Love & Hospitality

Chapel is always a place where I end up doing a lot of thinking. The same is true of church. Maybe that's a bad thing. Maybe I should be doing more listening and less thinking. But so often, the person that I'm listening to says something that sparks my thought process. Today's chapel service was no exception.

The leader was talking about a trip he went on (I forgot where. Mexico? Costa Rica? Something like that. I know it was somewhere around Central America.) and a lady he met named Rosa. He didn't speak Rosa's language and Rosa didn't speak his. But after he'd hiked 2 hours up the side of a volcano to the little village where Rosa lived, she invited he and his family into her home and offered them some ground corn meal and sugar water. She used handful of English words that she knew, she gestured, pointed, and smiled. She hugged and waved and laughed. And then, when it was time leave,  Rosa sent them off with handfuls of avocados and red beans. By the standards we are used to in America, this doesn't seem like much. A hike to a village? Only being offered a glorified water drink? Being sent home with vegetables? Little verbal communication? Most of us would be thinking, "Um....awkward...."

But I could relate fully. I got to thinking... I may not have hiked to people's homes when I was in Tirana, but some days it did feel like an urban hike, hoofing it will my full backpack through the heat and humidity or through the damp, shiver-inducing rain, to get to the other side of the city to make sure I made it to some one's house on time because I'd accepted the invitation into their home. I knew little of their language and they knew little of mine. There was much gesturing, waving, pointing, and nodding. There was always, without fail, excessive cheek kissing. :) I miss that greeting. Laughter was always abundant and the smiles were the kind come so frequently and last so long that by the end of the visit my cheeks hurt.

I remember being sent home with petulla from Mrs. Huna. I remember Kesi and Klea's family send us home with homemade plum jam. (It was gone in a hurry! hee hee!) I remember leaving other homes and being sent away with cookies, candy, nylons (for real), pictures, cards, etc. Whatever people had, they wanted to give. They showed their love, not by words, but by their actions, through their hospitality. The joy on their faces is burned into my mind. People in Albania were always to quick to share and give much of the modest little they had. Though so different from what I was and am again used to, I can scarcely remember other situations that made me feel to welcome, so loved, to cared for.

Christian love is an amazing thing. It doesn't take words to communicate. It doesn't even take big actions to communicate. It takes a willing and generous heart. Sometimes these big lessons are shown in small ways.

Te dua shume, Shqiperia!