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...

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

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.

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

"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."

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

There are few things better than playing Pictionary with my crazy family. :-) 

<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

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.