The sun was just on the rim of the mountain. There was only enough light
left to take pictures of the children that had followed us from house to house. The light was just right to take this picture. Some children tug
at your heart. Some pull strings of compassion. Some knock you over with a smile. Some little village children just reach out and tell you, "Let me
sit on your lap, and I'll tell you the story of my life." I don't even know her name, but I had about 2 minutes of sun to share her
face with you. And I had about 2 minutes left in her little curiosity bank to keep her interest in me. I knew that if she would be quickly swept
away, you would never be able to see her face. Like a beautifully worked flower she has been groomed for this time. She has little at home and the
loudness of her future, full of nothing, puts her in the middle of nowhere.
One reason that Sarah and I come to Albania is to hopefully remove her from hopelessness and to put her in the middle of God's great hand, to
protect her like a little princess, to make sure the tiny lamp of her heart would not be blotted out by the silence of her village, by the indifference
of her parents or by the crash of her own dreams. Time swished past us and the rose-red mountain walls to the west saw her
run from the yard clutching her new little Bible and Christian storybook.
The sun was just on the rim of the mountain. There was only enough light
left to take pictures of the children that had followed us from house to house. The light was just right to take this picture. Some children tug
at your heart. Some pull strings of compassion. Some knock you over with a smile. Some little village children just reach out and tell you, "Let me
sit on your lap, and I'll tell you the story of my life." I don't even know her name, but I had about 2 minutes of sun to
share her
face with you. And I had about 2 minutes left in her little curiosity bank to keep her interest in me. I knew that if she would be quickly swept
away, you would never be able to see her face. Like a beautifully worked flower she has been groomed for this time. She has little at home and the
loudness of her future, full of nothing, puts her in the middle of nowhere.
One reason that Sarah and I come to Albania is to hopefully remove her from hopelessness and to put her in the middle of God's great hand, to
protect her like a little princess, to make sure the tiny lamp of her heart would not be blotted out by the silence of her village, by the indifference
of her parents or by the crash of her own dreams. Time swished past us and the rose-red mountain walls to the west saw her
run from the yard clutching her new little Bible and Christian storybook. 
