Testimonies

I was born and raised at a time in Albania when, under the Communist dictatorship, there was no talk of the Lord because, it was said, He did not exist. However, I used to see my grandmother praying to Allah five times a day. At the age of 18, in 1990, it was my conviction that someone had to be above everything and that one had to be held accountable to Him. So, I began my search.

At first, I started reading the Quran and other books about Allah, trying to put the teachings I received into practice. From these readings, I made a shocking discovery: “if you commit a sin, Allah forgives you the first time; if you repeat it, you must pay, there is no more forgiveness.” So, I tried with all my strength, through my behavior and good works, to please this God I was searching for. But the disappointment was great, as I was unable to satisfy God’s expectations with my actions or even my thoughts. This caused the thought of hell to surface within me.

In the meantime, a group of Christians had arrived in my town, bringing aid throughout Albania. My family received its package, and inside, besides the basic necessities, I found the New Testament. It was my first contact with the Word of the Lord. I read it in a few days, and John 3:16 struck me deeply. Despite this, I felt a sense of disappointment. God so loved the world… I was so much in the dark that I did not understand that God loved me too. I thought Jesus had died only for Catholics.

This conviction seemed to strip me of all hope and was agonizing for my soul. I then began to cry out to the Lord and seek Him with all my heart. I prayed every day for six months, and finally, the Lord heard my prayer.

Working as a teacher in Babrru, on the poor outskirts of Tirana, I came into contact with some brothers from Tirana, including Enver (who would later become my husband) and Brother Salvatore Corcelli, both engaged in evangelism. It was 1994, and the brothers from Tirana had organized the screening of a film about Jesus at the school.

That day, I understood that Jesus had died for me, that He had paid for my sins, and that if I believed in Him, there was no longer any condemnation. The joy I felt was irrepressible; I couldn’t wait to get home and kneel before Him. I found a spot hidden from my family and prayed; I gave my heart to the Lord. I didn’t know how to speak well, but I thanked Jesus for dying in my place and for becoming my Savior and Lord.

The joy of being forgiven and opening my heart to the Lord was joined by a sense of fear regarding what my family, and my father in particular, would say. After two months, I took courage and told my father that I believed in the Lord Jesus. At first, he didn’t think it was serious, but as soon as he realized the reality, the “war” at home began.

He monitored me constantly, trying to find where I kept my Bible, hindering me from attending meetings with believers, and absolutely forbidding me from speaking to others about Jesus. One day he told me: “You must decide: either throw away the Bible, or throw yourself off the bridge.” I did not jump, but I read the Bible in secret until I found the courage to tell him that he could do anything to me, but I would never give up Jesus, who was in my heart.

In 1995, I got married, and together with my husband, after leaving our teaching jobs, we dedicated ourselves completely to missionary service to make known the love of Christ and the message of salvation, especially to our fellow citizens.