothes now strewn across my floor.
The first time I left Kosova it was with a sense of awe and admiration. I witnessed the presence and working of God in a place filled with love and hope for humanity (and all its distorted past). I left Kosova the first time with a clarity--questions answered and visions of the future set in my mind. I left knowing that I would return, and knowing that the course of my life had been altered in both hidden and recognizable ways. It was from that first time that I knew I would later have an Albanian word permanently stamped on my wrist--lavderoj. What I didn't know was that five years later I would be sitting on a beach in Albania with seven precious students surrounding me, and that I would be telling them about my belief in God's voice and his unmistakable plan for my life and my passion for Kosovars. I told it in words that were not my own. I think I ended by explaining just why the word glorify had to be in Albanian. Not finding the adequate words, I said "and I really like you guys," and patted Rufat's knee. They smiled. And so did I. I think Lynn was crying. My love for Kosovars had been exposed and expressed. There it was, frighteningly dangling in the silence. But it was not left unreciprocated. The hearts of Kosovars are generous and willing. They have loved me genuinely. They have shattered my shell.

As the Americans stood around a van at 2:45 in the morning on the day of our departure (the abashed sadness apparent in the smiles) Besarta, one of our students and a believer, squeezed me hard. She released me, grabbed my hand and turned it skyward. "Don't forget this," she said with a point to my wrist. "Don't forget this". She may have said it more. I was too baffled to notice.

Shengjin, Albania

It began to rain as I walked down the street this afternoon. The mountains press closely against the ocean. The ocean is warm, like the air. Along the street are shitets with generous displays of Fanta orange.

I'll map it out:
The day begins early. And not to a shower nor to a cup of coffee (though I manage to sneak in cappuccinos before class). After our morning devotionals is breakfast, which is usually bread, eggs, and weird stuff (repeat above parentheses). Then class begins! I am teaching level three students, so for instance when they talk about their families they say "we are 12", or they say "he is going to learn me to swim". There are seven students in the class. It is stifling in the classrooms, but the time goes quickly and they are gracious and willing students.
Lunch!
And then the afternoons are spent playing games in the ocean or lounging on the beach. After dinner is a group discussion time when we discuss the reading from the Bible done in class.
Then, at night, is DANCING!!
And then we fall into our beds with the humidity of the night pressing upon us and the next day's lesson plans running though our heads.

Goodbye, Kosova.

I now face the Adriatic.

Because We Don't Want to Write

Two Weeks..

Quandary

http://starthereny.com/product.php

This has become my newest fascination. Stackable notebooks! $14!

However, here are my reservations:

1) My life thus far has been contained in three moleskines, or what I like to call, Volumes I, II, and III. And this is just from the past three or four years. To think what future years might bring! My life, should I prove to be just as/more prolific, could be organized on my bookshelves as some people would organize…say….the Encyclopedia Britannica. However, should the stackable notebook take the place of my moleskine’s, my life very well may end up in a much less epic state. Instead of volumes it will be one long and decidedly un-epic tome. Like Bleak House.

2) I have been trying to decide for the past week what to do with the 20 dollars in tips I have accumulated and now have in my possession, just sitting in my checking account, clearly needing to be spent. However, the amount proves to be a little puzzling. With 20 dollars I could buy used books, three of them, in fact. They sit in my Amazon.com shopping cart. All I have to do is click “proceed to checkout”. But……..with 20 dollars I could also buy four coffees at Starbucks PLUS a Starbucks compilation CD. And there are a few right now that look pretty tempting. OR I could SAVE the twenty dollars until it magically becomes 80 dollars and THEN I could online shop. And not just for books—for clothes. Or I could REAL shop. For lots of things.

And then, of course, the notebooks are an option. I do, however, already have a sizable collection of notebooks—most of them bought impulsively and because I thought they were pretty. Also, I’m only about 30 pages into my current moleskine (Volume III).

And so, I come to you for advice. If you tell me to save my money I probably won't listen. Also, I welcome any other purchasing suggestions....

the regular

please congratulate me, for yesterday i was officially inducted into "the regulars" of a coffee shop. it went down like this: on my one-hour breaks from my nine-to-five life, i go to a close-by coffee shop and recharge by caffeination and reading. so i pulled up to my favorite parking spot and entered through the front door, and instead of a "what can i get ya'" from the barista, there waiting for me at the register was my triple-shot iced americano (a true testament to working with kids full time) and a "we saw you pull up - we were waiting for you." to this i replied, "am i officially a regular?" and my darling barista answered, "this is your induction." and there are perks to being a regular besides air-conditioned smalltalk and a sweet predictability associated with your entering. today a fourth shot was added to my drink without charge "just because it's me."

since then i've had the "cheers" theme song in my head.

A Spanish Sandwich

I just walked for three hours with a Nicaraguan lady. She is my only Spanish speaking contact in the great town of Sandwich but she speaks so fast that most of what I did was nod and laugh and continue on. By the end of our long walk my Spanish was moving well enough again that I led a bunch of the conversation, but wow, how rusty I am.

We talked about how her grandkids don’t like to speak Spanish to her. She was sad in a comical kind of way.

Anyhow, I just thought I’d let you all know that though I live in the middle of no where I have found the only person nearby who speaks Spanish.