Spring Breakers

I don't know about you, but my Facebook feed has been inundated with spring break photos!  The calendar has declared that it is now officially spring and last week we joined a lot of our friends by pushing 'pause' on our routine and got out of the house (and the village) for a change of scenery for a few days!

standing on an Ottoman-era bridge an hour and a half north of our village, Monday, the day after Easter (a national holiday here)

Last week we were treated by a visit from our fellow WGM-ers, Robyn and Joy!  Based in Nairobi, both had conferences/continuing education "in our area" that allowed them to stop by Albania on their way!  How cool is that?

Tuesday we took them up and over the mountain pass to visit Darshen where we had a little Easter program for the children after school.

We brought candy-filled plastic Easter eggs.  Reni was thrilled to have the job of hiding.

He got creative in his hiding spots -- we had a very small space in which to hide them -- it had just rained!

As you can imagine, the hunt was short, but fun!

Then "Aunt Robyn" (a pediatric nurse practitioner) got out her stethoscope and otoscope and set to work checking ears, noses, throats, eyes, hearts, and lungs!

I wish you could have heard the giggles as these kids were checked out while their classmates looked on.

Darshen has no local nurse to consult.  If anyone needs to see a nurse or doctor, they have to come up with the $2.50 for the round-trip van ride to Tirana.

Aside from a few waxy ears, everyone got a clean bill of health!  Then the ladies started coming.

Oh!  And one little one not yet in school...

Then down the mountain to see Xhesi...
A washout took out an old stone wall...

Friends from a variety of organizations pitched in to renovate a new living room and bedroom for Xhesi... She goes back to the States in August for a one-year, post-surgery check-up.

The next day we accompanied our friend Mira on her rounds.  Below is a follow-up visit for a little one recovering from a virus.

The little one in red pants was suffering from an ear infection...

Then a stop at our village clinic to give an injection to another little one...

We also had the benefit of a coaching session with Joy.  She left us with a plethora of resources to comb through for future ideas here in our village as well as Darshen.

Thank you, Robyn and Joy, for blessing us with your visit!  Thank you for letting us share a little bit of our lives in Albania with you and thank you for sharing of your gifts and expertise with our neighbors!

Easter 2016

I'm starting to come around.  I'll never be a "B", but the corners of my type-A are becoming a bit more 'rounded.'  

It used to annoy me that more planning didn't take place.  But when you start to live life here, well, then you start to see why things are the way they are.

We started planning the Easter service a month early, but it didn't seem to matter.  What we planned, and what actually transpired were quite a bit different.

I suppose the time change didn't help matters (it started more than 30 minutes late, because other than the participants, no one else was here 'on time'). 

The lead in the drama was ill and couldn't perform.

The 'potluck' consisted of 2 small plates of desserts (we 'advertised' lunch).

But in the end He came, and it all came together beautifully.  It was a happy, joyous morning together.

We brought out the Resurrection Eggs for a children's message.

How exciting to hear them call out explanations for the tokens inside each egg which told the Easter story.  They are getting it!

Then to hear the reason for our need of Easter as told by two puppet friends.  I loved the adults' smiles during these messages aimed at the children. I don't know who enjoyed those bits more!

I want to take a moment and give a special thanks to our friends at Media Shout church presentation software.  They generously gifted us with a copy of their software program that allows Nathan to seamlessly integrate graphics, videos, audio files (we occasionally play dramatized readings of Scripture in lieu of live reading), and the like  (which is especially helpful when plans get changed on the fly).

Genti shared a wonderful message about Christ's resurrection.  He shared that Christ chose to give the news of his resurrection not to the big burly Roman guards at the tomb but to two women.  Given that our church is primarily women and children, it touched me that Genti chose to point out this fact and affirm that women are special to the heart of God.

We were so touched that one of Reni's teachers (the one who always picks him up from the car each morning) took us up on our invitation to attend Easter service.

Following the service we had plates of ham and cheese sandwiches, crackers, cake and soda.  And the weather was so nice, a pick-up game of volleyball ensued!

Two Easters?

Albania is a land of contrasts. It’s a country where a majority self-identify as Muslim, but whose national hero was a Christian. Official national holidays in Albania include Eid al-Fitr (End of Ramada), Eid al-Adha (Feast of Sacrifice), Mother Teresa Day, Christmas, and TWO Easters!

In fact, to the best of my knowledge, Albania is the only country in the world to recognize both the Catholic and Orthodox dates for Easter as national holidays! 

“The Great Schism” in 1054AD divided the Catholic West from the Orthodox East. For most countries, the division was clear, but Albania was caught in the middle. At various times through the centuries Albania oscillated between Catholic and Orthodox rule. Interestingly, some Albanian church murals dated in the 1600's depict joint Catholic-Orthodox communion services.  Neither church had a complete foothold when the Ottoman Empire took control of the region, so Islam was able to take root much more fully here than in the surrounding countries that were also under Ottoman control. 

   

Until 1582, both Catholic and Orthodox churches celebrated Easter on the same day, but Pope Gregory VIII modified the Julian calendar in 1582 to try to re-align Easter closer to Jewish Passover and to account for the discrepancy between the astronomical calendar and the Julian calendar, by adding ‘leap year’.

While most of Europe gradually followed suit, many predominately Orthodox countries shunned anything considered Catholic, and chose to keep the original system.  Even after Russia and Greece officially began to use the Gregorian Calendar (less than 100 years ago), Orthodox churches continued to celebrate Easter according to the traditional Julian dates.  Protestant churches tend to celebrate Easter on the official date recognized by their countries of residence.  

Here in Albania most Evangelical churches are church plants from the United States and Western Europe, so we typically celebrate on ‘Catholic Easter,’ but we enjoy the chance to wish a “Gezuar Pasket!” to our neighbors on ‘Orthodox Easter’ as well!  This year the dates fall 5 weeks apart, but in 2017 they will be on the same weekend.

If you ask me, a story this big deserves two holidays!

Joining the Club

For thirteen years Nathan and I worked in student ministry for World Gospel Mission at Asbury University.  We were missions mobilizers (a fancy, non-threatening word for 'recruiters'), counselors, event coordinators, disciplers, and more... including the role of big brother/sister (and eventually 'uncle or aunt') to a host of missionary kids who came to college straight from the mission field.

That role was natural for Nathan, having spent a few years himself as a child in Africa.  It was a point of pride that he was included in this 'club.'  For me, it was a bit more stretching.

It didn't take a genius to see that these kids were attracted to each other like metal filings to a magnet.  It was a relationship I couldn't explain.  It didn't matter if they attended the same boarding school or if they grew up on different continents on opposite hemispheres... they clicked with each other in a way unlike almost any other subset on campus and they spent a LOT of time together.

I think until recently I attributed it solely to the shared experience of living in (what was to them) a foreign country, without a set of parents who could just drop in for parents' weekend. Add to that they also may not have gone to prom or taken driver's ed, or held a job before.  They liked different kinds of sports like futbol and rugby and cooked funny smelling foods in our student center's kitchen.

But now, as I watch my own children grow up as MKs, I have a new level of understanding of that tight-knit group of missionary kids at Asbury. I hear Ellie frequently list all of her friends that she has in America, as if needing the reminder that she has friends.  I hear the hurt and disappointment in Reni's voice when realizes that his best American buddies in Tirana (of whom he has two) will not be in Albania this summer for his birthday and it dawns on me that those missionary kids at Asbury are "Ellie and Reni" in 10-12 years. They are kids who didn't fully belong in the country where their family lived, who had only a handful of friends with whom they could speak and relate to fully.  They were now living on a small residential campus and had four years to make up for lost time.  Time when they didn't have friends with whom they could watch rugby matches, share birthday celebrations, pool parties or have sleepovers,

For our Ellie, having friends has been a bit of a challenge, even in America.  You can imagine our delight when we met another family from the States, living in Albania whose daughter just clicked with Ellie.  Just a few weeks apart in age, and sharing the common experience of adoption, they could play contentedly for hours.  Unfortunately, after our move to the village, we lived nearly two hours away from them.  Throw in my inability to drive here, busy schedules, a summer furlough, and well, just life, and visits were few and far between. Then last fall they announced they would be moving back to the States and my heart sunk.  Ellie's one girl friend would be leaving.

Last month I sent a note to see if we could arrange a last sleepover (it would actually only be their second).  Thankfully we found a night that would work and all was set.

I packed a bag with microwave popcorn, movies, a craft project, markers and paper, and special Fruit Loops cereal, Oh, and a bottle of melatonin, just in case. (As the chaperone I may have also thrown in a few treats for mom too.)  It was going to be a fun night for both girls to remember.

We had met for dinner already so we were well into the night when we settled into the apartment.  I let the girls choose a movie and snuggle up with blankets and popcorn.  Ellie's friend kept telling me, "This feels like paradise!"

I thought to myself, How nice that a sleepover can still be simple!

Thankfully the melatonin was not needed.  There was no drama and everyone was in bed by 10:30, happy to get to watch not one, but TWO movies.

Thanks, Jillian, for hanging out with Ellie!  She won't ever forget you!

Out For The Count

Reni -- I don't know how old you will be when you find this blog and read the posts on your own.  Please don't be embarrassed.  We've all been sick.  And most of us don't look nearly this cute when we're under the weather. -- Mom

Thursday morning, just before 5AM, Nathan and I were awoken by the sounds of Reni crying.  We came in his room where he was sitting up in bed clutching his head.  We asked him if he fell out of bed, but he said no, then vomited all over his blanket in his lap.  We cleaned him up, tried to give him some children's fever reducer (which he couldn't keep down), and his head was back on his pillow before you could say 'snap.'

Not much later we were all up and at 'em at our regular time, but moved about the apartment more quietly so he could rest.  Eight o'clock came and went.  Then nine o'clock came and still no sign of our boy.  Highly unusual!  I went in and checked on him.  He had moved around his bed and started when I tried to cover him up with his blanket.  His speech made no sense, but he indicated he wanted out of bed.

We moved him to the couch (he didn't want to be alone) and he was sick again and just as quickly back out like a light.

Our evening plans had been to meet up in Tirana with a missionary family from another city in the country and take their 10-year-old daughter for a sleepover with Ellie so the girls could say 'goodbye' before this family re-located back to the States.  It was clear that even the car ride into Tirana would be too much for our sick boy, so Pam volunteered to stay with him so Nathan could run Ellie and I in to the city and hold the sleepover at the apartment and keep the germs away from the girls.

Ellie had a great time -- but I will post those pics another time.  The next day Nathan sent me this pic of Reni.  He was asking for food, but still unable to keep his eyes open, much less eat.

Doesn't he look pitiful?  It was almost more than I could take, 40 minutes away and unable to drive us back to the village without a vehicle.

Ellie and I came back to the village with Mandi and Arjan for Friday night church.  Reni seemed a bit stronger and even nodded that he wanted to play with the Kindle when I asked.

This seemed a bit more normal and encouraging so I snapped a photo.  But it lasted less than a few minutes and he was out like a light again.  I had bought some electrolyte powdered drink mixes in Tirana at the pharmacy but he refused to take them, even with a bendy straw. ;-)  He proceeded to sleep through Friday night/Saturday morning.

Saturday morning I was sleeping up in our family room loft on the couch when I heard the unmistakable sounds of Reni climbing the stairs (he had taken my spot in bed next to Nathan the night of the sleepover and you can bet I wasn't going to sleep there until those sheets had been changed, ha ha).  Finally, a sign that he might have turned the corner!

His appetite returned Saturday, but in spite of laying low Saturday and Sunday, we found him on the chair fast asleep after an early-evening Sunday Skype call to my parents.

This morning he didn't have school with it being a holiday, but Ellie did.  He dressed up in his spy gear to be on the look out for Ellie's teacher, Ms. Pam.

After Ellie's school (during which Reni joined us for a grocery shopping trip and some study time at the coffee shop), we took Ms. Pam out for lunch in honor of Teacher's Day (a week late) and finished it off with dessert in honor of Summer's Day (even though it's not feeling too summer-ish today in Shqiperi).

Ironically, this afternoon we were supposed to be picking up our pastoral couple from WGM, Frank and Sharon Martin, for their first visit to Albania. Yesterday we got an e-mail from Frank stating that he had been hit hard with the stomach flu.  If it was anything like Reni's illness, I knew that wasn't good.  He asked if they could try to change their tickets and postpone their arrival.  Of course we said, 'yes.'  

Sadly, with it being spring break in much of the States, they were unable to find seats on any subsequent flights and had to cancel their trip to see us (as well as other missionaries in Europe) altogether!  I had been so worried about the rest of our family falling prey to sickness during the days we were to host our guests -- or worse yet, getting them sick -- it had never crossed my mind that they could get sick before they even came! 

Reni, so glad you are better!  Frank, get well soon!!!

Women's Day 2016

You may have seen that Tuesday was International Women's Day!  It's a really big deal here in Albania so we try to do something special for the ladies of our village (and many asked me again how we celebrate in America).  This year Shpresa organized two vans to take a group of us to a hotel on the sea in Durres for pizza.

You know how nice it is just to have a change of scenery.  Even for pizza some of the women got all dolled up with their hair done, pulling out the heels and pantyhose (I was not one of them, ahem).

The restaurant which hosted us was on the top of a 7-story building.  Funny how weird it felt to be up so high!  The glass elevator to the top was an event in and of itself!

Of course it's not a party without dancing, even if it means asking the servers to turn up the volume and move a few tables to make room for us.

Of course, the view was also a treat!

Lots of mothers and daughters!

And sister in the Lord!

Of course, my alternate title is glamour photographer, didn't you know?  Which I don't mind because it means I don't have to worry about twisting an ankle on the dance floor.

But seriously, it's a lot of fun...

And one last pic just to prove I was there.

Special thanks to all the Dads and men who held down the fort for a few hours!

Muddy Shoes

Cultures judge people differently.

In the States one might be judged by the car they drive, the number of ports in their garage, the zip code on their address, the university graduated, or the letters behind one's name.

In Albania, you are judged by your shoes -- not necessarily by the label (though to be sure, that may be important), but by their care.  Are they good quality?  Are they maintained?  Are they clean?  It's common knowledge that if there are any doubts to whether a stranger is foreign or local, it can be resolved by a glance at the shoes.

Mud on your shoes means your street is not paved or you do not have sidewalks.  If your street is not paved or you do not have sidewalks, you must not live anywhere important.  You probably live in a village (gasp!)!  And if you live in a village, well, likely your family has little to no money and your education is not too different.

A picture of muddy shoes.  That's all I have as a pictorial documentation of Saturday.  

Saturday we woke to a call at 6:19AM announcing that a friend's grandmother had passed away in the night.  The funeral would be at 1:00 that afternoon.  Plans for the afternoon were rearranged and we selected appropriate clothes for the upcoming event.

It was not unexpected.  We had paid a last visit to her bedside on Thursday.  She had been in a coma for about 72 hours and family were already starting to gather, prepared that each breath might be her last. Later that day they came to borrow the center's stools for the hordes of expected visitors following her death.

Thankfully the rain held off, but it had rained all week leading up to the weekend. The trail up to her home was a muddy mess.  In spite of carefully stepping on the strategically placed stones and bricks, passing fellow visitors walking the opposite direction meant stepping aside into the soft verge.  

Panting with legs starting to burn, I took a break to catch my breath and couldn't help but wonder how long she had been held up in her hilltop home, isolated by arthritic knees and out of reach of vehicles.  There was a reason her family kept a donkey.

Here is a previously published photo of the last stretch of trail up to the home.  I think the angle of Nathan's arms pushing Reni's stroller somewhat conveys the angle

There are moments when I long to use my camera -- not to document an event for my own memory as much as to share it with others who have never experienced such a thing.  I think funerals are one of those events that are so extraordinarily different that words alone cannot describe them fully -- yet for reasons I don't need to explain, are grossly inappropriate for me to film.  

Nathan walked in one room with the men, I the other with the women.  It was already full and one woman rose to give me a seat in front of the cloth-draped coffin.  I sat down and nodded at the relatives I knew. It was too tight to walk around and give them any hugs or kisses.  

The next door neighbor seated to my left started a mournful tune, almost a chant in its repetition.  I can only liken it to something I've heard from Native American culture.  After several minutes someone else took over and for a while it was joined by cries and wails of sorrow.

I could sense more guests arriving behind me so I stepped out of the room to free up a seat and claimed a chair in the hall way with a view out the front door and gate to the hills beyond, each layer in sharp focus to the layer beyond.  It was surreal to see the earth's signs of new life -- white blossoms on trees -- while inside another life had reached its end and all the living were shrouded in black.  

Though the door was open, the air was full of tobacco smoke and buzzing with soft, low small talk amongst the guests.  Granddaughters and granddaughters-in-law walked in and out with trays of coffee and raki for the men.  Everyone was waiting for the arrival of the hearse at the road's end to take her body on its last journey.

But with children at home, I had to keep my visit brief.

It was interesting to witness a slight change in tradition this time.  This was our fourth village funeral in 10 months and the first in which a female who was not a child or spouse followed the men all the way to the cemetery.  Granddaughters and granddaughters-in-law fell in step behind the men, carrying flowers bearing their names.  I viewed the processional from my second-story living room window.  Nathan shared about the rest with me when he returned.

In America, the funeral flowers bear the name of the deceased as he was known by those left behind:  "Dad,"  "Grandfather", "Great-grandfather."  Here, the flowers bear the names from whom the flowers were given -- as if the spirit of the deceased were to return and want to know from whom they had been given. 

Everyone present touched the coffin one last time before it was lowered into the ground, then the family walked wearily to a nearby restaurant to take part in a meal.

March 2014

The next day we would make the trek up the hill yet again for the customary coffee.  The fatigue on the faces of our hosts was evident. I cannot imagine my house serving as nursing home, then hospital, then funeral home, reception space and hotel, as friends and relatives far and wide come home.   

We were served a cup of Turkish coffee and a cookie.  At the conclusion of our drink we would slip a cash gift under our saucer or cup and it would be taken back to the kitchen and recorded in a notebook.  In a world without life insurance, these formalities serve a practical purpose as well.

____________

My shoes have been cleaned. The stools have been returned to the center.  Life in the village will resume after this brief pause. 

A Tribute to Grandpa

NOTE: This is a week or so later getting up on the blog than I planned.  And really, I'm only posting it for my own sake.  This blog is sort of my digital journal, a filing cabinet of records, a scrapbook of memories... so I'm posting the tribute I shared at my grandfather's memorial service two weeks ago today before I misplace it  (photos added later).

On behalf of the Whiteford family, we want to thank you for coming this morning.  Your presence is a great source of love and encouragement to us. My name is Cydil vanOrman Waggoner.  I am Lawrence and Marguerite's eldest grandchild...

About a month ago, I decided to solve the dilemma of filling the empty space on the wall over my bed by enlarging a photograph I took a few years ago.  It's a silhouette of three, strong mature trees, symmetrically placed in the frame -- left, center, right.   While I appreciate its graphic qualities, that's not why I chose to enlarge it.

It was actually taken on the family farm one foggy autumn morning.  It's Grandpa and Grandma's front yard.  Through the mist you can see the faint outline of the mailbox before the fields beyond disappear. 

Living far from home these days, I appreciate this virtual window to my roots.  Out my actual window on the opposite wall I can see red tiled roofs and fig trees... and a billboard for an international cell phone carrier.  

If I look I at this image though, I feel like I'm looking out the window of a more familiar home.  I look at this image and memories of Whiteford-Rewalt reunion picnics under these trees flood my mind.  I expect a pick-up truck to roll by and I remember the feel of walking on this feathery grass with the occasional bumpy mole tunnel under my feet. 

Home -- that's what Grandpa (and Grandma) represent to me.  Coming into their presence was to be known and welcomed by someone who loved you -- the feeling you get when coming home.  And I still get that feeling every time I pull into the driveway of the farm.  Though they haven't lived there for more than a decade, the house and buildings remain a part of our family life and Grandpa's presence is so indelibly linked to every inch that you half expect to see him step out of the shed in his customary overalls and seed corn hat.  It's one of the few places in my life that hasn't changed, where our presence is welcome, where we are not trespassers, where the memories spring up like the seed corn and soy beans that grow around it.

I grew up just a couple of miles from Grandpa and Grandma's, so their home was almost as familiar as my own. The central station of farm operations, we ate many a meal around their kitchen table.  It was a great place to ride our bikes, to take water breaks from walking beans or mowing the cemetery, or to meet up with teams of de-tasselers.  More significantly it was the site of many a family gathering, of dying easter eggs, opening Christmas gifts, and enjoying summer reunion picnics. 

Grandpa taught us how to shuck an ear of sweet corn and how to pray in King James English.  He schooled us on the histories and genealogies of our family and the connections to all the families around 'the neighborhood.'

But he also taught us about living a life of contentment and gratitude.  It was no secret that his early life had its share of hard times.  But for Grandpa, it was more important to be holy than happy -- not in the legalistic sense -- but that he knew there were more important things to be pursued than in acquiring possessions or aspiring to the world's approval.

Simplicity, hard work, fairness, honesty, generosity, and devotion to family and God were the pillars of his life. These principles governed his decisions and defined his character as he sought to follow the Lord.  Grandpa rarely expressed worry, just an abiding trust in God's faithfulness and provision.  These are the gifts he has given us through the example of his life that are far more valuable than any material goods. 

When I think of that young man, growing up through the Depression on a small sandy farm in central Illinois, caring for his younger sister by assuming the responsibilities of the farm after they were orphaned as teenagers.... He probably could never have imagined how his family would multiply one day -- a legacy that literally extends around the globe.

Now his time on earth is done and we get to celebrate that he has reached his eternal home.  I know his prayer would be that every single person in this room can join him there. I say this not only because of his love for you, but several years ago I actually got to visit the place where he and Grandma, someday, will be buried.  Much to my surprise, the tombstone had already been purchased and inscribed, short of the last dates. 

Included on their stone he had chosen to inscribe as his 'last words', you might say --the words of Jesus, as permanent, public testimony pointing all to heaven ... "I am the resurrection and the life, he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live..."