Shabby

Monday, May 23, 2011

Cemeteries and such

I have a weird hobby- I love to walk through cemeteries. Some of my best writing has taken place there, as I sit among the gravestones and think deep thoughts and ponder life. For me, it is just a special place. God feels near. Just a reminder how short life is, the importance of wisely investing the gift you've been given, or even getting a glimpse of the values and ideals of the culture. Today I walked through a deserted Serbian cemetery on the outskirts of town. It has become my new favorite place here. Not only is it abandoned for being a cemetery, it is Serbian as well. No Albanian in their right mind would step foot there. So, it is highly likely that I will be visiting there again. Until then, here's some pictures I took today.

Sisters. For some reason, this touches my heart immensely.

Uh-oh...Someone escaped!

In-laid on the top of the grave.



Here are some from a few other places:

US- She was 1 years old...

US- I so want this kind of gravestone. 
Just a simple rock!

Croatia- a grave for a soldier. 
He looks like he's weeping green tears...

England- Yes, folks, you can indeed take it with you!

England- who puts a cross/skull bones on their family member's tomb? Were they poisoned or something??

England- lovely!

Kosovo- Serbian Monastery outside my city- 
one of the oldest in existence!


Holland- You actually rent graves here and after your family stops paying rent, they dig you up and someone else gets your spot. Eh, you do what you've got to do in the small country you have!

US- Where else would you make a gravestone for your cat? Oh, and that cat lived an incredible amount of time: 1918-1937. This tomb always baffles me...



I told you that I was obsessed... 
Maybe I need some professional help!



*Went back a week later- found these:



Can you see the skull and leg bone in there? They're green...
Haha- not sure that's 'up to code' for any cemetery!


Yes, that grave is open as well...
Here's what's inside!



Gross, I know- but also quite humorous.
(pun intended...think about your arm bones!)

Friday, May 20, 2011

Babi Im

These are my parents:


This is my Dad- 
being silly and posing in the hat I bought him for Father's Day.


Today my dad is having surgery on his neck.
It's pretty serious, and he needs prayer.
Please join my family in this!
Thanks.


And this last picture is just for kicks...
One of my favorites of my siblings and I.
Miss you guys!

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Profiling: Kosovar Women


Her name means 'River' in English. She's a bright ray of sunshine- genuinely sweet and beautiful on the outside as well. She recently just had her second child; another girl (girls aren't considered a blessing in this culture). She lives in the poorest area of my city; a place we've come to know as the Konvikt. Basically "konvikt" means, in Albanian, "dormitory". That's what the building was; back in the day, before the war. However, it has come to be a revolting place, filled with the poor whom have nowhere else to go (rumor has it that they're going to be kicked out in the coming weeks). Months have gone by without having electricity. The only water source in the building is found downstairs in what should be called a pit. The smell from "the pit" radiates throughout the entire building, often making me want to gag when I enter the hallway. Our friend, River, lives on the second floor, right next to the stairwell leading down "the pit". Her "house" is one room. Paint peeling, mold growing, mats on the floor to serve as both a couch and a bed, a small stove that looks like it's barely standing, and a small container against the wall that holds 2 of a few different utensils and things. That's what her room consists of. That's it. That's her entire world. She stays inside that room nearly all day, caring for her 2 young children, and trying to survive. Her husband, young and handsome as well, has no job. He leaves each morning to go sit on the side of the road, eagerly waiting to be hired out for some random job. The reality, though, is that what money he will acquire probably will go to a prostitute or perhaps a night out with his friends. And while as bad as this all sounds, she's one of the fortunate ones. Her husband hasn't left her...yet.

Her name means 'Hope' in English. We aren't entirely sure if the story she's told us is the truth, but there's no one else to ask, so it's all we have to go on. She turned up in the hospital, for a second time in a matter of months, covered in bruises, blood, and sliced up wrists. She'd been beaten and then tried to kill herself. The police, surprisingly, rescued her and didn't force her to go back home to the father that had beat her. She'd been farmed out to an uncle as a child; not even she knows why. However, her uncle and cousin died in the war. A few years later her aunt passed away as well, thus forcing her to go back to the family that didn't want her. For five years she lived with them, struggling to survive, until that day in the hospital. She was taken to a woman's shelter and remained there for 8 months. Never returning home. She has nowhere to go, wasn't able to finish high school (therefore not being able to attend college or get a job), and her father and brothers said they'd kill her if they found her.

Her name means 'Day's Near' in English. She's reached her early thirties, well past the normal marrying age, and yet she's still single. A BIG no no in this culture. If you pass mid-twenties still single, it is pretty much impossible to marry. While there are still guys that aren't married in that age bracket, it is nearly 100% of the time true that they'll find a younger woman and marry her. So, you live with your family, serving them, for your entire life. Desperation sets in, and you want out...whatever the cost. 'Day's Near' found a man online who promised her a better life. She married him after a few months, without telling any of her friends or church members. If she gets a visa she will set off for the West for a life of loneliness and sorrow. She's married a man older than her whose profession is trucking. He has no "home", no family, no place to settle down. So, this innocent, village girl, that'd never been away from her parents will go far, far away, out into the unknown. She thinks this will be better...

You want a job? Try to crack into these women's lives. Try to offer them hope, life, and salvation. Many times the response given is disbelief and laughter. The women here are rough. They've lived through a war. They've lost husbands, sons, brothers, fathers, uncles, nephews, grandfathers, and grandsons all in a single day. They don't have microwaves, store bought food, dryers, computers, or any other modern conveniences. They can still remember the first time they saw a car, a television, or even electricity. They have one thing on their mind: survival. The cost doesn't matter to them- they will fight and they will make it...

There's a story that a friend of mine tells about a program to help a village full of widows right after the war finished. They did some micro loans and set up a plan to purchase a cow for each widow in this village. The plan was for the widows to produce products to sell in the market and eventually pay off the loan. Well, the women got to talking, as women do, and the entire village decided to rebel against paying off their loan. Not a single one of them paid a penny towards their cow!

While that story makes me chuckle, it really touches the heart of the women here. It is back-stabbing, gossiping, betrayal...whatever it takes to get ahead, survive, or maybe even win. It's frustrating, because it happens and happens a lot- even to us that have helped and given so much of our time, resources, and love. It hurts and hurts deeply. I've cried many tears and sat with many other women as they cried their tears.

I feel like all my blogs lately are reaching the same conclusions...I present a problem and then leave it hanging. The reality is that that is just where I'm at. I've been given the blessing of living here long enough to see problems and pains. But I've also been given another blessing, one that I didn't possess when I first arrived: that of not having any answers. You may think I mean humility, but the reality of that one is that I still know my sinful heart! Most people arrive into a culture, full of zeal to fix all the problems they encounter- well, us Westerns do anyway. But right now I'm just at a place of observing. I'm not asking you to fix or provide answers, either. I just want to build awareness. If that bothers you- I'm sorry, but that's all I have for the time being...

First Week Home

Within a few days of my arrival back to Kosova, half of my team (part couldn't come due to a visa rejection) packed up and headed to our neighboring country, Macedonia, for a conference/retreat with all the other Balkan workers in my organization.

It was good to see my roommate and team member/friend again!


And to catch up with some other team members and enjoy each other.


And enjoy these lovely sights...




I didn't have time to go up the castle or to the old, Orthodox church nearby. 
But I heard they were beautiful!








Macedonia:
A country greatly in need of the Lord's sovereign touch!
Please pray with me for this nation.

Friday, May 13, 2011

The Weight of Sin

Many people, upon entering Kosova, describe this weight, this overwhelming heaviness that simply comes from merely entering the country. It has also been said repeatedly that Kosova is a m'ssionary graveyard. Having been here nearly three years, I've come to find both are indeed true. There's a lot of conjecture and speculation from outsiders and even more from those that call this place home (even if only temporarily). Many blame it on the religious set up here, the lack of governmental structure, the history of war and religious oppression... I'm not going to discredit any one of those things- they are very real and must be faced daily for each one of us that lives here. However, I'd like to produce an additional item as one of the highest, most oppressive issues at hand: that of sexual sin. 

The biggest way it reveals itself is seen on the streets. Each girl is devoured and stripped bare by nearly every male pair of eyes around. Being a girl myself, I've experienced this hundreds of times. The best way to express it would be that I feel like I've become some sort of weak, helpless prey upon exiting my door. An unfeeling, non-relational object that is merely here to be consumed. (On top of this persecution for merely being a woman, I also battle on a daily basis that of being a foreigner. Instead of a face, men see a dollar sign; instead of a heart, a passport.) And the funniest part of it all is that I dress super modest compared to all the other women surrounding me. I shouldn't be of interest to the men here. However, the sickness of this nation, especially in regards to the men, goes deep.

Some simple facts: Porn here is a way of life. Young boys are usually exposed to it before they even reach double digits. Normally the father introduces their sons to this; thus perpetuating the cycle. Coffee bars and sports centers have nightly showings of explicit, pornographic films. It is a community-wide event. What is done in private and filled with shame and secretiveness in the West is done with pride and openness here. And it fits. The religion in this country casts the women down. Men are taught from birth that women are around to produce babies and serve them. Small boys are given the authority to boss their mothers around, like a spoiled, bratty prince. So, why not use and abuse them as the object they are?

There are a number of brothels in my city. We've not yet found an "in" into working in those places and reaching the women there. But I've encountered some interesting situations. The man in the house I lived in for a month when I first arrived here would just disappear each night. Initially I'd ask the mother where he was. She never had a clue, and was surprised I was asking. Men go about as they please; no accountability. Perhaps even egged on deeper by the other men they spend time with. Any why not, in their religion, it matters not how many wives you have... You can always be on the look out, testing the newer, fresher waters. I can't tell you how revolting and horrific it is to walk down the street, forget where you are, smile at an older man leaning on his cane, with nary a tooth in his head...and then he turns his eyes on you and tears into your soul as he gazes at you like you're a piece of meat. The disease is vast, widespread, and absolutely paralyzing to any real growth and development that will take place here.

And one of the saddest parts of the whole thing to me is this: the women and girls are absolutely clueless! I can't rightly express my shock of finding out a dear friend of mine, that has been in the church and that sort of community for nearly a decade and a half, honestly didn't know that any of this existed. How can none of them know, you may think? I second that! They dress so lucratively to fit the part of being bait, catching they eye, ensnaring the desired attention. How can they not be aware? The reality is that they've been blinded. Blinded by a mother that dressed them up like a tramp when they were 6 years old. A mother that taught them their one aim in life was to marry, and marry well- whatever the cost. A father that turned away and said nothing as his daughter began to dress like the prostitute he'd just visited. And a whole slew of other graphic parts of this culture (and numerous others) that I won't take the time to write about. Truly they don't even know...

So, the question facing me, my colleagues, and countless others: How do you penetrate into such a society and social system with the gospel? Any surface issue addressed has no weight unless this one is hit on and hit hard. But how to touch on something so deep, so personal, so ingrained to the very nature of each person here? They play their role, whether they're aware of it or not... 

The truth of all this is that I honestly don't know. Three years here, and I'm still as clueless as the day I began. The only thing I possess of any worth is prayer. Prayer at the foot of the cross. Prayer with tears and brokenness. Prayer that goes beyond words. Prayer, simply knowing that He knows, He loves, He sees, He cares. He's at work, with grace and love, even when I can't see or feel it. And then leaving it there- with Him- and walking out my door in His strength to combat the stares, the harsh words, and taunts with love...His love.

Please join me in this battle through prayer!


Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Clothes Give Away (part 1)

Before leaving the US, I asked a number of my friends if they had any clothes they were willing to give me to be for the ladies at a shelter for abused women my team has been working with. I filled an entire suitcase full of really nice clothing- many business suits and dress clothes. I wasn't exactly sure what the Lord was going to do with all these clothes, but I felt in my heart that I should bring them. I'd been saying before I left that if I wasn't allowed 2 bags on my flight back here I'd just give the bag to my sister to give to Goodwill or something. However, as the airline worker told me it would cost me $__ to bring 2 suitcases with me, there wasn't even a hesitation at all as I grabbed my card and paid it. Later I was thinking about and remembered I wasn't going to do that, but at that precise moment God put full assurance that it was the right thing to do...And tonight I know it is so!

I can't share all the details of the young woman that is now living with me and my roommate, but her's is a sad story- one in which she isn't welcome back at home and has nowhere else to go in this world. We've been able to find her some work (part time), and are praying for her future (please join us in this). We call her Hope. She's been so excited to attend church with us and she loves to listen to Albanian Christian music all day long as she crochets hats for part of her income that my team is helping her do.

After our team meeting, that was at my house tonight, I just felt it put on my heart to bring out the large suitcase of clothes and a few shoes. The shoes were first- I only had a few pairs. I brought them all out, very skeptical that they'd fit her (I didn't know cuz European sizes are so different). Every single pair fit her feet, just like Cinderella! :-) Total God thing, because she had one pair of tennis shoes that were too small for her, and that was all. Next came the clothes- again, I was the skeptic. Many of the clothes were coming from friends that were a bit smaller than her. But again, God proved me wrong- everything she liked and tried on fit her! What a blessing for her as we're trying to help her get some interviews and be able to find a good apartment or something for herself. She had been wearing my old clothes that I'd worn for 2.5 years during my time here- not very nice and super worn.

I wish you could've seen her face when she said thank you to me! I told her it wasn't me who'd done it, it was you guys who so generously gave. What a blessing you've been for her...and she's just the first story. I still have a pretty full bag. I can't wait to see what the Lord is going to do through y'all!

THANKS!

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Oh yeah...

And a very happy May Day 
to all my European readers!

You Know You're Home When...

- The club next door rattles your house until 1am on holidays and most nights of summer.
- Washing your clothes takes 2 hours in the washing machine and a day to air dry.
- Exercise is beautifully built into every activity naturally- no need for a gym here.
- Your head always feels tired from trying to translate- spoken and written things.
- You must remove your shoes at the door.
- People are more important than activities (forgot to stop typing and greet my new roommate a bit ago and it was pretty awkward- oops!).
- Fresh fruits and veggies straight from the farmers' horse drawn carts!!
- Power cuts- enough said...
- The mosque's call to prayer 5 times a day. I have 3 next to my flat.
- An umbrella is a necessity as you're walking and it will probably rain at some point in the day.
- Shower heads are all hand held- this is a learned skill for an American!
- A cloud of smoke in most buildings cuz most men and a number of woman smoke here.
- Remembering not to pet the homeless puppies and kitties that are on the street!
- Everything is so cheap- eating can be done for just a few bucks in a nice restaurant.
- Having a scarf as a constant companion as the air remains chilled until summer time.
- You must clean your shoes daily- it is considered rude to have muddy shoes, but the roads are mostly mud...
- Living in the Rugova gorge- breath taking beauty outside my window and just a mere walk away.
- Pulling a shirt or towel out of the wardrobe can be dangerous as they often smell strongly of mold.
- If the sidewalks aren't wet from rain, they are soaked by shop owners watering them to keep the dust down- my pants' legs are pretty much never dry!
- Cows and horses just wander into the road; even on major highways.
- Being from such a different culture, even the simplest actions or creations on my part create both good and bad stirs.
- Greeting someone requires 3-4 kisses on the cheeks as you ask a serious of 5 standard questions which are followed by standard replies.
- Everyone loves your "blond" hair and hazel eyes cuz they are so different than the dark brown that they all have.
- Houses mostly have a college-sized fridge and that's more than enough room (love simplicity!).
- Dead cows and sheep hang all over town in the butchers' windows.
- And lastly (cuz my brain is shot): a people so hungry for love and change.

I love this place and am desperately praying for God to move in power and to change hearts and lives for His Name, Kingdom, and Glory!