Only have a few minutes to post a quick update.
The first few days of our trip have been amazing--floating in the Dead Sea, visiting Byzantine churches spread with ancient mosaics, eating falafel at least twice a day, and--my personal favorite so far--visiting Mt. Nebo, the moutaintop where Moses saw the Promise Land, and then died.
I can't describe the incredible feeling of standing up there, the sweeping valleys below covered in wispy fog and the glittering Dead Sea to my left. Directly below was barren, grey, a desert--but from the peak you could clearly sea the lush, green, precious Promise Land. Jerusalem, Jericho, the Jordan River--there it lay.
What must Moses have felt? An old man, having been through so much--the struggles, the anguish, the ecstasy he'd experienced--the intimacy with our God. The breeze spilled over my body as I trembled a little at the thought of YHWH, of the Almighty of Exodus--that is my God, and I can trust him and know him as Moses did. Tears filled my eyes as I thought of the sensation of seeing this land for the first time--after 40 years of waiting, of taking God at his Word--at last it was visible, tangible.
Am I willing to wait that long, to trust that much? My God is still faithful.
Went through two hours of hassel at the Israeli border because my of my father's last name--apparently we share a surname with some prominent guerillas. Oops.
Dipped my feet in the Jordan River and the Sea of Galilee...Tonight I am sleeping on the Mount of Olives, tomorrow I will spend the day in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. This has already been a very emotional week for me...God is so near, and so good. I can't wait to share more. But for now...I just wanted to say...
Merry Christmas!
Immanuel--God is with us.
His law is love, and his gospel is peace.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
A New Adventure Begins
Spent the last 5 days here in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia with my father--mainly doing housework, helping him with hospital runs/taking care of my grandmother, and devouring every book in sight. (Fitzgerald, Woolf, Amy Tan, oh my!)
Don't know how much I'll be able to update/answer emails/etc. But isn't that the beauty of vacation? No one will really miss me, though--and that's okay. I hope you all enjoy your Christmas and New Year immensely!! Breathe in the blessing--the air is thick with grace. Bless one another, and give away what you wish you had. Joy, joy, joy--You are so loved.
Friday, December 18, 2009
---November 11, 2009---
Lord, you astound me. I've had so much truth spoken into my life this past week--You are preparing to do something new, and I'm amazed and humbled and so, so thankful....Let it be done as you will.
"For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." Rom 11:29
---November 14, 2009---
I can't believe the countless ways you provide every single day...so intimate, you are. I can feel your breath on my neck as you count the hairs on my head.
"And from Jesus' fullness we have all received, grace upon grace." John 1:16
---November 17, 2009---
Just read Revelation 21-22. I'm in tears at the majesty. Come, Lord Jesus!
---November 20, 2009---
I was going to go do some work at the school this afternoon, but Abba kept me back. He wants me all to himself--fine with me! Let's talk, Lord...
---November 24, 2009---
Words cannot describe the beauty of this love...how deeply he speaks, how intimately and extravagantly he knows and nurtures me...All the things he's taught and shown me...
---November 26, 2009---
I feel a little guilty--I don't write as much as I should about my physical/material adventures and experiences here--every time I pick up this pen, all that floods out is prayer and praise!
---November 28, 2009---
"For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, for whoever has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that overcomes the world--our faith." 1 John 5:3-4
Lord, I know I must begin each new day by begging on my wn behalf...so I plead for your Spirit anew, that you might strengthen and establish me in truth and love, that I may obey. I desire to love and honor you with my ALL, and you will not despise this prayer...you will come.
---December 1, 2009---
"This is my body, which is broken for you..." Luke 22:19
Oh, Baba...my heart has become so calloused to the cross. How is it possible for me to be so indifferent to the unspeakable scandal of Golgotha? Cut me t o the heart, Baba--I am so misaligned.
---December 3, 2009---
So many memories made here, Lord--such wonderful evenings spent with my girls. I've been adopted to yet another family--I'm going over for couscous this afternoon to make everything official....haha.
---December 4, 2009---
"Glory in his holy name;
Let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice!
Seek the Lord and his strength;
seek his presence continually!" Psalm 105:3-4
---December 5, 2009---
"Do not be wise in your own eyes." Proverbs 3:7
---December 7, 2009---
"The grace you had yesterday will not be sufficient for today...pray now...keep on drawing on the grace of God." Oswald Chambers.
It's true, Lord...help me to maintain an open stream of grace between you and I...I'm sick again and so worn out...Let me finish strong, in your strength...Breathe in me, I feel so weak.
But most of all, I thank you for these moments, that I learn to rely on you!
---December 10, 2009---
...I don't know what to write, Lord. These pages couldn't hold the praises that you're due...this pen does not have the power to record all the ways you've loved and taught me here. These months have been an absolute gift...grace upon grace....If I've been able to serve, to bless others, I am humbled...but somehow I feel only like a spoiled princess, here, in your hand.
Eyes can't see the way you hold me
Or how I'm hidden in your heart.
Minds don't know all you have told me.
Or how I ache for where you are...
It's invisible to the world.
Incredible to the angels...
Not since Eden have they seen this sight,
Everlasting life...
You are
All over,
You are
Around
You are
Inside,
This is life,
This is life...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
---October 23, 2009---
The Word is, in some ways, like manna, I think--I can't keep any over from yesterday--I must go out and gather my bread daily, lest I starve.
Let me hunger for you more and more, Lord!
----October 24, 2009----
Wow, my stomach HURTS!....Can't eat.
----October 26, 2009---
"For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in this present age, waiting for our blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all lawlessness and to purify for himself a people for his own possession who are zealous for good works." Titus 2:11-14
I re-read this verse at least 10 times. What grace!
---October 27, 2009---
"It is not that you have gotten God, but he has gotten you...He will do with you what he never did before his call came to you, and he will do with you what he is not doing with other people. Let him have his way." -Oswald Chambers
God, how can I thank you enough for knowing me, for calling me? ...and you are unfolding your purposes in me. Me!
----October 30, 2009---
"For what great nation is there that has a god so near to it as the Lord our God is to us, whenever we call upon him?" Deut 4:7
---October 31, 2009---
"Beware lest one, when he hears the words of this sworn covenant, blesses himself in his heart, saying 'I shall be safe, though I walk in the stubbornness of my heart."Deut 29:19
---November 2, 2009---
This morning I just felt so miserable...my stomach was killing me, I couldn't stand up straight. Worse, though, was the homesickness...I actually went to my suitcase and put on my old AE blue jeans....it made me feel better, at least for a little while.
"You are my hiding place..."
---November 4, 2009---
I spent the day with Rabab and Fadah again...what an absolute honor. Lord, I can't believe the way you've blessed these relationships...the girls are breathtaking, the families are so richly gracious...blessing, blessing, blessing!
---November 6, 2009---
Lord, some days I'm sure I'm the luckiest girl in the world. I'm yours, yours! So loved, so protected, so provided for...and what adventures we have!
"Who am I, oh Lord God, that you have brought me thus far? And yet it was a small thing in your eyes, O Lord God." 2 Samuel 7
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
---October 8, 2009---
'"If you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others?" Matt 5:47
This verse says one thing to me: it's not acceptable to be the same as 'others'. I'm a member of an unseen kingdom, its borders defined by the steps of believers. We overthrow darkness and despair by kissing cheeks, holding our tongues, and giving our lives away lavishly.
I must not blend in--for it is not I who live, but Christ within.
'"Drudgery is the genuine test of character." -Oswald Chambers
Sad...lonely...discouraged...Baba. '
----October 13, 2009----
"All of God's revealed truths are sealed until they are opened us through obedience...it is not study that brings understanding to you, but obedience....God will never reveal more truth about himself until you have obeyed what you know already." --Oswald Chambers
"What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me--practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you." Phil 4:9
This is the surpassing greatness, my one desire: to have you near, my Lord. This is why I obey -- because I love nothing more than you! There is no greater prize. Help me love, obey, and honor you more with every hour..."
----October 15, 2009----
"Good morning, Lord!
I love waking up in the cool or the morning, with the pale gold of the early sun awash around me, and feeling your smile upon me. Your love is so rich! You are so very near...what mercy...how far you stoop to kiss my dirty little face!"
---October 17, 2009---
'If I feel like I'm scraping through the day in discomfort, it's only because I'm giving ear to my groaning flesh, which is wasting away in this place. My inner Christ, on the other hand, is perfectly at peace. Who will rule me?"
---October 20, 2009---
"There is none like God, who rides through the heavens to your help, through the skies in his Majesty...the eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are everlasting arms." Deut 33:27
---October 22, 2009---
"Other seeds fell on good soil and produced grain, some ahundredfold, some sixty, some thirty." Matt 13:8
The difference between the good soil and the rest is the eventual outcome--the seedling disappears, or it produces a harvest. We don't grow and flourish for our own sake, but for God's harvest--"...he indeed bears fruit and yields..."
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Remembering. . .
What a journey the past months have been.
I’m sitting here, now, in my father’s apartment in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. The adventure will continue--I take off again in less than a week to Jordan, then to Palestine/Israel. God is very clearly at work this very hour, in this place, just as he was in Africa. I have not stopped hearing from Him, I have not stopped seeking him, even though I’m “home”, and he will continue to unfold glory upon glory.
However, I still have much to process through...flipping through my journal, it takes my breath away to re-live those months with my new vantage point. God is so faithful and so rich in mercy!
The next few days, I will post a few excerpts from my journal--a rather scuffed black leather notebook that contains ink imprints of some of my rawest moments.
I feel God leading me to do this---to bring him glory by sharing some of what is written there. I do this out of obedience, not because I believe I possess any great wisdom, but quite the opposite--to show what a clown, what a ragamuffin, I am, and how lavishly my Father has rained down grace upon me. I hope it blesses you, if you chose to read and journey with me. :)
So here it goes!
----September 25, 2009----
‘Lord, I don’t know what you have in store for these next three months, but I pray that you’d help me to receive ALL of it...help me learn real trust. Help me to be humble--a servant to all, from this time forward. Help me to come to know your grace and love so intimately that I shed it like perfume on those around me. Help me never to hinder or grieve your Spirit...Take me, all of me...’
----September 28, 2009----
‘“If we are to be disciples of Jesus, we must be made disciples supernaturally...Jesus Christ is the only one who can fulfill the sermon on the Mount.” -Oswald Chambers
‘Lord, I don’t stand a chance on my own. There is no doubt in my mind that I am incapable of loving, of serving, of obeying you without your grace and Spirit at work within me. Tear down whatever there is within me that would hinder your purposes in and through me...’”
----September 30, 2009----
‘I am inwardly amused at how much responsibility I’ve been entrusted with here....who am I to be used in any of this? ’
-----October 2, 2009----
‘“You were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked...but God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ--by grace you have been saved.” Ephesians 2:1-5
‘Lord, help me to understand how truly good your ‘good news‘ is. Help me understand what I’ve been saved from...I was dead. Not ailing or unhappy. I was deceased...’
----October 8, 2009----
‘“For it has been granted to you that for the sake of Christ you should not only believe in him but also suffer for his sake.” Phil 1:29”
This is not romantic. I don’t feel like I’m living in some Stevenson novel today. The problem with real life adventures is you can’t take a break. You can’t close the book or leave the theater when you’re tired or sick or hungry. Today, I just feel weary, frazzled, lonely, and un-beautiful....Be my sufficiency, Lord...That’s all I ask today...sustain me.
Help me shed another skin today. Help me grow in my spiritual stature. Help me become a little less addicted to comfort, more conformed to your spirit...don’t take away the trial, but help me become deeply aware of your power and purpose within this discomfort.’
----October 10, 2009----
‘“The Kingdom of God is not coming with signs...nor will they say, ‘here it is‘ or ‘there!'...for behold, the Kingdom of God is within you.” Luke 17:20
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
I hate goodbyes...so I won't say it tonight.
I leave in 5 hours.
---------------------------------------
[text I got this morning from a student]
"Goodbye friend I hope to you good travels.
Thank you for everything. You are the best
teacher. I love you so much I will miss you.
We are not in the same place but we see the
same sky. Because of this I will see the sky
and remember the days I spent with you.
Thanks for everything. Bye."
--------------------------------------
[over tea this morning, from my adopted 'uncle' Talib]
"We hope to Allah that you will return to us soon.
This is your family, your tent now. You won't leave
us forever, I know that. You'll come back and we will
wait here for you. "
---------------------------------------
[text I got this morning from a student]
"Goodbye friend I hope to you good travels.
Thank you for everything. You are the best
teacher. I love you so much I will miss you.
We are not in the same place but we see the
same sky. Because of this I will see the sky
and remember the days I spent with you.
Thanks for everything. Bye."
--------------------------------------
[over tea this morning, from my adopted 'uncle' Talib]
"We hope to Allah that you will return to us soon.
This is your family, your tent now. You won't leave
us forever, I know that. You'll come back and we will
wait here for you. "
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
My heart must be in a thousand pieces, by now.
I am at a loss, once again, on what to share. It's been three months. To continue to write of the cultural experiences here, or the comedies that make up the day-to-day life here in this place, seems far too ordinary at this point.
Humble, that's where I am tonight.
Humbled by the honor God bestowed upon me when he called me here.
Humbled by the generosity and love of those who have supported me in so many ways.
Humbled by the lavish provision of God--so unmistakably personal, intimate, and undeserved.
Humbled by the night sky I can see from my place here, hung like a robe, thick with jewels, across the heavens.
Humbled by the way my 'brother', Sidahmed, gingerly rubbed my hands a few minutes ago, concerned about my 'cold fingers.'
Humbled by the way God turns my weaknesses into something whole and true.
Humbled by the way my Saharawi friends have brought me close in the most everday and extraordinary moments of their lives.
Humbled by the ways my friends have taught me to celebrate what's real, and disregard the rest.
Humbled to think about where I've come from...
Humbled to consider where I'll go.
Humbled by this peace He's given me, found here, in His hand.
Two days left, and my heart wants to go numb. But instead, it will break some more.
Because He bled, too.
I am at a loss, once again, on what to share. It's been three months. To continue to write of the cultural experiences here, or the comedies that make up the day-to-day life here in this place, seems far too ordinary at this point.
Humble, that's where I am tonight.
Humbled by the honor God bestowed upon me when he called me here.
Humbled by the generosity and love of those who have supported me in so many ways.
Humbled by the lavish provision of God--so unmistakably personal, intimate, and undeserved.
Humbled by the night sky I can see from my place here, hung like a robe, thick with jewels, across the heavens.
Humbled by the way my 'brother', Sidahmed, gingerly rubbed my hands a few minutes ago, concerned about my 'cold fingers.'
Humbled by the way God turns my weaknesses into something whole and true.
Humbled by the way my Saharawi friends have brought me close in the most everday and extraordinary moments of their lives.
Humbled by the ways my friends have taught me to celebrate what's real, and disregard the rest.
Humbled to think about where I've come from...
Humbled to consider where I'll go.
Humbled by this peace He's given me, found here, in His hand.
Two days left, and my heart wants to go numb. But instead, it will break some more.
Because He bled, too.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Eid el Adha, pt 2
...After the prayer, Shebab and I hurried home. I was greeted by my 'uncle' Abdrabu, who was sharpening knives, a look of eagerness on his face. It was time to slaughter the goat.
As the family finished the final preparations for the sacrifice, I bit my lip and continued my three-day-long debate: would I stay to watch the act, or would I retreat to my room and muffle my ears? I've been known to grow faint at the sight of blood, and I didn't know how I would handle watching an animal suffer--especially after the goat had spent the night outside the tent, bleating pitifully.
As I deliberated, I heard a scuffle across the street and glanced over just in time to see our neighbors' goat meet his end. Shaken, I figured I might as well stay and join my family in the ritual. My motivation was primarily spiritual, not cultural--the sacrifice is meant to commemorate God's provision of a ram to save the life of Ibrahim's (Abraham's) son. The concept of blood sacrifice and God's provision of a replacement is so central to the true story of the Bible, and I had yet to gain a real, tangible understanding of this very gruesome theme. I have been seeking to greater understand Calvary--and here was a valuable opportunity.
So, I gripped my sister Tigera's arm as I watched the men drag out the poor creature, hobbled and spotless white (this detail was not lost on me). I braced myself as they forced it to the ground, and soon jumped back as blood spurted in my direction...
After the deed was done, the family went to work on preparing the meat, and I broke away to bury myself in Isaiah 53 for a few minutes....
"He was wounded for our transgressions....
the Lord laid on him the iniquity of us all.
Like a lamb led to slaughter....
By knowledge of him shall many be counted as righteous
...because he poured out his soul to death."
(God...let our awe of this only grow...let us never grow numb to the supreme price of your rich grace)
As the morning wore on, our sisters burst into the room and announced it was time to enter the tent and receive visitors--but first, we must finish our beauty routine. I managed to escape the traditonal layers of khol eyeliner, but they insisted that I allow some make up. Once I was pronounced acceptable, I joined the family in the tent.
On this day, families live as lavishly as they can afford, passing around glass after glass of delicious sweet tea, dousing their guests in perfume and passing around coals sprinkled with incense. Family members showered each other with kisses, wishing one another a blessed Eid and asking one another for forgiveness. The atmosphere of joy and warmth was truly beautiful--as were the multicolored mehlfas and dra'as they wore.
After a lunch of (very fresh) goat meat, fruit (a special treat), potatoes, and Coca Cola, we dispersed to rest or visit neighbors. A few hours later, we stuffed ourselves into several ancient, borrowed cars and took off for the dunes. We turned off the road and bumped along in the rusty sedans over rocks and sand until we reached our destination--safely, to my mild surprise.
We spread out mats on the soft ground for a picnic of tea and goat kebab, cooked over coals in the sand. We climbed the dunes barefoot, laughing as we tripped and sank on the steep inclines. After watching the sunset, we drove back home--only delayed for 20 minutes when one car sank into a drift of powdery sand.
The night was finished off with more tea and visitors--I slept at 1:30, but several family members did not return until after dawn the next morning.
And that was only the first day. :)
The next two days--well, I won't try to elaborate, but they were some of the most beautiful I've enjoyed on this trip. I spent all the daylight hours trekking from neighborhood to neighborhood, visiting friends, family, and students. The universal atmosphere of peace, goodwill, and joy was such a blessing to me. At every tent I met with the warmest of welcomes, glass after glass of tea, inquiries after the health of myself and my family, and blessings and encouragement on all sides. We shared meals together, we laughed and gossiped. We asked one another for forgiveness--a common theme during this feast. We pressed one another to eat more, and complimented each other on the beautiful make up and clothes we wore. My friends and I spent several hours just ambling through the neighborhood, enjoying the greetings and blessings of those we met on the street.
I can hardly express the beauty of this culture--where nothing is seen as "mine", but everything is "ours". Where the only way to offend a family is by not visiting enough, or not accepting enough of their food or gifts. True generosity and joy--and from people so many Westerners would ignorantly pity if they heard only of their suffering. Yes, they suffer and lack--but, I've found, this 'fact' does not constrain or define them, but rather, they overcome it by clinging to their God and their loved ones, counting these things as the greatest treasure of all. And in this, they are rich.
And so I thank God every day for my new family and friends, who have enriched me so truly.
As the family finished the final preparations for the sacrifice, I bit my lip and continued my three-day-long debate: would I stay to watch the act, or would I retreat to my room and muffle my ears? I've been known to grow faint at the sight of blood, and I didn't know how I would handle watching an animal suffer--especially after the goat had spent the night outside the tent, bleating pitifully.
As I deliberated, I heard a scuffle across the street and glanced over just in time to see our neighbors' goat meet his end. Shaken, I figured I might as well stay and join my family in the ritual. My motivation was primarily spiritual, not cultural--the sacrifice is meant to commemorate God's provision of a ram to save the life of Ibrahim's (Abraham's) son. The concept of blood sacrifice and God's provision of a replacement is so central to the true story of the Bible, and I had yet to gain a real, tangible understanding of this very gruesome theme. I have been seeking to greater understand Calvary--and here was a valuable opportunity.
So, I gripped my sister Tigera's arm as I watched the men drag out the poor creature, hobbled and spotless white (this detail was not lost on me). I braced myself as they forced it to the ground, and soon jumped back as blood spurted in my direction...
After the deed was done, the family went to work on preparing the meat, and I broke away to bury myself in Isaiah 53 for a few minutes....
"He was wounded for our transgressions....
the Lord laid on him the iniquity of us all.
Like a lamb led to slaughter....
By knowledge of him shall many be counted as righteous
...because he poured out his soul to death."
(God...let our awe of this only grow...let us never grow numb to the supreme price of your rich grace)
As the morning wore on, our sisters burst into the room and announced it was time to enter the tent and receive visitors--but first, we must finish our beauty routine. I managed to escape the traditonal layers of khol eyeliner, but they insisted that I allow some make up. Once I was pronounced acceptable, I joined the family in the tent.
On this day, families live as lavishly as they can afford, passing around glass after glass of delicious sweet tea, dousing their guests in perfume and passing around coals sprinkled with incense. Family members showered each other with kisses, wishing one another a blessed Eid and asking one another for forgiveness. The atmosphere of joy and warmth was truly beautiful--as were the multicolored mehlfas and dra'as they wore.
After a lunch of (very fresh) goat meat, fruit (a special treat), potatoes, and Coca Cola, we dispersed to rest or visit neighbors. A few hours later, we stuffed ourselves into several ancient, borrowed cars and took off for the dunes. We turned off the road and bumped along in the rusty sedans over rocks and sand until we reached our destination--safely, to my mild surprise.
We spread out mats on the soft ground for a picnic of tea and goat kebab, cooked over coals in the sand. We climbed the dunes barefoot, laughing as we tripped and sank on the steep inclines. After watching the sunset, we drove back home--only delayed for 20 minutes when one car sank into a drift of powdery sand.
The night was finished off with more tea and visitors--I slept at 1:30, but several family members did not return until after dawn the next morning.
And that was only the first day. :)
The next two days--well, I won't try to elaborate, but they were some of the most beautiful I've enjoyed on this trip. I spent all the daylight hours trekking from neighborhood to neighborhood, visiting friends, family, and students. The universal atmosphere of peace, goodwill, and joy was such a blessing to me. At every tent I met with the warmest of welcomes, glass after glass of tea, inquiries after the health of myself and my family, and blessings and encouragement on all sides. We shared meals together, we laughed and gossiped. We asked one another for forgiveness--a common theme during this feast. We pressed one another to eat more, and complimented each other on the beautiful make up and clothes we wore. My friends and I spent several hours just ambling through the neighborhood, enjoying the greetings and blessings of those we met on the street.
I can hardly express the beauty of this culture--where nothing is seen as "mine", but everything is "ours". Where the only way to offend a family is by not visiting enough, or not accepting enough of their food or gifts. True generosity and joy--and from people so many Westerners would ignorantly pity if they heard only of their suffering. Yes, they suffer and lack--but, I've found, this 'fact' does not constrain or define them, but rather, they overcome it by clinging to their God and their loved ones, counting these things as the greatest treasure of all. And in this, they are rich.
And so I thank God every day for my new family and friends, who have enriched me so truly.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Eid el Adha (pt. 1)
I promised to share some of my experiences from the recent Eid-el-Adha...so I will try and do so in the brief time I have to type this up...
Eid el Adha is a three day feast that takes place at the end of the holy month of Hajj in Ramadan. The weeks leading up to it are saturated with anticipation--families search tirelessly for the best dra'as and mehlfas to wear, prepare a choice goat (or goats) to slaughter, welcome home visiting relatives, and scour the meager markets for the best dates, cakes, and produce to serve in celebration.
I was given two very nice mehlfas to wear, one by my family and one by a concerned student, who handed it to me and sternly asked, "Now teacher, you're going to wear make up and jewelry too, right?" The night before Eid everyone was grinning and giddy, reminding me repeatedly, "It's Eid tomorrow!"
I awoke early to a cold, pomegranate sunrise. (It is in the 40s in the morning here, with no heat apart from the small cluster of coals we use to make tea). Shivering a bit, I put on my nicest mehfla and joined my sister, Shebab, on her way to elsalat--the community prayer.
It was beautiful. We gathered outdoors in the crisp morning, bright-eyed, all dressed in our "gay apparel". We greeted each other with "Have a blessed Eid" and "Please forgive me for anything I've done against you." I joined hundreds of Saharawi in prostrating in the sand at the call of "God is the Greatest!". There is something deeply meaningful in the act--it is so right to bow my face into the sand while murmuring of God's greatness.
Reverence--that is something that is alive and well here, and something I've found sadly lacking in much of the American-Christian psyche. After all, it's the fear of the Lord that is the begininng of wisdom, and this is just one of many things that we ought to learn from our Muslim brothers and sisters. Undeniably, in Christ we have inexhaustible grace and forgiveness--but I've seen so many people miss the real picture. Jesus Christ is not only the Good Shepherd, but the Alpha and the Omega. Our view of God is often so stunted and skewed. Truly, any soul that catches even a glimpse of God's majesty would never trample on the holy cross in the name of 'grace'. Instead, in humility and awe, we would fall silent in gratitude at the cosmic paradox of an infinite God showing us infinite mercy. That is grace, and it should split our very souls...we ought to all throw our faces to the ground every now and then.
(Well that was a rabbit trail...I will have to continue with my story tomorrow. :) )
Eid el Adha is a three day feast that takes place at the end of the holy month of Hajj in Ramadan. The weeks leading up to it are saturated with anticipation--families search tirelessly for the best dra'as and mehlfas to wear, prepare a choice goat (or goats) to slaughter, welcome home visiting relatives, and scour the meager markets for the best dates, cakes, and produce to serve in celebration.
I was given two very nice mehlfas to wear, one by my family and one by a concerned student, who handed it to me and sternly asked, "Now teacher, you're going to wear make up and jewelry too, right?" The night before Eid everyone was grinning and giddy, reminding me repeatedly, "It's Eid tomorrow!"
I awoke early to a cold, pomegranate sunrise. (It is in the 40s in the morning here, with no heat apart from the small cluster of coals we use to make tea). Shivering a bit, I put on my nicest mehfla and joined my sister, Shebab, on her way to elsalat--the community prayer.
It was beautiful. We gathered outdoors in the crisp morning, bright-eyed, all dressed in our "gay apparel". We greeted each other with "Have a blessed Eid" and "Please forgive me for anything I've done against you." I joined hundreds of Saharawi in prostrating in the sand at the call of "God is the Greatest!". There is something deeply meaningful in the act--it is so right to bow my face into the sand while murmuring of God's greatness.
Reverence--that is something that is alive and well here, and something I've found sadly lacking in much of the American-Christian psyche. After all, it's the fear of the Lord that is the begininng of wisdom, and this is just one of many things that we ought to learn from our Muslim brothers and sisters. Undeniably, in Christ we have inexhaustible grace and forgiveness--but I've seen so many people miss the real picture. Jesus Christ is not only the Good Shepherd, but the Alpha and the Omega. Our view of God is often so stunted and skewed. Truly, any soul that catches even a glimpse of God's majesty would never trample on the holy cross in the name of 'grace'. Instead, in humility and awe, we would fall silent in gratitude at the cosmic paradox of an infinite God showing us infinite mercy. That is grace, and it should split our very souls...we ought to all throw our faces to the ground every now and then.
(Well that was a rabbit trail...I will have to continue with my story tomorrow. :) )
Sunday, November 29, 2009
As I sit here, I am at a loss for words...How can I, with the few minutes of battery left on the school laptop, elaborate on the rich layers of experience of the past week?
I could write about many things--the deeply emotional celebration I witnessed as one Saharawi family welcomed home a brother from the Occupied Territories, the truly unique feast I enjoyed on Thanksgiving with American and Saharawi friends, or the incredible cultural insights and memories I've gained in the celebration of Eid-el-Adha these past three days...
And I will share some of these stories, soon....but all these things pale in comparison to the inexpressible joy it's been to awake and walk each day hand in hand with my God. My eyes fill with tears as I grope for words to express how great my Heavenly Father is, and how my most feeble and imperfect gestures towards him have flooded my life with light--for he is so very near and so very willing to answer when we seek him with sincere hearts. (Luke 11:9-13) I must begin with this most earnest praise--and I will restrain my hand for now, for, like John I know that "all the {blogs} in the world could not contain" what there is to write about my Redeemer.
It is my prayer that you might all come to know the surpassing joy found in our God through Jesus Christ...for "he is not far from each one of us." (Acts 17:27)
In the words of one of my Saharawi sisters, "When you go walking towards God, he comes running towards you."
"As for me, I am poor and needy,
but the LORD takes thought for me." Ps. 40:17
I could write about many things--the deeply emotional celebration I witnessed as one Saharawi family welcomed home a brother from the Occupied Territories, the truly unique feast I enjoyed on Thanksgiving with American and Saharawi friends, or the incredible cultural insights and memories I've gained in the celebration of Eid-el-Adha these past three days...
And I will share some of these stories, soon....but all these things pale in comparison to the inexpressible joy it's been to awake and walk each day hand in hand with my God. My eyes fill with tears as I grope for words to express how great my Heavenly Father is, and how my most feeble and imperfect gestures towards him have flooded my life with light--for he is so very near and so very willing to answer when we seek him with sincere hearts. (Luke 11:9-13) I must begin with this most earnest praise--and I will restrain my hand for now, for, like John I know that "all the {blogs} in the world could not contain" what there is to write about my Redeemer.
It is my prayer that you might all come to know the surpassing joy found in our God through Jesus Christ...for "he is not far from each one of us." (Acts 17:27)
In the words of one of my Saharawi sisters, "When you go walking towards God, he comes running towards you."
"As for me, I am poor and needy,
but the LORD takes thought for me." Ps. 40:17
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
I can hardly believe I have less than three weeks left here...In some ways, the past two and half months have flown by, and in other ways, I feel like I've been here for much longer....
My heart is starting to tear a little as my thoughts go in different directions...I'm so thrilled to see my family again (and my friends, in January...)...but I can't bear to anticpate the goodbyes.
I spent the night with Rabab and Fadah last night, two girls I've become very close to in my time here. We watched Turkish soap operas on their tiny television, ate sweets that nearly cracked my teeth, and talked and laughed. In the morning, we gathered around the coals to warm ourselves as one aunt made tea and the mother stirred the insha--a hot drink of water, ground barely, and olive oil. This is another world...and I've learned to love it. "You're saharawi, and I'm your mother," their mother said, grinning.
Today, I'm going with my friend Aiza to a celebration--her aunt was granted permission by Morocco to visit for a week from the Occupied Territory. Life in the Occupied zone is not easy--survellience, suppression, and propoganda make it almost unbearable, I'm told. They'd rather live in remote desert camps than under Morocco, my Saharawi friends insist.
Which brings me to my last bit of news for today...you all should join me in following the story of Aminatou Haidar...a courageous Saharawi woman who is enduring outrageous treatment by the Moroccan government--and even more astounding, she was detained and deported on her return from receiving the Civil Courage Prize in the United States of America.
This world is too small, too connected, for such paradoxes and disparities in justice to exist...read her story here, share it, and raise your voice in protest for her and for these beautiful, deserving, long-suffering people.
http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/worldview/091119/sahara-hunger-strike?page=0,0
My heart is starting to tear a little as my thoughts go in different directions...I'm so thrilled to see my family again (and my friends, in January...)...but I can't bear to anticpate the goodbyes.
I spent the night with Rabab and Fadah last night, two girls I've become very close to in my time here. We watched Turkish soap operas on their tiny television, ate sweets that nearly cracked my teeth, and talked and laughed. In the morning, we gathered around the coals to warm ourselves as one aunt made tea and the mother stirred the insha--a hot drink of water, ground barely, and olive oil. This is another world...and I've learned to love it. "You're saharawi, and I'm your mother," their mother said, grinning.
Today, I'm going with my friend Aiza to a celebration--her aunt was granted permission by Morocco to visit for a week from the Occupied Territory. Life in the Occupied zone is not easy--survellience, suppression, and propoganda make it almost unbearable, I'm told. They'd rather live in remote desert camps than under Morocco, my Saharawi friends insist.
Which brings me to my last bit of news for today...you all should join me in following the story of Aminatou Haidar...a courageous Saharawi woman who is enduring outrageous treatment by the Moroccan government--and even more astounding, she was detained and deported on her return from receiving the Civil Courage Prize in the United States of America.
This world is too small, too connected, for such paradoxes and disparities in justice to exist...read her story here, share it, and raise your voice in protest for her and for these beautiful, deserving, long-suffering people.
http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/worldview/091119/sahara-hunger-strike?page=0,0
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
h2o...
My family has been out of water for almost a week now...
We rely on Algerian water trucks to fill the metal koobah containers outside our tent, but the one belonging to my family has a leak...thus, I have had the opportunity to contemplate for the past several days the very important issue of water.
They say the wars of my generation will be fought over water...Now, my family has been able to borrow a pitcher or two here and there in order to cook and take care of the bare necessities, and Sarah and I still buy bottled water to drink, but it has still been a sobering experience.
The 'bathroom' is horrendous. Human excrement is overflowing because we have no way to flush. We have been unable to wash our clothes or our bodies. (Something tells me it is no coincidence that my "mom" and I are both so sick...)
And this is taking place in the middle of a fairly civilized settlement. They are still able to scavenge enough water to get by.
It is absolutely heartbreaking to realize that there is a much more terrible story taking place every day on this tiny planet. Over 1 billion people lack safe drinking water EVERY DAY. With NO promise of a water truck coming soon.
Fast from water for a day. Google "African/Indian Water Crisis". Or visit h2oafrica.org, waterwellsforafrica.org, or thewaterproject.org and let your heart break.
"And what I say to you I say to all: stay awake." Mark 13:37
We rely on Algerian water trucks to fill the metal koobah containers outside our tent, but the one belonging to my family has a leak...thus, I have had the opportunity to contemplate for the past several days the very important issue of water.
They say the wars of my generation will be fought over water...Now, my family has been able to borrow a pitcher or two here and there in order to cook and take care of the bare necessities, and Sarah and I still buy bottled water to drink, but it has still been a sobering experience.
The 'bathroom' is horrendous. Human excrement is overflowing because we have no way to flush. We have been unable to wash our clothes or our bodies. (Something tells me it is no coincidence that my "mom" and I are both so sick...)
And this is taking place in the middle of a fairly civilized settlement. They are still able to scavenge enough water to get by.
It is absolutely heartbreaking to realize that there is a much more terrible story taking place every day on this tiny planet. Over 1 billion people lack safe drinking water EVERY DAY. With NO promise of a water truck coming soon.
Fast from water for a day. Google "African/Indian Water Crisis". Or visit h2oafrica.org, waterwellsforafrica.org, or thewaterproject.org and let your heart break.
"And what I say to you I say to all: stay awake." Mark 13:37
Saturday, November 21, 2009
:-/
Uhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Once again, I'm on multiple antibiotics....I feel like I swallowed razors...can't eat.
Owww.
Please pray!
Once again, I'm on multiple antibiotics....I feel like I swallowed razors...can't eat.
Owww.
Please pray!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
We Brake For Football
Life, in this part of the world, runs on very different rhythms than the West.
And football takes a very prominent place in the hearts of these people, as I learned last night.
Three nights ago, Algeria and Egypt tied in the final qualifying round for the 2010 World Cup. With all the media and tension surrounding the game (which most of you in the West probably didn't here about--but you can google it), watching the first game was intense enough.
But when they tied on Monday night and scheduled a rematch in Sudan for Wednesday evening, the Saharawi people (and millions in the Middle East) collectively held their breath.
Four members of our team were booked to leave early Wednesday morning to head back to the United States. However, upon their arrival to the airport, they were courteously informed that all Air Algerie flights had been re-directed to Khartoum, Sudan for the game. A commercial airline actually discarded their entire schedule in order to fly football fans to Sudan!
Truly, there are some parts of the world that you never begin to understand until you see it for yourself. :-P
So, they are still here, scrambling to reschedule flights and waiting for word on when the Algerian airline will resume normal services. Because here, the unspoken rule seems to be We Brake For Football.
The Algerian cell phone service sent out a mass text saying that they were giving free roaming minutes to all subscribers travelling to the Sudan. All day on Wednesday, people marched around chanting "1, 2, 3, viva Algerie!"
I had to excuse my class early because of the absolute uproar--they couldn't concentrate.
The entire Saharawi population was restless because it was an unusually cloudy day, and they were concerned that they wouldn't be able to gather enough solar energy to power the car batteries they use to run their televisions....But the sun broke in the afternoon, to the profound relief of every Smara resident.
We rounded up at the tent of our friend Talib at 6:30 to join about 15 family members and friends who crammed together, watching with baited breath--2 hours of yelling, cursing, and praying later, we watched the Algerian team triumph, 1-0, over the Egyptian team.
And the celebration began...
Zainabo, my 25 year old Saharawi friend grabbed my arm and dragged me into the street to join the cheering crowds. The voices of 40,000 refugees joined in a chorus of yelling, horn-honking, and banging on the metal water tanks that line the sandy streets--it was the most overwhelming noise I think I've ever heard! We passed boys dancing on top of cars as we shouted with joy and joined in the banging and singing.
After the initial uproar, Zainabo dragged me back down the street to her house, where we all piled into Talib's tiny red VW and joined the zig-zagging procession that sped up and down the main road. An unloaded semi-truck rumbled by, the back filled with dozens of exuberant Sahrawis--three of them jumping up and down on the roof of the cabin.
The impromptu parade splintered, some cars circling crazily in sandy field in front of the UN building, while others, my car included, zoomed straight through the security gates and into the open desert. The winding, unmarked and unlit road was alive with swerving headlights, many cars spontaneously careening off the road and into the vast, dark expanse of sand and rocks.
All this time, we were hanging halfway out of the windows, screaming, banging on the doors, waving Algerian flags or the ends of our muhlfas at everyone and no one in particular. The wind whipped sand into my mouth as we roared along, shouting the Algerian anthem and laughing at our own ridiculousness.
The cheering and horn-honking continued late into the night, and again, this morning, people have continued for several hours to fill the air with the sounds of cheers, banging, and horns. The celebration continues, with congratulatory texts lighting up everyones' mobiles and Algerian green being touted proudly in every way, shape, and form.
What a special night...what laughter and memories! But most of all, Janet's words stuck with me--words she uttered as my friends and I tumbled into the school to say congratulations after we returned from our joyride....
(Janet is the woman who first began working with the Saharawi in 1999 and has been the head of all that has grown out of it)
"This is all for a game--and it's not even their country. I can only imagine the celebration we will witness when it is finally time for them to go home..."
And football takes a very prominent place in the hearts of these people, as I learned last night.
Three nights ago, Algeria and Egypt tied in the final qualifying round for the 2010 World Cup. With all the media and tension surrounding the game (which most of you in the West probably didn't here about--but you can google it), watching the first game was intense enough.
But when they tied on Monday night and scheduled a rematch in Sudan for Wednesday evening, the Saharawi people (and millions in the Middle East) collectively held their breath.
Four members of our team were booked to leave early Wednesday morning to head back to the United States. However, upon their arrival to the airport, they were courteously informed that all Air Algerie flights had been re-directed to Khartoum, Sudan for the game. A commercial airline actually discarded their entire schedule in order to fly football fans to Sudan!
Truly, there are some parts of the world that you never begin to understand until you see it for yourself. :-P
So, they are still here, scrambling to reschedule flights and waiting for word on when the Algerian airline will resume normal services. Because here, the unspoken rule seems to be We Brake For Football.
The Algerian cell phone service sent out a mass text saying that they were giving free roaming minutes to all subscribers travelling to the Sudan. All day on Wednesday, people marched around chanting "1, 2, 3, viva Algerie!"
I had to excuse my class early because of the absolute uproar--they couldn't concentrate.
The entire Saharawi population was restless because it was an unusually cloudy day, and they were concerned that they wouldn't be able to gather enough solar energy to power the car batteries they use to run their televisions....But the sun broke in the afternoon, to the profound relief of every Smara resident.
We rounded up at the tent of our friend Talib at 6:30 to join about 15 family members and friends who crammed together, watching with baited breath--2 hours of yelling, cursing, and praying later, we watched the Algerian team triumph, 1-0, over the Egyptian team.
And the celebration began...
Zainabo, my 25 year old Saharawi friend grabbed my arm and dragged me into the street to join the cheering crowds. The voices of 40,000 refugees joined in a chorus of yelling, horn-honking, and banging on the metal water tanks that line the sandy streets--it was the most overwhelming noise I think I've ever heard! We passed boys dancing on top of cars as we shouted with joy and joined in the banging and singing.
After the initial uproar, Zainabo dragged me back down the street to her house, where we all piled into Talib's tiny red VW and joined the zig-zagging procession that sped up and down the main road. An unloaded semi-truck rumbled by, the back filled with dozens of exuberant Sahrawis--three of them jumping up and down on the roof of the cabin.
The impromptu parade splintered, some cars circling crazily in sandy field in front of the UN building, while others, my car included, zoomed straight through the security gates and into the open desert. The winding, unmarked and unlit road was alive with swerving headlights, many cars spontaneously careening off the road and into the vast, dark expanse of sand and rocks.
All this time, we were hanging halfway out of the windows, screaming, banging on the doors, waving Algerian flags or the ends of our muhlfas at everyone and no one in particular. The wind whipped sand into my mouth as we roared along, shouting the Algerian anthem and laughing at our own ridiculousness.
The cheering and horn-honking continued late into the night, and again, this morning, people have continued for several hours to fill the air with the sounds of cheers, banging, and horns. The celebration continues, with congratulatory texts lighting up everyones' mobiles and Algerian green being touted proudly in every way, shape, and form.
What a special night...what laughter and memories! But most of all, Janet's words stuck with me--words she uttered as my friends and I tumbled into the school to say congratulations after we returned from our joyride....
(Janet is the woman who first began working with the Saharawi in 1999 and has been the head of all that has grown out of it)
"This is all for a game--and it's not even their country. I can only imagine the celebration we will witness when it is finally time for them to go home..."
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
God isn't boring.
"God is on the move...."
This has been a surreal week. Incredible.
I feel like Mary, "treasuring these things up in my heart"
I won't share too much...
But on Monday, I spoke the Word in front of imams, military leaders, and politicians from several nations...It was unexpected...but God actually used me.
I've met some incredible people who in a few days are unveiling huge things in my life and possibly in my future...
And today, I met the President of the Arab Saharan Democratic Republic...We had lunch at his residence!
Like I said...surreal.
And it's only just the beginning!!
My prayer/prayer request...that we would continue to receive guidance and annointing from the Spirit, and that God would give me the faith to step into the role he has given me to play...
This has been a surreal week. Incredible.
I feel like Mary, "treasuring these things up in my heart"
I won't share too much...
But on Monday, I spoke the Word in front of imams, military leaders, and politicians from several nations...It was unexpected...but God actually used me.
I've met some incredible people who in a few days are unveiling huge things in my life and possibly in my future...
And today, I met the President of the Arab Saharan Democratic Republic...We had lunch at his residence!
Like I said...surreal.
And it's only just the beginning!!
My prayer/prayer request...that we would continue to receive guidance and annointing from the Spirit, and that God would give me the faith to step into the role he has given me to play...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Crazy week ahead!!
People are arriving, literally from around the world, to spend a week in the camps with our team. We are hosting the annual religious dialogues, which were birthed several years ago as a way for Muslim Imams and Christian leaders to meet, discuss their beliefs, and build understanding and trust. It has been incredibly blessed in the past four years, and has become a very important event for many religious and political leaders in this region of North Africa. I’m so excited to see what God is going to do! Building understanding between Islam and Christ followers has never been so important…a glance at the news headlines make this gravely clear…
At the end of the week, we are also hosting a women’s seminar. This has also become a huge event in the refugee camp—I will write more later!
At the end of the week, we are also hosting a women’s seminar. This has also become a huge event in the refugee camp—I will write more later!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Me: "There's a mouse in the cabinet!!!!"
Cheryl: "Yeah, he lives there."
.....................................................
Anyway, I got some new antibiotics yesterday, and, praise the Lord, I am starting to feel human again. My fever is gone and I am starting to be able to eat normally.
Next goal: gain 10 pounds.
Cheryl: "Yeah, he lives there."
.....................................................
Anyway, I got some new antibiotics yesterday, and, praise the Lord, I am starting to feel human again. My fever is gone and I am starting to be able to eat normally.
Next goal: gain 10 pounds.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Warning: Rant Ahead.
Thank you all for your encouraging emails and prayers...I am doing better physically, although my stomach is still not back to normal...it's still hard to eat. I've definitely been "slimming down"...but hopefully I can make up for it soon.
I wrote last time about the difficulties here. But I must balance that post with this one, and say: I am not really suffering physically that much at all. Yes, I'm not really enjoying the illness, but I am not in any real danger--I am just more uncomfortable than I'm used to.
But the reality is this: I am an American. I'm getting out of here in two months. I have insurance. I have vaccines to protect me from the worst diseases, and, as a foreigner, I would be rushed to the front of the line in the hospital if needed. I can't escape privilege, even here.
And I have come to realize that I don’t feel like I’m lacking anything here. Yes, I crave grilled cheese and fresh salads (and diet Coke…). Yes, the internet I had at home worked more often than not and was certainly a lot faster. Yes, sinks and faucets are simpler to use than a hose in the sand.
However, the overwhelming impression I have gained in these last six weeks has not been how unbearable the living conditions are here, but rather how undeniably excessive our American “standard of living” is. I’ve always been frustrated with the consumer mentality in the USA—even to the point of haughty cynicism.
But this is a new insight. Before, I criticized our culture of entitlement—a system where the desires of a few take precedent over the very survival of many. Now, I’m living among the poor—not the poorest of the poor, but those who are just barely having their needs met. And you know what? It’s NOT that hard. And, if you ask them, many would tell you they don't consider themselves poor at all. One of my students, who lives on UN food rations, told me the other day, "I thank God, because I have everything I need."
People have made comments to other members of my team, saying things like, “I could never do that (come and live in Africa).”
You know what? We all can do something like this. No one should be unable to live in humble conditions, eating simple meals and experiencing what these people have endured for 35 years. Just because we have comfort and luxury doesn’t mean we are somehow incapable of enduring less. Just because we don’t HAVE to suffer doesn’t mean we should give ourselves license to believe that we CAN’T. In fact, maybe God is calling more of us to renounce the possessions we have dubbed as "blessings"...
My last post I spoke of the way I’ve struggled this past week. It comes with the territory, and yes, I was very sick. HOWEVER, I failed to mention that the small refugee hospital has also been flooded with Saharawi patients this past month, as food poisoning and other illnesses have spread rapidly. I am just one of them. Before coming here, it was a lot more comfortable to be ill (movies, saltine crackers, gatorade, Nyquil...)—but it is no greater tragedy for me to fall ill than it is for any one of my neighbors to be sick.
Americans are not that fragile--there is no genetic difference between "us" and "them", and we must give up our double standards...Either, it's okay for an American to go hungry and without good healthcare, or it's NOT okay for ANYONE to do so. Let's make up our minds.
(Disclaimer: this is not actually directed at any of you. . . This is just an insight into the aforementioned cynicism I'm afraid I fall pray to. I believe that much of what I said, though, has merit. Please excuse any pride and anger that (likely) may have motivated this outburst.)
I wrote last time about the difficulties here. But I must balance that post with this one, and say: I am not really suffering physically that much at all. Yes, I'm not really enjoying the illness, but I am not in any real danger--I am just more uncomfortable than I'm used to.
But the reality is this: I am an American. I'm getting out of here in two months. I have insurance. I have vaccines to protect me from the worst diseases, and, as a foreigner, I would be rushed to the front of the line in the hospital if needed. I can't escape privilege, even here.
And I have come to realize that I don’t feel like I’m lacking anything here. Yes, I crave grilled cheese and fresh salads (and diet Coke…). Yes, the internet I had at home worked more often than not and was certainly a lot faster. Yes, sinks and faucets are simpler to use than a hose in the sand.
However, the overwhelming impression I have gained in these last six weeks has not been how unbearable the living conditions are here, but rather how undeniably excessive our American “standard of living” is. I’ve always been frustrated with the consumer mentality in the USA—even to the point of haughty cynicism.
But this is a new insight. Before, I criticized our culture of entitlement—a system where the desires of a few take precedent over the very survival of many. Now, I’m living among the poor—not the poorest of the poor, but those who are just barely having their needs met. And you know what? It’s NOT that hard. And, if you ask them, many would tell you they don't consider themselves poor at all. One of my students, who lives on UN food rations, told me the other day, "I thank God, because I have everything I need."
People have made comments to other members of my team, saying things like, “I could never do that (come and live in Africa).”
You know what? We all can do something like this. No one should be unable to live in humble conditions, eating simple meals and experiencing what these people have endured for 35 years. Just because we have comfort and luxury doesn’t mean we are somehow incapable of enduring less. Just because we don’t HAVE to suffer doesn’t mean we should give ourselves license to believe that we CAN’T. In fact, maybe God is calling more of us to renounce the possessions we have dubbed as "blessings"...
My last post I spoke of the way I’ve struggled this past week. It comes with the territory, and yes, I was very sick. HOWEVER, I failed to mention that the small refugee hospital has also been flooded with Saharawi patients this past month, as food poisoning and other illnesses have spread rapidly. I am just one of them. Before coming here, it was a lot more comfortable to be ill (movies, saltine crackers, gatorade, Nyquil...)—but it is no greater tragedy for me to fall ill than it is for any one of my neighbors to be sick.
Americans are not that fragile--there is no genetic difference between "us" and "them", and we must give up our double standards...Either, it's okay for an American to go hungry and without good healthcare, or it's NOT okay for ANYONE to do so. Let's make up our minds.
(Disclaimer: this is not actually directed at any of you. . . This is just an insight into the aforementioned cynicism I'm afraid I fall pray to. I believe that much of what I said, though, has merit. Please excuse any pride and anger that (likely) may have motivated this outburst.)
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Delicious Despair
I haven't written for a while...
Partly, this is due to the fact that the internet has been down for a while...
But mostly, it is because this last week was a very dark time for me.
I have decided to be vulnerable and place these thoughts before you, in the hope that someone might find encouragement in them...
I got sick--again. For several days my stomach hurt so much I could barely eat, and in addition, I got a nasty cold that left me wheezing, weepy-eyed, and, for a few days, barely able to speak.
I was also seized with another illness--acute homesickness. Visions of the beauty of my beloved autumn back home haunted me. I was filled with longing to see my family again, to feel safe and comfortable, to be reunited with so many friends I love and haven't seen for months.
I felt the demands of the physical, emotional, and spiritual realities here start to overwhelm me. My body was severly weakened, and my spirit, even more so. I felt useless in the face of so much suffering, and ashamed of my desire to return to my life of privelige. I felt myself fighting feelings of despair.
What I didn't realize, though, was that this week was a gift. These days of darkness were simply God's way of lavishing his grace on me.
You see, he loved me enough to break me.
All along, He has been longing to carry me in His arms, but I, in my pride, prefered to walk on my own.
And so he tripped me....
....so that he could break my fall.
And as I was plunged into my own weakness, I found myself sinking into grace.
His ever-fresh mercies envelope me more in my brokenness than I could ever experience in pride and self-sufficiency.
I am so thankful that he let me fall apart.
As I cracked and shattered, he bent near and whispered. . .
"Behold, I make all things new."
Partly, this is due to the fact that the internet has been down for a while...
But mostly, it is because this last week was a very dark time for me.
I have decided to be vulnerable and place these thoughts before you, in the hope that someone might find encouragement in them...
I got sick--again. For several days my stomach hurt so much I could barely eat, and in addition, I got a nasty cold that left me wheezing, weepy-eyed, and, for a few days, barely able to speak.
I was also seized with another illness--acute homesickness. Visions of the beauty of my beloved autumn back home haunted me. I was filled with longing to see my family again, to feel safe and comfortable, to be reunited with so many friends I love and haven't seen for months.
I felt the demands of the physical, emotional, and spiritual realities here start to overwhelm me. My body was severly weakened, and my spirit, even more so. I felt useless in the face of so much suffering, and ashamed of my desire to return to my life of privelige. I felt myself fighting feelings of despair.
What I didn't realize, though, was that this week was a gift. These days of darkness were simply God's way of lavishing his grace on me.
You see, he loved me enough to break me.
All along, He has been longing to carry me in His arms, but I, in my pride, prefered to walk on my own.
And so he tripped me....
....so that he could break my fall.
And as I was plunged into my own weakness, I found myself sinking into grace.
His ever-fresh mercies envelope me more in my brokenness than I could ever experience in pride and self-sufficiency.
I am so thankful that he let me fall apart.
As I cracked and shattered, he bent near and whispered. . .
"Behold, I make all things new."
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Blessing
Thursday was a gift.
I spent the day with two of my students, Rabab and Fadah. What an honor. When I arrived at their home, the floor was spread with lovely meal of pasta, bread, and potatoes (no such thing as low carb here!). It was absolutely humbling to see the care that Rabab had put into the meal and to be the object of such ferocious hospitality (‘Eat, Teacher! This is your house. Eat some more!’). I have still not gotten over the remarkable dignity and generosity of the people here, even in such circumstances of lack.
The girls are breathtaking. Fadah (18), the youngest, with her dancing brown eyes, mischevious grin, and the confident stride of the well-loved baby sister…always leaning against me or holding my hand.
And Rabab (20)…what a precious girl. In my eyes, she is a true hero. With her father dead and her brothers gone, she’s been a pillar of strength in her family for years—from far too young an age, I believe. She gives endlessly and doesn’t raise a finger on her own behalf, yet works tirelessly for others—cleaning, cooking, working every afternoon, caring for family members and neighbors. But her eyes lack the sparkle of Fadah’s. Why? Is she burdened? Weary? Lonely? I will make it my aim to do what I can to ease whatever silent load she bears. I long to refresh and encourage her the way she does for so many others.
After lunch and a few hours of visiting, a faint sound of music reached our ears. “Teacher! A wedding! Let’s go!” In Saharawi culture, they informed me, weddings are an open event for the entire neighborhood. So we grabbed our scarves and dashed out the door, following the sound of the drums and singing. We discovered the tent a few blocks away and wriggled our way in. I instantly felt as if I had been flown centuries into the past. Women wrapped in dazzling mehlfas, men dancing in brilliant blue dra’as and turbans—I could have easily been in a remote Bedouin tent in some bygone century.
After soaking in the scene for about twenty minutes, the girls drew me outside the tent, where many neighbors, children, and Spanish journalists and human rights workers had gathered. The sun was beginning to dip, and everything was awash with the orange glow of the Maghreb sunset. And we began to dance. Laughing, spinning, clapping, snapping, stumbling…until the sun fell behind the horizon…
And when the girls pressed my hands as we parted that night, our eyes all spoke the same message to one another—“It has been my honor to be with you today.”
I spent the day with two of my students, Rabab and Fadah. What an honor. When I arrived at their home, the floor was spread with lovely meal of pasta, bread, and potatoes (no such thing as low carb here!). It was absolutely humbling to see the care that Rabab had put into the meal and to be the object of such ferocious hospitality (‘Eat, Teacher! This is your house. Eat some more!’). I have still not gotten over the remarkable dignity and generosity of the people here, even in such circumstances of lack.
The girls are breathtaking. Fadah (18), the youngest, with her dancing brown eyes, mischevious grin, and the confident stride of the well-loved baby sister…always leaning against me or holding my hand.
And Rabab (20)…what a precious girl. In my eyes, she is a true hero. With her father dead and her brothers gone, she’s been a pillar of strength in her family for years—from far too young an age, I believe. She gives endlessly and doesn’t raise a finger on her own behalf, yet works tirelessly for others—cleaning, cooking, working every afternoon, caring for family members and neighbors. But her eyes lack the sparkle of Fadah’s. Why? Is she burdened? Weary? Lonely? I will make it my aim to do what I can to ease whatever silent load she bears. I long to refresh and encourage her the way she does for so many others.
After lunch and a few hours of visiting, a faint sound of music reached our ears. “Teacher! A wedding! Let’s go!” In Saharawi culture, they informed me, weddings are an open event for the entire neighborhood. So we grabbed our scarves and dashed out the door, following the sound of the drums and singing. We discovered the tent a few blocks away and wriggled our way in. I instantly felt as if I had been flown centuries into the past. Women wrapped in dazzling mehlfas, men dancing in brilliant blue dra’as and turbans—I could have easily been in a remote Bedouin tent in some bygone century.
After soaking in the scene for about twenty minutes, the girls drew me outside the tent, where many neighbors, children, and Spanish journalists and human rights workers had gathered. The sun was beginning to dip, and everything was awash with the orange glow of the Maghreb sunset. And we began to dance. Laughing, spinning, clapping, snapping, stumbling…until the sun fell behind the horizon…
And when the girls pressed my hands as we parted that night, our eyes all spoke the same message to one another—“It has been my honor to be with you today.”
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Helplessness.
What a concept—my inner American riots at the thought of it.
Yet helplessness, dependence, and lack of autonomy seems to be a central underpinning to life here. The rhythm of the refugee is integrally linked to outside forces—remote agreements made in the United Nations, the fickle forces of nature, the arrival of the next shipment of emergency rations.
Being thrust into this rhythm for the past four weeks has certainly been a foreign experience for me. Although I’ve travelled most of my life and lived outside the US before, I was still raised with much of the American mentality—one of independence and an almost idolatrous faith in the power of the Choice. Yet here I am, in the land of the Choice-less, among people who live, to a great extent, the lives they are forced to, not the lives that they desire.
My Saharawi family recently received several kilos of flour from the World Food Programme. Thus, we have been eating plain white bread twice a day for the past week—because that’s what they were handed. Before that, we had been given beans, so my creative Saharawi mom served those up in whatever form she could concoct. Because here, we take what we’re given and we try and imagine it’s what we want.
Yes, we aren’t starving, although 1 in 3 children here are malnourished. Yes, there are makeshift roofs over our heads, but they crumble and dissolve when the rain falls. It’s humbling and sobering and occasionally enraging, living here, in the land of the anti-Choice.
What a concept—my inner American riots at the thought of it.
Yet helplessness, dependence, and lack of autonomy seems to be a central underpinning to life here. The rhythm of the refugee is integrally linked to outside forces—remote agreements made in the United Nations, the fickle forces of nature, the arrival of the next shipment of emergency rations.
Being thrust into this rhythm for the past four weeks has certainly been a foreign experience for me. Although I’ve travelled most of my life and lived outside the US before, I was still raised with much of the American mentality—one of independence and an almost idolatrous faith in the power of the Choice. Yet here I am, in the land of the Choice-less, among people who live, to a great extent, the lives they are forced to, not the lives that they desire.
My Saharawi family recently received several kilos of flour from the World Food Programme. Thus, we have been eating plain white bread twice a day for the past week—because that’s what they were handed. Before that, we had been given beans, so my creative Saharawi mom served those up in whatever form she could concoct. Because here, we take what we’re given and we try and imagine it’s what we want.
Yes, we aren’t starving, although 1 in 3 children here are malnourished. Yes, there are makeshift roofs over our heads, but they crumble and dissolve when the rain falls. It’s humbling and sobering and occasionally enraging, living here, in the land of the anti-Choice.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
“Teacher, we never forget this day.”
On Thursday, my English class and I met at the school to embark on a grand adventure: prepare lunch together.
We met at ten o’clock in the kitchen at the school, a small, tiled room equipped with a sink that doesn’t work, a set of plastic lawn chairs, a gas stove that only half works, a large pail of water, and a hodge-podge assortment of plastic silverware.
I have 8 students--bright-eyed, brave, and very unique young women, all of them. We began our effort in earnest, chatting gaily as we peeled our way through a mountain of potatoes. Soon, though, the situation evolved into a pseudo-dance party, as some of the girls hiked up their mulfas and taught me how to salsa, while the other girls ducked every time the gas stove went WOOSH!!!
We laughed, they inquired over and over again why I don’t have a boyfriend, they told me of their own love lives, they taught me how to clean and cook a chicken using only one pot, and we ran to a nearby tent to beg for some onions. We shooed away neighbor boys who were drawn in by the smell of cooking food—GIRLS ONLY!! We sang along to Celine Dion at the top of our lungs, and they taught me how to make salad dressing. They watched me with bewilderment as I demonstrated how to make “American Potatoes” (mashed potatoes). They scurried back and forth between the kitchen and our class room, eventually blindfolding me and leading me into the room, where they revealed with delight that they had transformed the room into a banquet hall.
Chicken, potatoes, fruit, salad, Coca Cola, yogurt, and bread—it was indeed a feast, and we had done it together. (They absolutely loved the American Potatoes, by the way…) We lingered over the meal for over an hour, laughing, gossiping, and eating—then, bellies full, we spent another hour scrubbing down the kitchen—a bigger adventure than the preparation, I assure you.
It is an incredible gift to be in these girls’ lives. To literally break bread with them, to hear their stories, to bless them and be blessed. It was an exhausting, 7 hour project….But when the girls announced they wanted to do this again, soon, I nodded as earnestly as the rest. What an honor.
On Thursday, my English class and I met at the school to embark on a grand adventure: prepare lunch together.
We met at ten o’clock in the kitchen at the school, a small, tiled room equipped with a sink that doesn’t work, a set of plastic lawn chairs, a gas stove that only half works, a large pail of water, and a hodge-podge assortment of plastic silverware.
I have 8 students--bright-eyed, brave, and very unique young women, all of them. We began our effort in earnest, chatting gaily as we peeled our way through a mountain of potatoes. Soon, though, the situation evolved into a pseudo-dance party, as some of the girls hiked up their mulfas and taught me how to salsa, while the other girls ducked every time the gas stove went WOOSH!!!
We laughed, they inquired over and over again why I don’t have a boyfriend, they told me of their own love lives, they taught me how to clean and cook a chicken using only one pot, and we ran to a nearby tent to beg for some onions. We shooed away neighbor boys who were drawn in by the smell of cooking food—GIRLS ONLY!! We sang along to Celine Dion at the top of our lungs, and they taught me how to make salad dressing. They watched me with bewilderment as I demonstrated how to make “American Potatoes” (mashed potatoes). They scurried back and forth between the kitchen and our class room, eventually blindfolding me and leading me into the room, where they revealed with delight that they had transformed the room into a banquet hall.
Chicken, potatoes, fruit, salad, Coca Cola, yogurt, and bread—it was indeed a feast, and we had done it together. (They absolutely loved the American Potatoes, by the way…) We lingered over the meal for over an hour, laughing, gossiping, and eating—then, bellies full, we spent another hour scrubbing down the kitchen—a bigger adventure than the preparation, I assure you.
It is an incredible gift to be in these girls’ lives. To literally break bread with them, to hear their stories, to bless them and be blessed. It was an exhausting, 7 hour project….But when the girls announced they wanted to do this again, soon, I nodded as earnestly as the rest. What an honor.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Selah
We slept out under the stars last night, on mats in the sand, breathing the cool air of the desert night.
I lay next to Tikera, my Saharawi sister, and could hardly keep from wriggling with delight under my blanket.
I’ve never experienced a more brilliant sight than the jeweled majesty that was spread above us.
Quivering diamonds, bright, pulsing planets, and the creamy cascade of the Milky Way spelled glory, glory, glory, and I could not sleep, because my heart sang along. With each shooting star that darted across the heavens, I forgot my tired, dusty body and I felt myself caught up in an ancient, living song. I felt tiny but so very, very safe.
“Is not God in the heights of heaven?
And see how lofty are the highest stars!” (Job 22:12)
And still, the I Am of the galaxies and ages was beside me, and I could feel his breath on my cheek. I fell asleep in the arms of El Shaddai, the Unapproachable One who is so desperately near, so preciously personal. And it was close to eternity, last night.
I lay next to Tikera, my Saharawi sister, and could hardly keep from wriggling with delight under my blanket.
I’ve never experienced a more brilliant sight than the jeweled majesty that was spread above us.
Quivering diamonds, bright, pulsing planets, and the creamy cascade of the Milky Way spelled glory, glory, glory, and I could not sleep, because my heart sang along. With each shooting star that darted across the heavens, I forgot my tired, dusty body and I felt myself caught up in an ancient, living song. I felt tiny but so very, very safe.
“Is not God in the heights of heaven?
And see how lofty are the highest stars!” (Job 22:12)
And still, the I Am of the galaxies and ages was beside me, and I could feel his breath on my cheek. I fell asleep in the arms of El Shaddai, the Unapproachable One who is so desperately near, so preciously personal. And it was close to eternity, last night.
Friday, October 9, 2009
It has not been an easy few days.
I knew this period would come.
I want to watch the seasons change back home. I want be near my loved ones. I want to rest on a real bed and drink cold, clean water.
I’m tired. I’m sick. I’m covered from head to toe with bug bites that keep me up at night. I feel frazzled and small and un-beautiful.
I haven’t cried since I left home, but I came very close today.
I know this won’t last. I know this is worth it. But that doesn’t make it any easier.
I thank God for the perseverance and courage I know I am gaining. I truly am excited for the ways I'm being refined and stretched. I pray I’ll be able to manifest Christ in a whole new way as I travel through these months. . .
Miss you all....
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish it's work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4
I knew this period would come.
I want to watch the seasons change back home. I want be near my loved ones. I want to rest on a real bed and drink cold, clean water.
I’m tired. I’m sick. I’m covered from head to toe with bug bites that keep me up at night. I feel frazzled and small and un-beautiful.
I haven’t cried since I left home, but I came very close today.
I know this won’t last. I know this is worth it. But that doesn’t make it any easier.
I thank God for the perseverance and courage I know I am gaining. I truly am excited for the ways I'm being refined and stretched. I pray I’ll be able to manifest Christ in a whole new way as I travel through these months. . .
Miss you all....
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish it's work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
"Somehow we realize that great stories are told in conflict, but we are unwilling to embrace the potential greatness of the story we are actually in. We think God is unjust, rather than a master storyteller."
-Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years
Well, if this is true, I should take heart. Today was an especially difficult day.
-Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years
Well, if this is true, I should take heart. Today was an especially difficult day.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Bon appetite
::Mariam and I eating dinner::
(Power shuts off in the camps at night, and we eat dinner in the dark)
::Chewing::
Me: "This is pretty good."
Miriam: "Mmm..." *flips on her flashlight* "WHAT'S THAT?!"
Me: "Dang girl, why you gotta be like that? Why you gotta turn on a flashlight?!"
Moral of the story: Some things are better eaten in the dark, especially when you find yourself in an African refugee camp.
(Power shuts off in the camps at night, and we eat dinner in the dark)
::Chewing::
Me: "This is pretty good."
Miriam: "Mmm..." *flips on her flashlight* "WHAT'S THAT?!"
Me: "Dang girl, why you gotta be like that? Why you gotta turn on a flashlight?!"
Moral of the story: Some things are better eaten in the dark, especially when you find yourself in an African refugee camp.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Rub a dub dub....
I took my first shower yesterday. Yes…I spent 4 full days in the Sahara, trudging in the hot sun through goat herds and clouds of dust, without a shower. That is about par for the course—I was told to expect a shower once every 4-6 days.
How does a shower here look, you ask? Let me set the scene: A 6x6 ft sand-brick shanty/outhouse with a sandy cement floor. At one wall is a ceramic tile with a hole in the middle. This is the toilet, or “squatty potty”. Yeah, it does smell, if you’re wondering.
A large bucket is filled with water from the large barrels that are trucked in by NGOs—there is not much to go around, so any sort of running water for a shower is out of the question. Instead, you fill the bucket with water and use a large cup to scoop the water out and pour it over your body, whilst standing near the “drain” (toilet).
It was a rather tedious process, and very chilly. ‘Washing’ my hair was particularly difficult…it’s not easy to rinse. However, it was the first time since I arrived that I got the chance to wash myself with water—for the most part, our hygienic routines consist of wet wipes. So, all things considered, it was quite a luxury, and I enjoyed it immensely.
I’m expecting that some of you are horrified. That’s okay…I might be dusty, but I feel alive.
How does a shower here look, you ask? Let me set the scene: A 6x6 ft sand-brick shanty/outhouse with a sandy cement floor. At one wall is a ceramic tile with a hole in the middle. This is the toilet, or “squatty potty”. Yeah, it does smell, if you’re wondering.
A large bucket is filled with water from the large barrels that are trucked in by NGOs—there is not much to go around, so any sort of running water for a shower is out of the question. Instead, you fill the bucket with water and use a large cup to scoop the water out and pour it over your body, whilst standing near the “drain” (toilet).
It was a rather tedious process, and very chilly. ‘Washing’ my hair was particularly difficult…it’s not easy to rinse. However, it was the first time since I arrived that I got the chance to wash myself with water—for the most part, our hygienic routines consist of wet wipes. So, all things considered, it was quite a luxury, and I enjoyed it immensely.
I’m expecting that some of you are horrified. That’s okay…I might be dusty, but I feel alive.
Friday, October 2, 2009
I’ve been here in the Sahara for a full week now. In some ways, I’m starting to feel very at home.
I absolutely love my family. My two younger “sisters” and I have been able to spend a good amount of time together—In fact, I couldn’t get away from them if I tried. Whenever Miriam and return home, little Selma comes running out to us, her little bare feet kicking up puffs of dust behind her. She hugs our knees and kisses us and leads us inside.
Selma is pretty relentless—she’s so full of energy, always babbling in Hesseniya, running back and forth, jumping on our laps (or our faces when we’re trying to rest!), and squealing with delight at the tiniest little pleasure. I absolutely love playing with Selma, and after a few minutes with her I’m always laughing hysterically.
Shebab and I are also becoming very close. My Arabic is rapidly improving, since she forces me into conversation whenever she catches me at home. (Whether I’m sleeping, reading, writing, or on the phone—it doesn’t matter, when she wants to talk, it’s time to talk!). We spent over an hour yesterday talking about school, her future, and boys. (She’s let me in on the elaborate drama of her love life, always admonishing me, “but don’t tell momma.”)
Last night was a difficult one for both of us, though. Shebab had been planning to head off to college in Algiers this weekend, and I was so excited for her. But last night I noticed her sitting alone outside the door, her usually animated face looking extremely downcast. I asked her repeatedly what was wrong, but for a long time her only response was silence.
She told me we could talk inside the tent, and so I went in with her and sat by her mat. After a few minutes of silently wiping away tears, she told me that her mom had just told her she wouldn’t be able to go away to school. When she told me this, my heart broke—not only for her loss, but also for the courage and humility in her eyes as she tried to hide the disappointment.
In broken Arabic, I tried to reassure her and offer her some comfort, but soon we both fell silent. She took my hand and simply held it. I sat by her for a quarter of an hour, in the dark, her hand in mine, just wanting her to know she wasn’t alone. I wanted to offer hope, but sometimes all you can do is try and ward off despair.
By the time the rest of the family returned from the neighbors’, it was about 1 A.M. When Shebab heard them coming, she told me to go to my bed, and leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you sister. I’m not sad. It’s nothing.” Her eyes were still gleaming with tears, and so were mine. But what was left to say?
Love hurts.
I absolutely love my family. My two younger “sisters” and I have been able to spend a good amount of time together—In fact, I couldn’t get away from them if I tried. Whenever Miriam and return home, little Selma comes running out to us, her little bare feet kicking up puffs of dust behind her. She hugs our knees and kisses us and leads us inside.
Selma is pretty relentless—she’s so full of energy, always babbling in Hesseniya, running back and forth, jumping on our laps (or our faces when we’re trying to rest!), and squealing with delight at the tiniest little pleasure. I absolutely love playing with Selma, and after a few minutes with her I’m always laughing hysterically.
Shebab and I are also becoming very close. My Arabic is rapidly improving, since she forces me into conversation whenever she catches me at home. (Whether I’m sleeping, reading, writing, or on the phone—it doesn’t matter, when she wants to talk, it’s time to talk!). We spent over an hour yesterday talking about school, her future, and boys. (She’s let me in on the elaborate drama of her love life, always admonishing me, “but don’t tell momma.”)
Last night was a difficult one for both of us, though. Shebab had been planning to head off to college in Algiers this weekend, and I was so excited for her. But last night I noticed her sitting alone outside the door, her usually animated face looking extremely downcast. I asked her repeatedly what was wrong, but for a long time her only response was silence.
She told me we could talk inside the tent, and so I went in with her and sat by her mat. After a few minutes of silently wiping away tears, she told me that her mom had just told her she wouldn’t be able to go away to school. When she told me this, my heart broke—not only for her loss, but also for the courage and humility in her eyes as she tried to hide the disappointment.
In broken Arabic, I tried to reassure her and offer her some comfort, but soon we both fell silent. She took my hand and simply held it. I sat by her for a quarter of an hour, in the dark, her hand in mine, just wanting her to know she wasn’t alone. I wanted to offer hope, but sometimes all you can do is try and ward off despair.
By the time the rest of the family returned from the neighbors’, it was about 1 A.M. When Shebab heard them coming, she told me to go to my bed, and leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you sister. I’m not sad. It’s nothing.” Her eyes were still gleaming with tears, and so were mine. But what was left to say?
Love hurts.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
School Begins
I taught my first class today…
I am so humbled…
I was a bit nervous at first, but the girls immediately disarmed me. They range in age from 17-21, and are all uniquely beautiful and gifted. What caught me so off-guard, though, was the way they seemed to admire me.
They really had no reason to—we had just met, and it would have seemed to make more sense for them to be shy, or critical, or apprehensive. But no, one of the first things that my student Fadah said was “teacher, I have to tell you that I know that you are very beautiful.” They all nodded in agreement and began eagerly pelting me with questions about life in America, my family, my likes and dislikes and “what you are most good at cooking?”
They humbly asked for help and clarification on spelling and grammar and eagerly asked for more new words. They told me how grateful they were to have me “come all the way to see us.” When I told them I’d be here for three months, they said “Oh, that’s too short—will you come back??”
It wasn’t five minutes before they said, “Teacher, I want you to come to my home and I will cook for you anytime. I can make spaghetti with cheese and anything you like. I want you to come always to my house.” The other girls echoed in agreement, each trying to out-do the other with promises of hospitality.
The most touching moment came at the end, though. After the lesson ended, my students wrapped up their faces in dusty scarves, gathered their tattered notebooks, and lined up to kiss me warmly on both cheeks, saying “Thank you teacher, thank you. Take care of yourself, and sweet dreams” ( hehe…)
One student, Miriam, hung back. My shyest student, she waited until the other girls dispersed and then came up and touched my arm, saying, “Teacher, I want you to know, if you need help with anything—you need food or a mulfha, or anything at all, tell me, and I will help you. You are my sister, and my mother, and my brother.”
I am welling up again with tears as I write this. These women are so full of hope and life and kindness, even in the midst of such desolate surroundings. Any inkling I had of unilateral blessing has been demolished—I will certainly be blessed as much, if not more, as these girls in the coming months.
It's already worth it...
I am so humbled…
I was a bit nervous at first, but the girls immediately disarmed me. They range in age from 17-21, and are all uniquely beautiful and gifted. What caught me so off-guard, though, was the way they seemed to admire me.
They really had no reason to—we had just met, and it would have seemed to make more sense for them to be shy, or critical, or apprehensive. But no, one of the first things that my student Fadah said was “teacher, I have to tell you that I know that you are very beautiful.” They all nodded in agreement and began eagerly pelting me with questions about life in America, my family, my likes and dislikes and “what you are most good at cooking?”
They humbly asked for help and clarification on spelling and grammar and eagerly asked for more new words. They told me how grateful they were to have me “come all the way to see us.” When I told them I’d be here for three months, they said “Oh, that’s too short—will you come back??”
It wasn’t five minutes before they said, “Teacher, I want you to come to my home and I will cook for you anytime. I can make spaghetti with cheese and anything you like. I want you to come always to my house.” The other girls echoed in agreement, each trying to out-do the other with promises of hospitality.
The most touching moment came at the end, though. After the lesson ended, my students wrapped up their faces in dusty scarves, gathered their tattered notebooks, and lined up to kiss me warmly on both cheeks, saying “Thank you teacher, thank you. Take care of yourself, and sweet dreams” ( hehe…)
One student, Miriam, hung back. My shyest student, she waited until the other girls dispersed and then came up and touched my arm, saying, “Teacher, I want you to know, if you need help with anything—you need food or a mulfha, or anything at all, tell me, and I will help you. You are my sister, and my mother, and my brother.”
I am welling up again with tears as I write this. These women are so full of hope and life and kindness, even in the midst of such desolate surroundings. Any inkling I had of unilateral blessing has been demolished—I will certainly be blessed as much, if not more, as these girls in the coming months.
It's already worth it...
Monday, September 28, 2009
Registration for the Essalam English Center began yesterday, and we are continuing it today...
Lots of young women are pouring in, and I got to meet a few of my future students!
The women here are beautiful and definitely have a mind of their own--most of them are very spirited and outgoing, from what I've seen. They all are eager to meet their teachers (myself, Jessica, and Sarah)--or as they call us sometimes, "professor" (haha!).
I am already falling in love with these people, and I am so humbled and honored by the grace and generosity they've already shared with us.
I wonder, as I look at the faces of the older generation here, what it must feel like to be reduced to this state. They are doing the best they can and I am amazed at the way they've managed to continue having joy despite the poverty and injustice. They were driven from their homes in 1975 by military force, and many, like my host "mother" Barika, or Jessica's "grandmother", surely remember not only the terror of fleeing for their lives, but also they way things "used to be".
How must it feel, then, to be forced to spend over 30 years in crumbling, make-shift huts and tents, eating donated "emergency rations" year after year, and watching your children and grandchildren grow up with such limited opportunities? This is injustice, and it hurts me to see it--how must it sting them?
It is only right to suffer with them--it is only right to come here and brush cheeks with their children, drink their tea and sleep beside them, to try and fight off the demons of despair that have begun to set in.
Last night was a huge blessing to me...we went to the home of Talib, an extremely gifted middle-aged man who was educated abroad in agriculture and who has returned to help cultivate gardens here in the desert. His work is incredible, and vegetable gardens are springing up here in the Sahara--check out : www.notforgotteninternational.org/nfi-programs.html
Anyway, we (Myself, Sarah, Phil, and Jess) visited his family around 9:00 p.m., where we gathered in his tent for a game of cards and tea. His sisters, nephews, cousins, nieces, and brothers all streamed in and out of the tent, striking up conversations in Arabic, Hessiniya, Spanish, and English--sometimes all four in the same sentence. Luckily, Talib speaks English, and is a wonderful help translating and teaching our team. (although Jess knows quite a bit of Hesseniya)
It was an incredible amount of fun. The card game was nice, but the company was hilarious. Everyone was so warm, so welcoming, so full of laughter. We are all picking up more Hessiniya, and Talib's sister is going to tutor me in proper Arabic while I'm here. We drank sweet, minty tea (three 'rounds', which is a huge ceremony in itself and lasts about 3 hours). Sarah and I have already had 18 cups of tea since we arrived two days ago. :)
Anyway, I'm doing well. I've encountered bugs and spiders of many shapes and sizes, and chewed quite a bit of sand along with my rice. But these are small adjustments I need to make, that's all. I feel very blessed to be here. :)
My camera is still unfound. :'( I can't deny I have to fight back tears when I think about it. If I can make one selfish request, please do pray that it is somehow found. But pray also that I look more like Christ, not less, because of this.
Miss you all. Please pray for our team, that we would remain simple vessels of love and grace and sacrifice. Please pray for the Saharawi people--that a new kind of hope would begin to dawn here in the desert.
Grace and peace to you! <3
Lots of young women are pouring in, and I got to meet a few of my future students!
The women here are beautiful and definitely have a mind of their own--most of them are very spirited and outgoing, from what I've seen. They all are eager to meet their teachers (myself, Jessica, and Sarah)--or as they call us sometimes, "professor" (haha!).
I am already falling in love with these people, and I am so humbled and honored by the grace and generosity they've already shared with us.
I wonder, as I look at the faces of the older generation here, what it must feel like to be reduced to this state. They are doing the best they can and I am amazed at the way they've managed to continue having joy despite the poverty and injustice. They were driven from their homes in 1975 by military force, and many, like my host "mother" Barika, or Jessica's "grandmother", surely remember not only the terror of fleeing for their lives, but also they way things "used to be".
How must it feel, then, to be forced to spend over 30 years in crumbling, make-shift huts and tents, eating donated "emergency rations" year after year, and watching your children and grandchildren grow up with such limited opportunities? This is injustice, and it hurts me to see it--how must it sting them?
It is only right to suffer with them--it is only right to come here and brush cheeks with their children, drink their tea and sleep beside them, to try and fight off the demons of despair that have begun to set in.
Last night was a huge blessing to me...we went to the home of Talib, an extremely gifted middle-aged man who was educated abroad in agriculture and who has returned to help cultivate gardens here in the desert. His work is incredible, and vegetable gardens are springing up here in the Sahara--check out : www.notforgotteninternational.org/nfi-programs.html
Anyway, we (Myself, Sarah, Phil, and Jess) visited his family around 9:00 p.m., where we gathered in his tent for a game of cards and tea. His sisters, nephews, cousins, nieces, and brothers all streamed in and out of the tent, striking up conversations in Arabic, Hessiniya, Spanish, and English--sometimes all four in the same sentence. Luckily, Talib speaks English, and is a wonderful help translating and teaching our team. (although Jess knows quite a bit of Hesseniya)
It was an incredible amount of fun. The card game was nice, but the company was hilarious. Everyone was so warm, so welcoming, so full of laughter. We are all picking up more Hessiniya, and Talib's sister is going to tutor me in proper Arabic while I'm here. We drank sweet, minty tea (three 'rounds', which is a huge ceremony in itself and lasts about 3 hours). Sarah and I have already had 18 cups of tea since we arrived two days ago. :)
Anyway, I'm doing well. I've encountered bugs and spiders of many shapes and sizes, and chewed quite a bit of sand along with my rice. But these are small adjustments I need to make, that's all. I feel very blessed to be here. :)
My camera is still unfound. :'( I can't deny I have to fight back tears when I think about it. If I can make one selfish request, please do pray that it is somehow found. But pray also that I look more like Christ, not less, because of this.
Miss you all. Please pray for our team, that we would remain simple vessels of love and grace and sacrifice. Please pray for the Saharawi people--that a new kind of hope would begin to dawn here in the desert.
Grace and peace to you! <3
Sunday, September 27, 2009
I'm here!
I’m here!! What a journey... Lots of things came up along the way—not least of all the disappearance of my beautiful Canon Powershot camera (a gift from my father for this trip) and my ipod. (Please pray. As much as I am trying to deal with this disappointment in a godly way, I can’t deny how very, very much I want to see my camera found…It was so dear to me, and there’s a chance Lufthansa can retrieve it.) God was gracious, though, and we all got to the camps safe and sound. Our rickety plane touched down in Tindouf at about 2:30 a.m. in front of a one-room “airport” (which is open only three days a week). Once we made it out of there, we were met by “Protocol” and loaded into an SUV. An hour of bumping and lurching through the desert, and we arrived in the camps. My roommate, Sarah P., and I were dropped off in front of our new home about 4:00 a.m. We were met by Barika, our new ‘mom’, and her sleepy 3-year-old daughter, Selma. Our conversation was brief and broken—the dialect of Arabic I know is very different from Hesseniya, their dialect. A few moments later we were shown our room—the only ‘real’ one in the house—which is furnished with a few mattresses, a carpet, low table, and lots of spiders. A few hours later we awoke—the visiting had begun by neighbors, our teammate Phil, and the rest of the family. Shabab, a 19-year old cousin, as well as Akheera, a 21 year old, also live with us. After a breakfast of bread and coffee, we chatted a bit then headed off to the school for meetings and orientation. My roommate and I received new Saharawi names already--mine is Aziza (it means "darling") and Sarah's is Miriam (the equivalent of Mary). :) I like them! It’s been a busy, dusty, crazy day. I’ve already begun growing closer to my new “sisters”—I spent the afternoon in ‘conversation’ with them. It isn’t easy—a fusion of Arabic, Hessaniya, English, and Spanish—but we give each other a lot of grace, and share a lot of laughs. Little Selma is my new playmate. After hiding behind the curtain for a few minutes, she warmed up to us. Now she’s almost always tangled in my mulfa, and I even got a “busa” (kiss). I miss home. I’m thirsty and hot and intimidated. But I’m in the right place. Bismallah, el rahman el raheem.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Departure
I hardly know what to write.
I'm leaving for Algeria in just a few hours. It will be an over 24-hour journey from Saudi to the Saharawi refugee camps outside Tindouf. 3 planes, two bags, one half-frightened girl.
But,
as much as I feel like I'm stepping out into thin air,
as inadequate as I believe myself to be,
as difficult as the months ahead may prove to be,
I know that my hand is in His, and that is enough.
It is enough.
Who can tell what I'll learn, what I'll lose, who I'll love, how I'll change?
But we don't really need answers.
We just need Him.
And I can't wait to meet Him in ways I've never met Him before.
I have been on my knees, in awe of the honor He's given me.
To go, bearing His name, among these beautiful strangers who have suffered so much.
I am not worthy, and still, he sends me.
----He's identified me as his own, what an incredible gamble!!
I beg for your prayers.
Not prayers for my comfort, safety, or ease,
but for humility, obedience, and courage.
“For God, who said ‘Let light shine out of darkness’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.” 2 Corinthians 4:6-7
Monday, September 21, 2009
"God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them."
Friday, September 18, 2009
Holy night.
It's been an interesting 24 hours...
Today was the final day of Ramadan--today, at sunset, we broke our fast for the final time. It's a slightly bittersweet evening--I really will miss the incredibly unique atmosphere of unity and reverence that pervades this country during Ramadan. "Ramadan Kareem" is the greeting during this month--"Have a generous Ramadan" is the meaning.
And generosity is the central theme, with charities setting up posts at street-corners where people can stop and buy sacks of grain and rice to give to the poor. Restaurants serve you complimentary soup, dates, laban, and sambosik before ever taking your order. Gifts are exchanged day after day--my family has received four giant boxes of chocolates, as well as kaak (date cookies) and gift cards.
But last night was really unique for me. After playing Uno and watching a movie, most of my family went to bed--around 12 midnight. I went into the kitchen to make batter for the crepes my family requested for the final sahoor. After mixing this up, I cleaned up the kitchen, checked my email, and brushed my teeth. By now it was about 1:45 am, and my dad was just returning from the mosque. (Imams read through the entire Qu'ran every Ramadan, one portion each night.)
I was tired and ready for bed, but my Dad asked me to stay up and spend time with him. He was in a pensive mood...he started talking about his childhood in Palestine, about family members killed by Israeli bombs, about his father (who died in 2000)...I mostly listened.
We talked about Islam, about what it means to him, and then he turned on the TV to a channel broadcasting live from Mecca.
The Qu'ran reading was just finishing up. It was incredible to see the throngs of faithfuls--there were three MILLION people at the mosque last night. There were English subtitles to the Qu'ran reading--and as the Imam prayed for the believers at the end of the recitation, I watched them pray more and more earnestly--almost all of them moved to tears.
I almost cried too.
So many beautiful souls.
So sincere and so desirous of hope.
I will give my life to love these people.
As if that wasn't emotional enough...my father switched channels to a recording of a man standing on a dusty street in Jerusalem, reciting the story of Jesus as told in the Qu'ran.
I sat next to my father and I listened to these words about the One who is more precious to me than anything. The story of how Jesus was saved from the cross by God and taken away before he could be killed---In Islam, Jesus is not an enemy, but a revered prophet--the only one who never died.
But, for me, to take away his death is to take away everything he is.
Oh, Jesus. History doesn't know what to do with you.
I went back to the kitchen at 3:30 am to make the crepes, waking the rest of my family at 4:00 for our final sahoor. Afterwards, I cleaned up and walked with my dad to the gate of the mosque for the dawn prayers.
Walking back to the house as the sky turned from dark blue to grey, with the sound of a thousand mosques echoing over the city, my heart felt it would overflow.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Insomnia...
I can't sleep...again.
Ah. My mind and heart are so full, these days.
Each day, it seems, life takes on another color...another texture.
Today, I awoke with a headache and an inexplicable sense of sadness.
I spend the first hour of the day reading...a whole hour I sat...before I looked out the window.
Friends, we must look out our windows. How else can we hope to survive?
We must see the sun, and notice the clouds, and step out the door just to taste the breeze.
We must do this.
And people complain they don't hear from God...
God is at the window.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The Anatomy of a Fast
Fasting for fifteen hours is actually relatively easy, I think, once you get accustomed to the hunger.
Waking up, I think, its the most difficult part. The first sensation you experience is a gnawing, sour hunger. I don't like it.
The hunger subsides within the first two hours, and the middle part of the day is relatively easy.
The hunger usually recurs around 2:30 pm, and there's no way around it this time. I usually feel really drowsy at this point, but once you stick it out for about an hour, you'll start to feel alive again.
Everyone starts moving a little slower by now, but spirits are usually up at this point--only a few hours till the salat.
The final hour usually flies by as we busy ourselves in the kitchen making shourba andsambosik and assembling the rest of the iftar meal.
As sundown approaches, we turn on MBC, which broadcasts live from Mecca. The scenes of thousands of faithfuls milling around the mosque, which is about 70 kilometers from Jeddah, fill the screen. When the sun sets in Mecca, the muzzein begins the adhan--call to prayer, and cannons are fired to announce the breaking of the fast. Moments later, the adhan sounds from the mosques surrounding our house, and we eagerly partake in dates and laban.
Many people take the opportunity to gorge themselves during the evening. I have had the opposite reaction--my appetite has decreased a lot. It takes only a little food to fill me up, and, although I enjoy lots of fresh fruit during the evening, I feel no need to eat more than usual. Fasting really breaks the attraction of food.
(Any of my Muslim friends who read this should let me know if they agree with my observations)
Here is a video of the adhan, so you can hear what it sounds like. I like this one because it has the Arabic and English translations of the words.
Imagine this x100...Jeddah literally has a mosque every square kilometer--or less.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
2 weeks and counting.
Well, life is quiet and pleasant here in Jeddah lately.
Just fasting, reading, studying during the day and dinner, games, and movies with the family at night.
It's getting easier to go without food during the day, but it's really starting to get exhausting, getting up every morning at 3 A.M. Lately I feel very weak. I'm trying to do a better job of getting rest and eating well at night. Ramadan is certainly a challenge!
I am leaving for Algeria in two weeks...I can't believe it! I feel humbler with every day...It is going to be such an honor and a challenge.
I can't believe the news I got from Christ the Rock today, though (the church that is sending me to the refugee camps)--a lot of financial support has been pouring in for me!! I'm on my way to being able to pay for everything I need--I'm SO thankful!! I can hardly believe the generosity of some of my relatives and friends...I think it's so beautiful, the way that the body of Christ takes care of each other. God is good. :)
Love you, friends! Thanks for the emails. I miss you all so so much.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Grace
I had a dream last night...
And I don't know if it was supernatural or not.
But I do know I'll always remember it.
I can't remember details much, except for the very end.
I do know I was trapped somewhere, dark and cold.
I didn't know why I was there.
But I also knew I had no way of getting myself out.
It was strange and frightening...
But something changed.
Someone rescued me!
A man, someone I'd never met before
Opened a door I didn't know was there.
Said that he had paid for me to be freed.
I was puzzled and peered up at his face and asked, "But, why?"
After all...I had never seen him before.
What made me worthy of his rescue?
And he answered me...
And his words were as clear as day
And echoed in my ears even after I awoke.
He said,
"I'm not giving you grace because of something you've done.
I'm giving you grace because of what you cannot do."
And he picked me up, and carried me out into the sun.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
<3
I can be so ugly sometimes.
Do you ever take a mental step back and marvel at your own words and actions? How can I fill so many journal pages with love letters to God and spend so much time in the Word, and yet slip so easily into impatience, pride, or selfishness?
But "where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more". Oh, how inexpressibly beautiful is His amazing Grace!
I always intend to write something funny or informative on this blog, and I'm sorry if I always seem to lapse into 'religious' rhetoric, but friends, I can't betray my heart. And truth is, with every new day, I really do love him more. As I walk through every simple, unimportant hour of my little life, he condescends to guide me and keep me in his most intimate, glorious company.
The Ancient of Days, Almighty Yahweh--I am his. And it is not through thunder and force that he's molding me. It's his whispers and kisses that change me--gently, but firmly.
Because I love him, my Abba. And it's love that inspires a difference. And it's grace that enables me to escape myself.
Joy is mine. And maybe, as he gives me courage, I'll be beautiful.
By his divine power, God has given us everything we need for life and godliness. We have received all of this by coming to know him, the one who called us to himself by means of his marvelous glory and goodness. Through this, he has given us his great and precious promises so that you might share his divine nature and escape the corruption caused by our own desires.
In view of all this, make every effort to respond to God’s promises. Supplement your faith with a generous provision of moral excellence, and moral excellence with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with patient endurance, and patient endurance with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love for everyone. -2 Peter 1:3-7
Thursday, September 3, 2009
A string of small days.
Sorry for the lack of updates. Days are flying by...Ramadan is in full swing.
My daily routine looks like this: waking up at 3:30 a.m. to eat sahoor--for me, it's usually some oatmeal and and orange, or sometimes eggs or feta cheese and zatar. I head back to bed as soon as possible, but eating at that unnatural hour always upsets my stomach. I sleep until about 9, then get up, wash my face, and head to the pool to swim laps or ride the stationary bike. I am not really trying to get in shape--it's more a case of desperately needing some space. My father's house has THREE ROOMS. Tiny rooms with lots of furniture and too many people.
My siblings and I sleep in one room, which barely has enough room for our four mattresses on the floor. The other room is a living room, which has an adjoining kitchen. My parents have the other bedroom with a tiny bathroom.
Anyway, after returning from my light "work out"--I can't work too hard, because I'm fasting and prone to passing out--I usually shower, spend a good deal of time in devotionals/journalling, and then read, study Arabic, and mess around with my siblings. I am studying the entire New Testament, and it's a joy. I've read so many books since I've been here, and that is WONDERFUL. My inner, starved bookworm is growing fat and happy.
Speaking of which, I've lost a lot of weight the last month (it's already been four weeks since I left the US.) I didn't really notice until yesterday. Not exactly a good thing. Hm.
Evenings are lovely. Iftar when dad gets home and the adhan sounds. Dates, soup, rice, etc. Then board games and Monk when Dad doesn't go to the mosque. We laugh way too much. It's so good for all of us--my dad especially, I think.
Anyways, this is a pretty casual post, but I figured I ought to write something, however ordinary.
I miss so, so many people. I've been able to write a lot of emails back and forth with many of my dearest friends. I appreciate it so much. Please forgive the unreliable response times. My internet is pretty spotty, and I've had a lot of migraines lately and found myself unable to write. I'll try and keep up!
I've been trying to post pictures on here, but the internet won't cooperate. I have a few up on my Facebook though!
Love you all.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
I asked my dad what he liked best about Ramadan.
He told me he likes the evening prayers, where the faithful crowd into the corner mosques to hear the Holy Book read and to pray side-by-side.
"It really reminds you of who you are...which is nothing. You know? It's like, five minutes ago, maybe you were important--maybe you're the boss of people ore making big deals with lots of money--but then Allah has us come into the mosque and touch our heads to the ground and remember that he is everything and we are nothing. Five times a day, we put our faces ot the floor and remember who we are. We live twenty, fifty, amybe a hundred years, and then we disappear again. We're nobody. It doesn't add to God's wealth when we pray--it adds to ours because it reminds us who God is."
I got the chills as he spoke, and my eyes filled with familiar tears--the tears I taste when I receive a hand-written message from the Lord.
My dad spoke the truth--the very words I had heard from God that morning. God had reminded me, just hours before, of how very small I am and how immeasureable he is--the Almighty, the Lord of Lords. Separeate and unspeakably beautiful, awesome beyond our ability to express...This is my precious Savior.
A high view of God is the beginning of everything--fear of the Lord, the trembling humiliation of acknowledging our absolutely finite existence. This is an essential piece of reality--near the very core, I might venture to say.
To believe in a small God is, in my opinion, an incredible failure of logic.
To deny him is one thing--to belittle him is something entirely different.
Holy, holy, holy. Period.
(And, crowning this glory is the unspeakable miracle--one my father didn't share with me--that this God is a Redeemer, a Lover, a Counselor. Tender, tender, tender.)
He told me he likes the evening prayers, where the faithful crowd into the corner mosques to hear the Holy Book read and to pray side-by-side.
"It really reminds you of who you are...which is nothing. You know? It's like, five minutes ago, maybe you were important--maybe you're the boss of people ore making big deals with lots of money--but then Allah has us come into the mosque and touch our heads to the ground and remember that he is everything and we are nothing. Five times a day, we put our faces ot the floor and remember who we are. We live twenty, fifty, amybe a hundred years, and then we disappear again. We're nobody. It doesn't add to God's wealth when we pray--it adds to ours because it reminds us who God is."
I got the chills as he spoke, and my eyes filled with familiar tears--the tears I taste when I receive a hand-written message from the Lord.
My dad spoke the truth--the very words I had heard from God that morning. God had reminded me, just hours before, of how very small I am and how immeasureable he is--the Almighty, the Lord of Lords. Separeate and unspeakably beautiful, awesome beyond our ability to express...This is my precious Savior.
A high view of God is the beginning of everything--fear of the Lord, the trembling humiliation of acknowledging our absolutely finite existence. This is an essential piece of reality--near the very core, I might venture to say.
To believe in a small God is, in my opinion, an incredible failure of logic.
To deny him is one thing--to belittle him is something entirely different.
Holy, holy, holy. Period.
(And, crowning this glory is the unspeakable miracle--one my father didn't share with me--that this God is a Redeemer, a Lover, a Counselor. Tender, tender, tender.)
Friday, August 28, 2009
Ramadan Kareem
Well, friends, I'm here in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia--the city where I made most of my childhood memories. It is a unique, bewildering, bewitching nation of paradoxes, ruled by the arbitrary.
It's currently 113 degrees and blindingly sunny, and our three-room "house" feels stuffy and crowded. Our overworked air-conditioning faithfully cranks in each room, blowing out semi-stale air in an attempt to keep us cool.
It's Friday afternoon, and, having finished with the noon prayers (Friday is the Muslim holy day, equivalent to Sunday in America) the whole city lies still. Normally, now would be the time for families to gather to eat a large, late lunch, followed by more sleeping or football-watching. Most people don't stir outside their homes until after sundown.
This is the seventh day of Ramadan, however, which means even more napping and less activity during the day--everyone is hungry, thirsty, and tired, and few businesses will even open before 9 p.m.
Ramadan is a holy, month-long time of fasting in Islam--something very culturally and spiritually significant to many. I observed Ramadan for the first time when I was 9, and it has become something I greatly value and enjoy as part of my Arab heritage.
The fast begins at the Fajr prayer, which this year is around 4:45 am. Families will rise around 4:00 for the sahoor meal, which traditionally consists of foods like goat cheese, watermelon, eggs, and bread. These foods were meant to provide nutrients necessary for enduring long days in the desert--i.e., salt, water, sugar, protein, etc. After prayers, many will return to bed for a few hours, while others will stay awake in prayer or meditation before starting the day.
Muslims will abstain from all food, drink, smoking, and sex for the duration of the day, only breaking the fast at the sounding of the maghrib prayer at sunset, which this year is approximately 6:45 pm. Upon hearing the adhan--call to prayer--we will usually break fast with a date and some water. Prayers follow, then the iftar meal. The evening will be spent in visiting relatives or friends, enjoying tea and delicacies, and, for many, late night shopping. The city really leaps to life after the Isha prayers, around 8 pm, and some don't return home until 4 am, in order to have sahoor and begin again. Many other faithfuls will spend the evenings in the mosque, listening to the Qu'ran read aloud over loudspeakers.
The city is famous for having a mosque at every street corner, so the booming voices of the imams, chanting the Holy Book, will often be heard above the street noise. It's surreal.
Participating in Ramadan as a Christian is a unique and deeply meaningful experience for me. I enjoy the challenge and the spiritual reward of the fast, but, more than anything, the chance to be a part of this culture is precious to me. Islam is a beautiful religion, and the sense of unity and devotion I sense in Muslim relatives, friends, and strangers is inspiring and unique. Indeed, I really feel more warmth and sincerity in many Muslims than in much of the "church" I've encountered in the States. Here, the spiritual is interwoven unapologeticly into every aspect of life--TV programs are interrupted by "Ramadan Kareem" messages, people greet each other with "Peace to you, and many mercies from God!", and believers drop everything five times a day to retreat for prayer.
These are my father's people.
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