An hour lock in and a big slap in the face

So after yesterday’s trauma, I was still feeling a bit down. I got up late, had food, did some emailing, got like the best couple of emails from that guy Sean off of New Zeland, so that brightened my day a bit.
Read the responses to the last blog, cheers guys, guess wot. On my transit reading today (yes I am still quite behind) was Acts 19 about the riot and on my prayer wall in the bed room was Galatians 6 v 9 good times.
So I thought I’d go out, walk the land, pray, attempt to buy a phone card. Got down stairs and there like this little gated bit around the door of this flat and the next door. The neighbours like to keep it locked for the kids. Fair play, so I tried to go out. But. No matter wot I did with the keys I couldn’t get the gate open, I tried for ages (and I prayed, maybe not too convincingly, I think God had another idea) So at this point, not only I’m I feeling lost in a foreign country, struggling to find a way, now I’m actually lock in my own flat. Good times (said in a sarcastic voice)
So wot do ya do, go and pray. I went in and spent like an hour in prayer, prayer for lots of stuff, people back home, the bus, Kosova, then just listened. Really felt like God used that odd situation to talk to me bout some stuff. I won’t write it on hear coz it’s a bit long and I don’t know if you’ll be that interested. But let m know if you wanna hear it.
Anyhow, finished up praying, went down and the gate was open, I like to think of it as a miraculous act of God himself, but I fear the guys next door went out and left it open. Either way it was a good result. So I walked into town (yes I did rock some shorts and sunglasses, I was feeling brave), prayed a littler but just let my mind wonder a bit, after some inspiration from New Zealand Sean. Found the IPKO shop, found a lady who could speak English, got a top up card, all was going well.
Walking back I saw a man in the street, everyone was avoiding him as he looked odd, he had on an old pair of shoes barley held together and pair of cord trousers held up with string and that was it. He was an old fella just wandering seamlessly aimlessly in to the road. I caught eye contact, and with a sudden rush of desire aand inspiration to be the hands and feet of Jesus and to care for the poor and needy I walked towards him, he held out a hand of friendship, I took it, we shook hands. Then the realisation of language dawned, he said something and pointed at my arm, still holding my hand. By this point my faith rush was dwindling and I was just felling weird, he rubbed his head as if to gesture something about being hot and pointed at my arm again. He let go of my hand and pulled out 2 Euros from his pocket, of course I didn’t want to take anything from this guy as he appeared to have nothing, I shook my head and said no. On hearing this he promptly gave me a firm slap in the face, nice. I simply said easy bruv (of course the international language of chav didn’t seem to get though) so I promptly left. I am aware that the correct response would be to turn the other cheek; unfortunately I bowed out prior to that happening. Strangely no one in the street seemed too bothered? Maybe this happens a lot? Maybe they just don’t like the English and were quietly smiling to themselves? I don’t know, it’s like the kiros training game all over again. I’m still struggling to understand the significance of what happened but I’m sure at some point it will become clear. Until then, rest assured I am one step closer to being immersed into kosovan culture.