It burns

Well, sorry about the lack of pictures on this one. Our computer is getting fixed in the States right now and hopefully will be back within the week. We'll see.

So, here's the thing. I just got done with a conversation with a few nonbelieving natives here. I never thought this would be an issue, but it seems there are still people who were happy about the Communist times. They liked Hoxha, the dictator who ruled here for over 40 years making Albania an atheistic state and the poorest country in Europe. (pause)

I'm sorry, what? (pause again) Hmmmm......

I was like, "But during those times, you were only allowed x amount of eggs, x amount of bread, x amount of sugar, no more. No freedom. And you had to wait in line for hours to get it."
They argued, "But eggs were 5 lek apiece then. Now, look how expensive they are! I need a job, but there's no work. He opened schools and businesses."

It's hard to imagine what they've been through. One of them was this dear old woman that I see almost every day. Picture her - she always wears all black because when your husband dies, that's what you do here; her hair is covered with a black wrap as well; she is absolutely full of wrinkles; she actually has all her teeth, although they've been stained golden from her smoking. Even though we've talked and she knows I'm a missionary and she's a Muslim, she still happily welcomes me. At times, she gets passionate about it, but always leaves me with a smile, none the less. After all she's experienced here, what grounds do I have to talk to her about it? Her "work" is a little shop which is literally a 8x5 ft. rectangle make of plywood and 2x4s. How do I tell her about HER country? She's lived through it all, not me. How do I identify? Anyways, just thoughts.

On the other hand, what got it all started somehow was that there was this guy sitting at the "shop". He knew a little English and asked me some questions. We got into a discussion of belief and Jesus. Oh, the battle for his soul! I could see he was unsure. I could see he was open. I told him it was God that we met because God wants him and is calling him. He smiled and laughed. He's probably around my age. The minutes passed so fast and I had to leave while it was getting dark. On my way home, my heart burned. Even now I am unrested, distraught. Can you feel it? Can you feel the burn in your heart for his soul? I know you didn't see his skinny frame, short black hair and thin sparatic facial hair along with his crooked teeth behind his cigarette. You didn't get the chance to see his face while you tell him that when you pray in Jesus' name, things happen, miracles happen. I want you to see him. Pray for him. Plead to God for his soul. Yes. This is what I live for. Join me in this fight.