Over the past few weeks, I had met this guy who lived in our building. I had met him outside and in the stairs; however, I didn’t know what apartment he lived in. I asked him and I thought he said 35. Awesome!
Yesterday, Cyndi made some chocolate chip cookies–try saying that in Serbian. I put some in a ziploc bag and went to apartment 35. Well, he wasn’t there. In fact, that was the wrong apartment. In apartment 35, there was an older lady and her daughter–about my age. Well, I couldn’t back down, so I told them that cyndi had made the cookies and we wanted to give them to them.
They invited me in and we sat and talked for about an hour and a half. In Serbian. Mostly. Her daughter spoke english; however, I only had to look to her a few times for a translation. They were very very patient. And very nice (they told me that my Serbian was good…and also that my падаже–cases–were very good. I told them they weren’t but that they were nice). It was a good time.
One story then I must go. The older lady was talking about people around the world. I was following the conversation (that means catching about 1/2 of it and it looked like I was guessing the other 1/2 mostly right). About 1/2 way throught that, my brain just…well, it rebooted. All of a sudden, I had lost the conversation, where I thought she was going, etc…. It was a very strange and surreal experience.
In the end, I heard lydia coming up the stairs and so I told them that I had to go help Cyndi with Lydia.
Thank you for your language prayers. Keep them coming.