At my husband’s office, right by the entrance, hangs a large map of Albania. At the bottom of it is written a single Bible reference:
“For David, after he had served the purpose of God in his own generation, fell asleep…”
(Acts 13:36 NASB1995)
We believe God has called us to serve His purpose—among our own people in Albania. My husband holds this verse so dearly that he wants it inscribed on his tombstone. Our deepest prayer is that we will live to see our nation call upon the name of Jesus.
This is not your typical missionary life.
I remember, as a student, praying for Turkey. I often find myself praying for North Korea, or for unreached countries across Europe.
And yet—our hearts keep burning for our own people.
This is why we lead a church, a special needs ministry, and a church planting network across Albania.
But I often pause and reflect on Jesus’ words:
“A prophet is not without honor except in his hometown and among his own relatives and in his own household.”
(Mark 6:4 NASB1995)
Isn’t that what happened with Joseph? When he shared his dreams with his brothers, they burned with jealousy and sold him into slavery. Or what about David? When he offered to fight Goliath, his older brother Eliab rebuked him and accused him of arrogance. His courage and calling were dismissed by those closest to him.
And of course—Jesus.
“Isn’t this the carpenter? Isn’t this Mary’s son, and the brother of James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon? Aren’t His sisters here with us?”
(Mark 6:3 NASB1995)
When missionaries come from abroad, they are received with open arms.
There is grace for not knowing the language, grace for not understanding traditions.
Their stories are heard with curiosity and respect.
But when you’re from here, the grace runs thin.
If you forget a birthday…
If you’re too exhausted to return a phone call…
If you’re too overwhelmed to host a simple meal…
You’re met with judgment.
You should know better. You have no excuse.
And if you show up with strength, confidence, and care?
You might be seen as trying to be better than us.
After all—you’re just the carpenter.
The old classmate.
The teenage neighbor with acne.
The coworker we once had shallow coffee chats with.
Now you’re speaking of eternity.
Hope in Jesus.
Asking how we’re really doing.
Offering prayer.
Bringing food packages.
Preaching purpose and faith.
And the response? Sometimes it’s just suspicion.
Sometimes—it’s silence.
I’ve had friends from college question whether I really built a movement that has shifted the mindset of a nation regarding special needs.
And my husband—a boy from a village—left everything, moved to the biggest city in Albania, planted a church, and empowered other leaders to do the same.
Still, some doubt.
We are unconventional. Determined. Real. Worn out at times.
We are missionaries in our own land.
And like many others across the world serving their own people, we carry the quiet burden of Jesus’ words.
But take heart, brothers and sisters—Jesus went there first.
“For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses,
but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin.
Therefore, let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace,
so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
(Hebrews 4:15–16 NASB1995)
The grace we long for in our offenses is found only at the throne of grace.
The grace we need in our victories is found only at the throne of grace.
The grace we yearn for in our doubts, in our God-encounters, in the labor of serving our own—
is found only at the throne of grace.
Receive it. Every single day.
We need it desperately.
And when you do, you’ll shine—even in the land where little grace may have been given to you.
