Last Wednesday my team and I stepped off a bus and into the heart of Tirana, the capital of Albania. The juxtaposition here between the quiet farm in the country and the hustle and bustle of Tirana is evident. Having grown up in the suburbs of Florida, neither of the two extremes were familiar to me, so both have been endlessly interesting.
Our host, Erion, graciously gave us the first few days of our stay to explore the city. The part of town around our apartment is a maze of cafes, shops, markets, and apartment complexes. The church we are working with is hidden in one of the back corners of the maze and I’ve still yet to find it without getting lost.
If you pay 40 lëk for a bus ticket (about 30 cents) you can ride into the center of Tirana. This has become my team and I’s favorite place to explore. There is a restaurant in Steven’s Center that is run by Christian missionaries from America, best blueberry pancakes in all of Albania. But nothing has beat the 800 leke I paid for a 15-minute cable car ride up to the top of Dajti Mountain.
The Dajti express will take you right to the top of the formidable rock face that is visible from almost every point in Tirana. Once you step off the cable car you have three options; explore the national park at the top and risk getting lost because you don’t speak the language and can’t read the signs, target practice with a large gun and a few soda cans (no waiver required), or ride a horse in the same field where they’re shooting the guns (also a waiver-less activity). My team opted out of the two latter and explored the park for a while before retreating to a rotating restaurant offering a 360º view of the city below.
From well over 1,500 meters high, Tirana seemed like a toy city. Buildings could fit in the palm of my hand and cars were barely visible, smaller than ants from my perspective. The view as stunning as it was, made my stomach sink. I’m just one girl. One. Nothing compared to the number of people in Tirana, much less all of Albania; and my team, only seven, my squad a mere 50. How are we supposed to incite change against such unfair odds?
This question followed me to bed, but didn’t wake up with me in the morning. I realized that God didn’t call me here to spread the Gospel from a mountain top perspective, my voice isn’t loud enough and my reach isn’t wide enough, He’s known that and now I know too. He just needs me to work from my eyelevel. He’s the one with the big picture, He’s holding so much more than just Tirana in His hands; He is embracing the entire world.
So my tune has changed from a yell off a mountaintop that only gets swept away by the wind, to a simple conversation with the person in front of me and a prayer that it opens doors for me to share what I believe with them. The painter in the city center, the nice girl working at the market, the woman selling corn at the roundabout… I’m focused now on what I can see in front of me, from a five foot seven and three quarters perspective, no more, no less.
