It's hard to explain... (by Rachael)

I can’t explain it.  Well, I will try.  There is something in my blood that belongs to this land.  I look across the country side and see the rolling hills covered in a quilt-like patchwork of crops (the snow has melted a lot, so the crop-land is much more visible now than these pictures show), the snowy mountains in the far distance, the clusters of brick homes representing villages, the ugly gas stations strategically scattered along the somewhat finished roads, the garbage-littered fields, the little “mom and pop” type stores all selling the same thing for the same price, people walking along the road to their destination from a nearby village, probably on their way to visit family, speedy little cars zooming around the cumbersome tractors and semi’s that crowd the road, cows leisurely crossing wherever they please; I smell the fresh crisp air spoiled by the smell of burning diesel and burning trash – and something inside of me is home.  My eyes rejoice to “see” this land again.  So I don’t get all sentimental, I quickly remind myself of all the things that drive me crazy about the life here: the inconsistent power, the temperamental water (which often implies that I don’t get a shower every day), the absence of toilet paper in public restrooms, the male-dominance of this culture, the men who stare and make cat-calls (I am thankful I don’t understand all of this language!), the lack of driving skills of 90% of people on the road that test my faith every time we are out, the way everyone and their brother smokes, and all of the funny little idiosyncrasies of this culture that I won’t ever be able to relate with – but none of this really matters.  I cannot deny the way my heart feels just to be in this place and culture again.  And just to be fair, there are many wonderful things I love about this relationship-oriented, family-centered culture – many things I wish we could adopt into our own very individualistic society of America. 

But this one thing is certain: a piece of my heart that died when we left Kosovo 4 ½ years ago has been given back to me again.  More than 10 years ago, God did a miracle in me.  He put Kosovo in my heart, and no matter where I go, or what I do, it will never come out and I will never be the same.  This is where we are supposed to be.  And it is good.  It is so good.

Now, my hope, my prayer, my vision – is to “be” -- to be here. To know and be known.  To simply live my life here, and trust God to use me, who I am as a wife, as a mom, as a neighbor, as a Christian woman – to be “the light on a hill that cannot be hidden.”