Dr. Rimi

Looking back on my life, I find that happy memories are few.

Born and raised in Yugoslavia, I come from a Muslim background. I also come from a former communist background. For my family (and most of the country) and me, both things led to national and civil wars as well as extreme poverty (which, in turn, led to physical abuse in my home). As a result, looking back on my life, I find that happy memories are few.

I struggled to stay alive, care for my siblings, and find a safe place.

I was sixteen when the major war broke out. During this time, five of my cousins were killed (two of them little girls). My uncle was burnt alive. We were forced to leave our home. We were then accidentally separated from my mother, and for the rest of the war, I never knew if she was alive. She was; we later found out that she had carried her crippled father on her back through the snowy mountains to avoid being seen. During this time, I struggled to stay alive, care for my siblings, and find a safe place.

That is how I knew the cross: an evil object of torture.

We were at war with the Serbs (Orthodox Christians) who had come because of both our land and our Muslim faith. Sometimes, when they burnt down a home, they drew crosses as a sign of ownership. Sometimes, they carved crosses into the skulls of Albanians, dead or alive. Those who survived would then stare at the cross embedded in their foreheads for the rest of their lives. That is how I knew the cross: an evil object of torture.

I came to believe that there was no god, that I must be god and pave my own way.

After the war ended, we returned home. I was still alive, but I was deeply unhappy. Just like nearly everyone I knew, I understood that the land I lived in and the life I led could never offer me anything. The idea of leading an insignificant and meaningless existence frightened me, however. For as long as I can remember, in whatever circumstances I found myself, I always questioned things and sought what I could understand as truth. I did not like Allah, a god who instills fear but is without power and without grace. I had seen too many die crying out to him. Thus, I came to believe that there was no god, that I must be god and pave my own way. So, I went to college (the first in my family to do so) and studied philosophy as an atheist, hoping to find answers.

I had never met a good man.

During my studies in philosophy, I attended a class taught by an American professor. I became his translator and assistant for the course (and others thereafter), and from then on, we became good friends. From the first time I saw him, I noticed something different, which made me consider the possibility of genuine good. I had never met a good man. Personally, because of the way that I was raised and the culture I grew up in, I believed that humans were simply evil, fueled by their own selfish survivalist agendas that often remained hidden behind social order. Interestingly, though, during our interaction, I learned that while he had come to Kosovo to teach, my professor had come primarily as a missionary, to help others.

“Jesus Christ makes me happy.”

A few years later (on November 17, 2007), my professor and I sat enjoying a coffee together. By this point in my life, I had reached a place of severe depression. I remember marveling that, unlike my own life, my professor’s life had remained constant through everything, thriving with love and happiness. At that moment, I posed an honest and desperate question: “How can you be so happy?” His answer was simple, but it shook everything: “Jesus Christ makes me happy.” Of course, not only was praying or talking to Jesus Christ forbidden in Islam, but also the idea of Jesus as the Almighty God who freely died on the cross for humanity did not make any logical sense to me or my cynical worldview. On the other hand, my professor’s life of love made sense to me.

I was terrified and overjoyed all at once.

The Holy Spirit entered into me; I felt him, like a breath, slip into my soul. He miraculously revealed to me the real God, Jesus Christ. I was also filled with tremendous joy, peace, and hope, all feelings I had never really known. I was terrified and overjoyed all at once. As soon as I closed the front door to my home, the blizzard again raged; at this point, I was unsurprised. At that moment, what mattered to me was the way I felt inside: dirty and guilty. I began to weep tremendously, asking Jesus for forgiveness.

He is the only hope for me, and He is the only hope for this broken world.

From that moment, I was a new man. After a few months, a new desire sprang up in my life: I wanted to know more about this Jesus. So, I went to America to pursue a biblical education. Through my experiences and education, I discovered a different Jesus than the one portrayed to me by the Serbs (who, by God’s grace, I have fully forgiven and now pray for). Although Kosovo still remains in darkness and bondage, this Jesus set me free. I no longer have a fear of death or feelings of hate. Jesus redeemed me. He really is the true Lord whom I always look forward to serving and proclaiming. He is the only hope for me, and He is the only hope for this broken world.