I need to blog. I need to read. I need to journal. I sneak down to the lobby to find a quiet corner to process.
Despite my best efforts, its only minutes before I catch the attention of the ever-inquisitive, curly haired, two year old Sofia. She snuggles up to me and begins tapping all the keys on my bright pink laptop and rummaging through my purse. She finds my sunglasses and runs around with them, upside down on her face. No sooner than she takes off, another girl sheepishly comes up to me. She only speaks Albanian but tries her best to ask questions, pointing and making gestures. The crowd begins to grow, as it always seems to.
Heart check. I wanted to blog, to read, to journal. And God answers, “This moment is not about you. These people need Me.” In this city of 200,000, there are only 100 Christians. “Their hearts are longing for Me”, he whispers. “Will you take the time to show them?”
Change of plans. Go ahead God and use this moment. Use me whenever, wherever.
My love, in this moment, is God’s love. It’s all I have to give, so I give it freely.
I put away my laptop. I tuck away my journal. My attention is all theirs.
The group grows from two to twenty college aged girls. They gather around, excited to practice their English. Soon Albanian music is ringing through the air. Joining hands, we begin dancing around in a giant circle :: my failed attempts at traditional Albanian dance steps only brings continued waves of laughter. We all collapse on the couches with giant smiles and happy hearts.
We talk about their hopes and dreams. We invite them to church and they come. Truth is shared. Seeds are planted.
We treat them to carnival rides. Nora tells me, “I can’t stop smiling. I can’t stop laughing.” There are so many hugs :: so much laughter. Generosity and love overflow. And again, at this moment, I declare that it’s not the love and generosity of a couple “cool” Americans, but the love of the Almighty God.
Its days like this, I’m thankful for interrupted plans.
