Global Reflections

In just under three weeks, we will celebrate Alexa’s third birthday.

In the last three years, I have watched her grow from a helpless infant—so helpless that she required a little assistance even to get enough oxygen into her lungs at first—into an active little girl. She loves running around, jumping on her bed (though only when she thinks I don’t know), going to the playground, and zooming around on her ride-on giraffe. She also loves being read books, especially Curious George books; looking at books on her own; and playing games on her Daddy’s iPad—including but not limited to the educational Curious George games that teach her phonics and all sorts of random facts about various animals.

Several times over the last few months, I’ve thought about what we need to do to encourage and develop the love of learning that Alexa, like so many other children her age, perceives as so natural. This past weekend, I finally thought about it at a time when I was with Jeff, so we could discuss it.

As I see it, we have three options: send her to preschool; continue as we have been with unstructured play at home, which often turns into me teaching Alexa informally or into Alexa playing educational iPad games or watching educational movies; or keep Alexa at home, but use a planned curriculum so that for part of the day, she “attends” preschool at home.

The most common option among Foreign Service families, and indeed among families in the United States in general so far as I can tell, is to send children of this age “out” for preschool. There definitely are benefits to this approach. For families in which both parents work outside the home, this option makes the most sense and often is the only option that even occurs to them—many daycares function as de facto preschools, as they start teaching, telling stories to, and singing with the kids well before the age of three. This option also provides the most opportunities for children to socialize with other children, and for Foreign Service families, it’s an easy way to expose children to the local language and the local culture—even if the instruction is provided in English (as it usually is for the preschools chosen by Foreign Service parents), it’s very common for most of the children to use the local language in their play. However, it’s also the most expensive option—a preschool that is used by many expatriates in Pristina has a flyer (from five years ago) which lists annual tuition and fees of over 2,400 euro, or over $3,000, which can be a strain on the budget when you’re a single-income family that is trying hard to save money for future needs (such as a house, a child’s college, retirement, replacement cars, and anticipated trips back home to the States). And for a child with high social anxiety, like Alexa, the many opportunities (or requirements) for social interaction may be more of a problem than a benefit.

The second most common option (I’m guessing, but I think I’m right) is to keep the child at home and allow things to continue as they have been until the child is old enough for “real” school. This option is the most budget-friendly and easiest for families in which one parent stays home full-time. And it’s really all that’s needed in regard to school preparation for most children who do not live in poverty and who have loving, attentive parents. Just by doing what we’ve been doing, with no concerted effort at education, Alexa has learned her numbers to 20 (though she often skips a number or two, most often “16” lately), most of her letters, and a lot of her shapes and colors (though she tends to confuse “black” and “brown”), as well as miscellaneous things like left or right and top or bottom. She also navigates the menus on her Daddy’s iPad at least as well as I do and knows how to play the games on there much better than I do. I’d say she’s pretty well prepared, in a purely academic or intellectual sense, if we wanted to start her into kindergarten next year. But there’s more to education than these facts that she’s picked up; although we’re doing well at preparing Alexa at home in an academic sense, we are not doing as well in other areas. I’ve not done a good job in teaching Alexa Bible stories, and we don’t have age-segregated Sunday school to help me. Alexa has not held a pair of scissors, a glue stick, or a bottle of liquid glue. Her experience with pens, pencils, and even crayons is a bit limited—she still wants me to “help” her draw rather than doing it herself, and her ability to draw a straight line, much less trace a letter, is suspect. And these are only the things I realize she hasn’t learned. I don’t want her to miss out on things she could and should learn because I don’t naturally do things with her that would teach her that information or those skills. Also, as Jeff pointed out, we never want to give Alexa the impression that she’s learned enough for her age or developmental level, that she can stop learning until she hits a new milestone, at which point she’s expected to learn more. But to constantly teach her age-appropriate skills and information … to never be at a loss for what to teach her next … to have to remember all on my own all those songs and stories and skills that children her age seem to pick up in preschool … well. It feels a bit overwhelming.

And that brings us to option number three, the least commonly chosen choice: the decision to homeschool a preschool curriculum. This choice is the compromise between the other two in many ways. It’s less expensive than sending a child “out” for preschool, and it can be free if you use online resources, have access to a good public library (we don’t), and are willing to put in a lot of work getting organized (I’d rather not). Opportunities and requirements for social interaction are determined by the parents much as they were before formal schoolwork started; church, playgroups, and other social activities continue to provide that. The parent continues to teach his or her own child, but there’s a plan in place—developed by the parents, or developed by someone else and chosen by the parents—to make sure the child learns what the parent believes is important. Drawbacks also are a combination of the other two choices: it can be expensive (though even the most expensive option I’ve seen costs significantly less than the international preschool here). If the parent doesn’t arrange social interactions with similarly aged children, they don’t happen. And the responsibility for educating the child still lies squarely with the parent, so it can feel a bit overwhelming. In some ways, the responsibility can feel more overwhelming, simply because there are so many choices of curriculum, so many things to consider. How many parents of preschoolers have thought through their educational philosophy? How many know the differences among various models of education? How many even feel competent to begin formally (or informally, depending on philosophy) educating their child?

As you’ve probably guessed by now, we chose option number three. It’s the option that is the most work for me, the stay-at-home parent. It’s the option that my naturally lazy self would just as soon avoid—honestly, the easiest for me would be to send her out to preschool, even with the adjustments that would be required in other areas of our budget. But that wouldn’t be best for her. Despite her acquisition of information and skills, Alexa is a young three (well, a young almost-three). She isn’t ready to be away from me all day, or even all morning. She isn’t ready to spend all morning with a group of other kids, required to interact with them, or with a stranger for a teacher and caregiver. I could make the case for why it would be good for her to force her into these social situations, but I don’t honestly believe it. I believe that forcing her to be more social than she’s ready to be would cause her more anxiety and make the problem worse in the long run. So I intend to take her to one or two playgroups a week, and take or send her to Sunday school (assuming she doesn’t fall asleep and nap during that time). And I’ll make an effort to find a friend or two near her age, or maybe a year older, with whom she can spend a little one-on-one time and maybe get comfortable. But I’m not going to force her into social situations without me being there to be her safe haven.

It also would not be best for her to continue as we have been, without any forethought or planning when it comes to her learning. She’s learned a lot this way, but that only reinforces my belief that I need to make more learning opportunities available for her. I often start to teach her something one day, then forget about it until she mentions it a day, week, or month later—even when I do realize that there’s something specific and age-appropriate that I can teach her, I’m not good at the follow-through without a plan. Her learning to this point has been almost entirely self-motivated, which is good, but a lot of it has happened because we had the appropriate tools available: an alphabet puzzle, Curious George Learns the Alphabet, several Leapfrog alphabet-oriented movies on Netflix, for example, and she enjoyed them and just learned her letters. But it’s been haphazard, and for much of what I want her to learn now, I don’t know what materials I can have in order to stimulate her interest. If I have a prepared curriculum that I can go through with her, and if she enjoys “school time” as much as I think she will, then I’ll have a guide in how to introduce and teach the lessons I want her to learn.

Combine both of those sets of reasons—her unreadiness to go “out” to school and our desire for her to have more planned learning activities—and there’s a good case for a homeschool preschool. Then add in our openness to the idea of homeschooling, which started for me before Alexa was born, and Jeff’s slowly-growing-over-the-years preference (not mere openness, but preference) for the idea of homeschooling over the idea of sending her out to school, and there you have it. This is the choice we’ve been heading toward for years. Then it was just time to pick or develop a curriculum … and that’s the subject of another blog post.

It’s been two weeks since I last published anything. That’s not a long time when you look at my posting history—I may post every day at some times, but it’s also not all that unusual for me to go a month without posting anything. I think it just feels like longer than usual to me because I actually do have several blog posts in my head—one even written down—and because of why I haven’t written or posted them.

My last post was published just a few days after the arrival of our HHE. I spent the next week in a flurry of boxes, paper, packing tape, knives … unpacking at a feverish pace, hoping to have it all done, organized, and put away before we go to the States for home leave later this summer. I made great progress that week, getting most of the house into a livable state, though most of the drawers are stuffed with items that don’t belong there, the closets are empty or have a few random items that may or may not stay there long term, the cats’ room is still an obstacle course of random objects that I swear reach out to grab my feet as I walk by, and the basement is still full of full boxes. That’s not counting the living room, which stayed full of boxes until just a few days ago, when the newly-ordered cables and connectors and other electronic components arrived so that it made sense for Jeff to take the pieces of our home entertainment system out of their protective boxes and start setting them up. (There are still a couple of boxes in there, and we’re still using the smaller TV that eventually will go into the playroom, as I think we’re still waiting on some more components to arrive before Jeff can get it fully operational … and we need the guy who keeps postponing to come install the AFN satellite dish already.) So that week was very busy, to say the least.

Saturday was busy, too, though not with unpacking. One of Jeff’s coworkers had left for R&R in the States, and unlike our other offices, this office is staffed with exactly as many people as are required to get the job done—no extras, no room for someone to leave for a while and everyone else to be a little busy but ok until the missing coworker comes back, no margin. Everyone is needed at all times. When one goes away, a temporary replacement (known as a TDYer, or "Temporary Duty-er") needs to come in, or it’s complete insanity for whoever’s still there. So one had left, and one had come in. And of course, although we can’t really help that the TDYer stays in a hotel alone, without his family, and eats most dinners alone, without his family, we can at least offer him a chance to spend some time in our home and eat a home-cooked meal with our family on the weekend. (We would have welcomed him during the week, too, but he was working later, and with a little one, holding dinner is not an option.) So Saturday I made a supermarket run, tried with predictably limited success to make our “just moving in” house look a little less “just moving in,” and then cooked dinner for the first time in a week—we’d been ordering all week so that I didn’t have to reserve any of my time or energy for cooking, as Jeff had been unable to take time off work to help with the unpacking, and we both wanted all my efforts there.

Sunday the bottom fell out from under me. I’d been fighting off some minor cold symptoms all week—“I do NOT have time to be sick; you’ll just have to get over it,” I told my body—and my body decided it was time to show me who was boss. Overnight, my minor cold became a not-major-but-I-need-to-rest cold. One more night and there were silent tears streaming down my face as I sat in a chair, contemplating the energy required to get up and walk across the room to the table where Alexa was eating breakfast and considering how I was going to find the energy to care for her while Jeff went in to the office—no margin there means no ability to just call in and say that he’s staying home today to care for his daughter and his sick wife. There were a few things he absolutely had to get done that day, and he promised to come home as early as he could.

Monday morning was spent on the couch, trying to stay awake while I allowed Alexa to simultaneously watch Netflix cartoons on the TV and play Curious George, Mickey Mouse, Angry Birds, Singing Monsters, or any other game she wanted on Daddy’s iPad. Jeff came home around noon, and I stumbled my way through Alexa’s naptime routine, then stumbled up the stairs to my own bed, leaving the afternoon’s contingent of plumbers (who needed to fix leaky pipes and a disconnected dryer vent) for Jeff to handle. On Tuesday and Wednesday, Jeff stayed home in the mornings to let me sleep—the best medicine ever invented for what by then was a raging chest cold—then went to work after I’d woken up and showered, usually just in time for me to put Alexa down for a nap and then expend what little energy I had unpacking a box or two, doing a load of laundry, and finally collapsing in front of the computer for a daily email/Facebook/blog check. Thursday was harder, as Jeff had to spend the whole day in the office and theoretically I was recovered enough to get up early. By Friday I was feeling much better, though I still tired easily and I still cough as if I have the plague.

Unfortunately, on Thursday, I started noticing symptoms in Alexa. It wasn’t too major at that point, but she was more tired and fussy than usual, she sounded congested, and her nose required wiping much more often than usual. When her nap was interrupted repeatedly by coughing, I got concerned about our lack of children’s medicine—we gave away what we had before we left Cambodia, as the expiration dates had passed or would pass soon; we intended to restock our supplies during home leave, and since Alexa had never required anything more than an acetaminophen, we felt pretty safe being supply-less for a couple of months … but on Thursday, I started missing those supplies. I contacted Jeff, and Jeff contacted the health unit in hopes of getting recommendations for locally available medicines that are safe and effective (medications overseas can be hit or miss). They did us one better, telling us to bring Alexa in so they could check her out, and then they’d give us what was necessary.

Accordingly, Alexa and I took a trip to the embassy late Thursday afternoon. Our practitioner checked Alexa’s ears and lungs (all clear), weighed her so that we could get accurate dosing information, and provided me with full-size bottles of children’s Claritin, a children’s decongestant, and a generic form of children’s Benadryl, with strict instructions to use the latter only if it got really bad. For good measure, she also gave us some fluoride tablets for Alexa and an expectorant for me … I think she wanted to listen to my lungs and check me out, too, after hearing my cough, but since I told her that I was recovering, she contented herself with giving me the meds.

Since then, things have just kind of drifted along. I’ve been doing what housework I feel capable of doing—meaning I cleaned the floors for the first time in two weeks, cleaned the bathrooms, did a little ironing, and unpacked a few boxes from the basement. Jeff has worked at work and worked at home, helping me in the basement and setting up the home entertainment system as much as he can without the remainder of the supplies—all the while trying to fight off what may be the beginnings of a bad cold of his own. Alexa definitely has a cold, which seems to be an annoyance to her during the day, when she tries to play normally, and a real problem during naptime and at night, when the congestion and coughing interrupt her sleep. We give her the antihistamine at night, as well as the fluoride she’ll be taking from here on out other than when we’re in the States, and we tried the decongestant once, but it seemed to make her hyper, so we’re trying not to give her that one again. We hosted our TDYer for ordered pizza and a movie Friday, and we made a trip to Camp Bondsteel to restock our frozen meat supplies on Saturday. Yesterday we just stayed home—we decided against spreading our germs at church.

This weekend I asked Jeff about his thoughts regarding preschool for Alexa; after all, she’ll turn three soon, and if we’re going to do preschool, it’s time to be thinking about it. We made a couple of decisions about that, which I’ll share in a separate blog post. I did write another blog post, on one of those afternoons when I was too tired to work but not too tired to type. I haven’t published it yet because I’m not completely sure about it … I’m not sure I’m happy with it, and even if I decide that I am, it touches on some issues that we may choose not to share on the blog. Nothing really personal—I think I’ve been more vulnerable and open here in that regard than we ever expected, but we’re ok with that—but more that the whole post is based on a comment made by someone else, and we aren’t sure if sharing that comment publicly could cause problems for that person or her family, and we can’t just ask her for reasons that I can’t get into. Jeff and I both are still thinking the whole issue through … and although I want to share the post, or rewrite until I’m happy with it and then share it, I have a feeling we may choose not to. I do have several other posts in my head, though, that I had hoped to share before we go on home leave. I’m beginning to doubt that I’ll write them in time, though, just as my dream of returning from home leave to a completely unpacked, organized, pictures-on-the-walls house is fading away.

So, we’re still here. Trying to get unpacked and settled. Fighting off, fighting through, or recovering from illnesses that are minor in the grand scheme of things but that feel like a pretty big deal at the time. Contemplating the sorry state of the house after two weeks of minimal to no cleaning, and trying to get up the energy to do something about that. Preparing for home leave, and for Alexa’s birthday celebration at the start of it, and for our Consumables packout at the end of it. Making and beginning to implement decisions about Alexa’s earliest formal education. Hoping to get blog posts written before they fade away into the shadows of missed opportunity.

I think I may get another post or two up before we go on home leave. Not everything I want to get written, but some of it. And you shouldn’t expect to see any new posts for several weeks once we go back to the States. But, when the posts stop, just be assured, we’re still here … other than the time when we’ll be in the U. S. But we’ll be back, and I’ll be back posting again.

But bring your own chairs … and steak knives … and look out for the birds. Really. I’m not kidding.

On Memorial Day, Jeff and I hosted guests in our home for the first time since we’ve been here. We had not received our HHE yet, so we had only basic home items, but Jeff has a new grill, he wanted to try it out, we wanted to have our sponsors over, it was Memorial Day, and we knew that after that weekend, we wouldn’t be hosting anyone else until August. (Our HHE was delivered later in the week, and we are busy unpacking it, trying to get it done before we take our home leave in the United States this summer.) We figured that we have the necessities: a grill, grill utensils, a few Pyrex dishes, and some beer; we’d buy the rest of what we need—plastic plates, utensils, and cups. It shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Yeah …

It started out easily enough. Jeff put the frozen ribs down to thaw and found a recipe online for grilling them. I made a list of the ingredients I needed for the macaroni and cheese and the brownie pudding cake I was making for dessert.

Then I realized that we have seating for four on our patio, and we were inviting four people over, in addition to the three who live here. No problem. Jeff sent a text message notifying our guests that our outdoor seating options are limited, and it would be appreciated if they could be lawn chairs.

Then I got overconfident. I didn’t want to go to the supermarket on Sunday afternoon, when it was sure to be crowded. I wanted to wait until Monday morning. I’d have plenty of time if I got up at a reasonable hour and got moving instead of being lazy.

Then we had a later night than expected on Sunday. And then Jeff got a phone call around midnight and had to go in to the office for a couple of hours to fix some problem with the computers. So it really would have been unreasonable of me to expect him to get up early enough for me to make an early run to the supermarket—instead, I watched Alexa while he slept late, and then he woke himself up early enough for me to get a shower and still make it to the supermarket shortly after 10.

Then, while caring for Alexa and waiting for Jeff to wake up the morning of Memorial Day, I realized that we should have appetizers, too. It’s not really kosher to invite people over and then say that they can’t eat anything until the ribs are done, especially when you’re grilling for the first time and therefore can’t say with certainty whenthe ribs will be done. So I added chips to the shopping list.

Then I got ambitious. I looked through my recipe books and found one—and only one—recipe for an appetizer for which I thought I probably could get all the required ingredients: backyard bruschetta with feta and tomato toppings. I added the necessary ingredients to the list.

Then I realized that the only kitchen knives currently on the premises were two steak knives, a santoku, and a paring knife—we found out on the first day of our packout that Cambodia has a strange restriction on the transport of knives, so we couldn’t put any in our UAB; those few came with us in our suitcases. This shouldn’t be a problem; it’s a strange request, but our sponsors will understand and probably think it’s funny, so … send another text message notifying our guests that it would be helpful if they brought some steak knives, too.

Then, after I had pre-prepared the macaroni and cheese (I had cooked and assembled it, but was waiting for the appropriate time to put it in the oven) and the bruschetta (I had made the two topping layers but had not sliced or toasted the bread) and as I was getting ready to pre-prepare the dessert, I realized that Jeff’s grilling activities also required preparatory work … and dishes … in the kitchen … in the galley-style, sized-for-one-person kitchen where I needed to be. And he needed my two-cup measuring cup … which I also needed. So we bumped shoulders while he used the measuring cup to make the rib sauce and I did Step 1 of my 4-step dessert. Then he finished with the measuring cup and cleaned it out. We bumped shoulders some more while I did Step 2 (the step requiring the measuring cup) and he prepped the meat for the application of the sauce. We danced around each other collecting ingredients, used whatever work space we could find that wasn’t full of person, dishes, or supplies, and generally made a big mess.

Then, while we were still in the process of making the mess (in our wide-open-to-and-clearly-visible-from-the-dining-room/playroom/pathway-to-the-patio kitchen), it was time for our guests to arrive. Oops.

Luckily, they were a little late. I had time to add the dessert to my growing pile of ready-for-the-next-step food, do a quick clean up of the worst of the mess in the kitchen (it was still embarrassingly dirty), slice the bread, and put the bread in the oven to toast—there was no room for it on our small grill with the big rack of ribs that Jeff had on there.

Then the doorbell rang. I rushed downstairs to welcome our guests and ushered them upstairs into the play/dining room … and the open kitchen (where the bread had started burning in the two minutes I was downstairs). The kids and men went outside to play and grill, and we women went into the kitchen, where my guest took it all in stride and jumped in with the food preparation.

Finally the appetizers were ready and the macaroni was in the oven. I stepped outside—and realized that although our guests had been there for about half an hour at that point, we had neglected to offer them anything to drink (an unpardonable sin to this Southern girl), because I was caught up in kitchen work and Jeff was caught up in grill work. Oops. That situation rectified, I settled in to relax for a few minutes until it was time to pull the macaroni out of the oven, boil some water to pour over the dessert (Step 3), and then put the dessert in the oven (Step 4).

Finally, dessert in the oven, I could really settle in to relax with our guests.

Then the meat was ready, so we set up a buffet inside on the dining room table—there wasn’t nearly enough room on our small patio table. We all relaxed during the meal … although Jeff did have to get up every once in a while to baste the second rack of ribs (which turned out to be unneeded) and check the chicken (also unneeded).

After dinner, we relaxed on the patio for a while longer. Then I reminded everyone that we had dessert too. We ate all of one brownie pudding cake … a surprisingly easy, surprisingly good fudgy brownie on top of a layer of pudding, plus ice cream. Alexa had three servings (small ones). One of our adult guests had two—a welcome surprise, as I’d pegged her for a healthy eater (if a healthy eater eats two helpings of dessert, it must have been good!).

Later, when it got late enough that we were concerned about children undergoing the “it’s past my bedtime” transformation from sweet little people into little monsters, we were moving things back inside the house when Jeff came in carrying a plate of leftover bruschetta.

“I’m not sure, but … I think a bird just stole a piece of bruschetta.”

The perfect wacky ending to a not-so-perfect wacky, but highly enjoyable, time with friends.

We didn’t go to church for a month after we arrived here. The CLO gave us their list of English-language religious services, as we’ve come to expect at each post. But here, the list was distressingly short. It was filled with orthodox services and with chapel services at Camp Bondsteel (almost an hour away) or at Film City (a nearby KFOR/NATO base, open to some employees of the American embassy, but not to family members, so Alexa and I can’t go). There was one and only one non-orthodox, nearby, open-to-all-of-us option: Bashkësia e Popullit të Zotit, or Fellowship of the Lord’s People. According to the information from the CLO, this congregation is mostly Kosovan, and services are conducted in Albanian, with English translation. I had visions of headphones, flashes of polite smiling while utterly failing to communicate with the other attendees, and fears of just plain not fitting in. We weren’t sure exactly where this church was located, and to be honest, we didn’t expend a lot of effort to find out at first … we were too busy trying to find out if there were any primarily Engish-speaking congregations that we could visit instead. We didn’t find any.

Accordingly, this past Sunday, we piled into the car and went to church, for the first time in a month. As we entered the building, my dread premonitions seemed to be coming true—all around me, I heard people speaking Albanian, but none speaking English. I understood not a word. The greeter gestured us toward a specific section of the sanctuary, and I began looking for where the interpreter may stand, or where the headphones and jacks were. I didn’t see any, and I began to wonder just how this English translation would occur.

Before the service started, we met three English speakers: a probably-American man whose native language definitely was English, an African woman whose native language may have been English, and a Kosovar woman whose English was superb. I relaxed a little, but not much—here were three people we could talk to, but what about everyone else? Would our opportunities for Christian fellowship be limited to these three?

Not by a long shot.

When the service began, it became clear how the translation occurs: from the stage, with practically the entire congregation chiming in to help when the interpreter gets confused over a word. The greeting was spoken in Albanian, with a woman translating each phrase or sentence into English. There was a time or two when she did hesitate over a word, and at least half the congregation called out the correct word for her. When we started singing, the words were projected onto a screen, but each verse took up twice the amount of space it “should” have: Under each line of Albanian lyrics was a line of English lyrics. Most of the songs were sung first in Albanian, then in English; a couple were sung in English first.

I even tried singing a little in Albanian, after listening to the pronunciation and reading the English translation so I had an idea of what I was saying. That was one of those small moments worth remembering. There I was, for the first time in a church service where English was not the primary language, singing praises to God in a language that I didn’t know, but understanding the words because the translation was provided, and sometimes because I knew the words in English already. It reminded me of the first time I attended Maadi Community Church in Egypt—a little glimpse of what Heaven will be like, although it felt a bit like a different perspective this time, because of the unfamiliar sounds of the Albanian language. At MCC, it was a glimpse of Heaven because of all the different “nations” and “tribes” worshipping together; at the Fellowship of the Lord’s People in Kosova (the Albanian word for Kosovo), it felt more like a preview of the “every tongue” part.

After we sang a few songs, a prayer was said in Albanian—no translation. After a few more songs, a prayer was said in English—no translation.

Then the pastor started speaking. He spoke in Albanian, with a woman translating into English after every sentence or two (no short phrases for him—he was eager to share). When she hesitated over an English word, he joined the congregation in providing it for her. He introduced two special guests: two pastors from neighboring countries who were in town for a prayer breakfast, which was attended by government officials from Kosova, Serbia, and many other countries, including a congressional delegation from the United States. He invited these guests to greet the congregation.

The two other pastors came up to the podium, one at a time. They each spoke in English, passing along greetings from the evangelical churches in their home countries (Serbia and Macedonia) and expressing hope for reconciliation of all the people of the Balkan region, which is well-known for wars and ethnic violence. One even joked about how he, like me, tried singing in Albanian for the first time that morning. The interpreter translated their comments into Albanian—again with some assistance as necessary from the congregation. The second pastor said his first sentence in Macedonian, obviously not expecting anyone to understand—the translator smiled politely and looked at him blankly, and the congregation chuckled. It was obvious that most of the congregation speaks English, and it was equally obvious that English is the language of communication among the various ethnic groups of the Balkans.

After the greetings from the pastors, the children went to the front to be prayed over (in Albanian, no interpretation). Alexa chose to stay with us. Then the children went downstairs to Sunday school, and Alexa announced a desire to go, too, but reminded us that “Mama needs to go with Lexa!” So we excused ourselves and followed the sound of children to the Sunday school room, a windowed room off a larger fellowship hall. I was grateful to see that the service was being shown on a television in the fellowship hall—once Alexa is comfortable enough to be in Sunday school without me but not yet comfortable enough to be in there without being able to see me, I hope to hear the sermon from that television. For this week, however, I sat in the Sunday school room with Alexa in my lap, listening to the story of Zaccheus, first in Albanian, then in English—I even was consulted on the proper English pronunciation of his name—and then the memory verse, first in Albanian, then in English. Then, while the children colored a picture of Zaccheus in the tree, I chatted with my first non-embassy-affiliated Kosovar acquaintance. She was very friendly and welcoming, and she offered to put me in touch with the woman who coordinates a weekly playgroup for preschoolers.

I knew when the service was over, as the congregation moved down to the fellowship hall for coffee. Jeff and I met the pastor, who spoke to us in fluent English. We tried to catch the Canadian missionary who had delivered the morning’s sermon but were unable to do so—undoubtedly, we’ll meet him some other time, as he and his family live in Pristina and attend the Fellowship of the Lord’s People regularly. We didn’t stick around very long after service was over; Alexa was hungry and exhausted and needed to go home. Unfortunately, service begins at Alexa’s usual lunch time and goes through her usual nap time … we’ll have to figure out how to adjust her schedule so that we can attend church without inviting a hunger- and/or sleepiness-induced meltdown each week.

I think it’s safe to say that we’ve found our church home here, or at least a temporary one. If we hear of other English-speaking congregations, we may try them, but my impression is that we will be able to make friends and enjoy Christian fellowship at this church. I didn’t hear the sermon, but Jeff didn’t tell me of any major theological differences, so we’re hopeful that this church is what it appears to be: a fellowship of Bible-believing Christians, many or most of whom speak a language we understand as well as one we don't.