Almost every night, several guys from the church go out for coffee at a favorite café. David has been joining them—most of them were Christians in their late teens, but now that they’re 24, 25, living real life, engaged and employed, they’ve fallen away. David feels like building relationships, friendships, is the best way he can witness to them.

However, the single girls in the church are not so close. They really don’t fellowship. So David asked Rodina and I to join the guys for coffee one night, down at the port. We all walked down together, about a 25 minute walk, went out on the pier and listened to the waves of the Adriatic as the moon shone on the water. Then we sat at an outdoor café and had tall cappuccinos with lots of whipped cream. It’s certainly interesting to be in a group that doesn’t speak your language. Most of them understand English, but only speak broken sentences. Jokes have to be explained, usually, but once in a while everyone gets it, and that is fun.

Today I had my first meal in an Albanian home. There is an American missionary couple staying in the apartment this week, and they invited me to go on a visit with them. The family has a daughter my age who works in the church’s Kindergarten. So I stretched myself and accepted. The whole family—mother, father, four daughters, two grandchildren—greeted us in the front room. Here, it’s customary to greet with a kiss on each cheek. Then, the older daughters brought out trays of warm buttermilk to drink, then peach juice, then apples and chocolate. Then constantly pressed us for refills. Ruca, the girl my age, and her next youngest sister (21), spoke the best English. The American missionaries, who are old friends with the family, but still have a significant language barrier, visited for an hour, and then we stood to leave.

But of course that wouldn’t do. We must stay to eat with them. It’s customary to make a request three times. You should refuse it the first two times, unless you really don’t want it, then refuse all three times. We really didn’t want to stay, because we hadn’t come for a meal, but there was no refusing. So we sat with the girls’ father, who spoke no English, while they prepared a meal. It was a long wait—an hour—and each minute I could feel my social skills stretching—and I wasn’t even contributing to the conversation!

Then they brought us each a plate, beautifully arranged, with tomato slices, cucumber slices, half of a hard boiled egg, calf meat, fried potato wedges, goat cheese, homemade bread, olives… it was delicious. There was also a butter/cheese made from sheep milk, but I was too full for that. Salad, too, which everyone eats from the same plate. And Ivi, a pop like Orange Crush, only peach.

Thankfully, the American missionaries have been here several years, and I could watch them to see what the proper manners were. Otherwise, I would have been at sea! Now, back in my room, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Phew! Socializing in America is hard work for introverts—socializing in a foreign country takes even more stamina!

Tomorrow is a school day—please pray that the kids will have a good attitude toward their work. They can get discouraged pretty easily, which isn’t fun. We begin each day with pledges, the Canadian anthem, a Bible story, and prayer. The prayer always includes—“help Jane and Michael to remember that they can do all things through Christ who gives them strength—and the joy of the Lord is their strength.”

Sunset over Tirana