Progression

Well, hey! I have a blog... which means I probably should write in it from time to time... 

So autumn has definitely hit the desert. The trees don't change color but it's pretty chilly when I wake up in the morning and wearing long sleeves is finally comfortable again. I knit a sweater and hat in celebration. Soups, hot chocolate, and teas have also regained their favored status. In addition, I have the sudden desire to make homemade applesauce, homemade bread, and yesterday I even made bagels. Yep, autumn is definitely here and though I am living in a different place, some things about myself just don't change.

But, that's all sort of a side note. I really was just going to post some artwork in this post. Last month I stayed with a married couple for a weekend and as a thank you I said I would create a small series of drawings for their wall. Their only request was that it be somehow related to this region. After weeks of really having no clue of what to draw this is what I eventually came up with:

The pictures read from right to left as you would in Arabic. The idea I had was to create something that represents our progression both in language and culture as we live here longer and longer. The first picture is in black and white with no background behind the kettle and cups. The word in red is simply Arabic for "tea". When we first arrive we only understand basic words and customs such a noun and the symbol of tea for hospitality. Then as we progress more, color starts to fill out our observations. The words translated in the second picture say "Who is my neighbor?" We are able to converse more with our new friends and really start to get to know more of who they are, where they live, and how they live. The last picture has the most color and is still beyond our current level both in Arabic and culture. The words are in classical Arabic (which I painstakingly copied since I couldn't understand everything) and quote from Isaiah 61:1 "The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners." Incidentally the first picture was drawn from my personal tea kettle, the second from a photo taken during a prayer drive into the desert during Ramadan, and the third from a photo on Easter morning.

From Surviving the Heat to Donations

It's September and it's still hot. The nights are thankfully cooler but the sun still feels really close to me when I walk outside in the middle of the day. (An occurrence I have learned to avoid whenever possible.) However, I think I can now say that I have survived my first desert summer. For someone who absolutely loves water & trees, and whose idea of a perfect temperature is anywhere between 20-25 degrees Celsius -- I consider this a bit of an accomplishment. (Yep, I'm starting to think of the weather in Celsius now. The weird thing is that I still think in Fahrenheit for baking...)

I think dealing with the heat was one of the things I was most nervous about upon moving here. And to be honest, that first week in June when the temperatures rose close to 40 degrees Celsius, I flopped on my bed content to be a listless lump of human with only enough energy to drink out of a water bottle. Yet practicality set in, or perhaps my sense of adaptability, and I decided that with a few adjustments the summer could be dealt with:

Rule #1 - Try not to walk outside anytime between noon and 4pm.
Rule #2 - Make sure your water bottle is always filled.
Rule #3 - Acquire a fan, but try to make sure it doesn't fall when turned on because then the blades crack and it eventually explodes.
Rule #4 - Buy clothing that is appropriate to wear outside but also appropriate for the heat: i.e. light material that covers everything up to the ankles, wrists, and neck.

It's with this last rule that I had some difficulties. I don't particularly care for shopping unless it is for food, art supplies, downloads, or gifts. Perhaps this is because I still eye all of my belongings as to how easy it will be to move them. However, I dutifully entered the shops and set about the trial & error process of finding clothing that could work for the summer.

I failed on my first attempt. The two skirts I bought were thin enough but when the wind caught them they revealed my ankles and almost up to my knees... scandalous.

Well, I eventually discovered the right combinations for my survival and after living through both summer & winter here, I have a pretty good idea of which of the things I own I need and which I don't. Looking at these belongings, I am also fairly certain that someone else could use them better. Which brings me to donations.

How do you donate in this country??

I think my ignorance is a byproduct of my upbringing in the States where I am used to looking up the nearest donation site on the internet. This country operates more on word of mouth. Well, let the search begin...

Street Commentary

As I've mentioned in previous posts, it's quite hard to remain invisible on the streets. When I was here three years ago I used to call days that I didn't receive comments "ghost days" because I would feel like a ghost walking the sidewalks. I also gave designations for the different guys loitering on the streets. There were the "mannikins" - I would be walking down the street past a shop and then after I passed, would realize that the figure I had mistaken for a mannikin was actually a person. There were also the "parrots", those who were persistently repeating their "hello, how are you?" mantra.

Now that I've learned some of the language, a whole new window of amusement has opened for me. It's one thing to hear people trying to practice their English on you (i.e. my new favorite: the guy who passed by me today just saying "walking, walking"... 

...I really don't know what that was supposed to mean but somehow he managed to make it sound smarmy. I tried very hard not to laugh.) 

However, now I also get to hear the things that they don't expect me to understand. It can range from a group of little boys telling me in Arabic to give them money, a simple greeting that they laugh about afterwards thinking I don't understand, and once when my friend was walking down the street with me, simply: Banaat. Girls. Why yes, I do believe that we are, thank you for noticing. I once overheard a conversation about my friend and I, where a girl was saying in a conciliatory tone, "Well, the second one is pretty," implying of course that the first was not. Fairly certain I was the first one as my friend was looking quite adorable. It made me grin.

Ah yes, and I have two more to add to my List of Nationalities:

11. "Hello, señorita!" - I was so tempted to pull out my high school Spanish for this one but I was a good girl and held my tongue.
12. Enti alemaniyye?  - I suppose there is a German university not that far away from my city but that's the first time I've been mistaken for German.



 

Translating quirks

As with any language there are few words in Arabic that just don't translate very well to English. (I'm sure it's the same from English to Arabic but at my level in Arabic, I usually just think I haven't learned the appropriate word yet.) There may be an official translation in the dictionary but I'm finding that doesn't always cover the local nuances. As a result, these words have started to infiltrate my English speaking to the extent that I have to consciously omit them from my skype calls. So if you hear me using these words by accident, I do apologize:

1. Adi - I think I love this one because it helps me be indecisive about unimportant things or evasive if I don't want to answer a question in detail. The general meaning is of something ordinary or commonplace. In a shop if I say this to a shopkeeper's question it generally means: do whatever you normally do and that will be fine with me. Or when people ask me how life is here, but I can tell they really don't want an in-depth answer, the temptation is just to shrug and say adi meaning: It's just ordinary life with its usual ups and downs.

2. Yanni - The closest equivalents I can find in English are the expressions: "so-so" or "more or less that's the case". When I use this in answer to a question it usually means: Well, I could have hoped for better but it's okay. There always seems to be some implied doubt in the word. For example if someone asks me: "So, you have three lessons a week?" I would then reply "Yanni..." meaning: That may be what is planned but not what is actually happening. 

3. Hayk - This one basically means "that's the way it is." I end up using the negative (mosh hayk) a lot more frequently due to my status as a learner and the amount of comparisons I make in conversations. For example, I may ask someone "Mosh zaay hayk?" (Not like this?) if I am making an error or "Zaay hayk?" if I'm trying to figure out how to do something correctly. 

Anyway, there are plenty more but these are three big ones that always find their way to the tip of my tongue no matter which language I'm trying to speak in.

Percolating thoughts on faith

For the past month I've been left on my own a lot more than usual. My roommate was gone for a couple weeks, with Ramadan I didn't visit as many of my friends, and my lessons were cancelled. So, I've found myself with plenty of time to process and think. And after scanning some posts on Facebook, I suddenly found myself thinking how interesting it is to live in a country that does not deny God exists.

I really had to stop and consider that for awhile.

I think it came from reading a post online where someone was mockingly questioning the existence of God. It was intelligently written, but the words just struck hollow to me-- as if the person was incredibly proud of their witty turn of phrase, pleased with having made jabs at the stupidity of faith -- and the replies came defensive and passionate taking the general bitterness of the first commenter as a personal affront. Faith became a sparring ground to be argued over, analyzed, judged, prosecuted, and defended. And I wonder in these kinds of conversations how much listening actually takes place. It seems more of a forum to shove ideas at one another without taking the time to consider, to ponder. Is that really the way to treat the core beliefs of a person on either side?

Whereas here, faith is ingrained into the way of life and important enough to die for. My friend was astonished when I told her that there are many people in America who don't have a religion. (This is partially from the mistaken idea found here that America is Christian... and I wonder: can any one nation really make that audacious claim?) The spiritual element of life is not denied and taken very seriously. Faith is so tied up in identity. It was revealing the day I discovered that because of my strong faith, though different from my friends, I was respected more and not less. 

Ironic, isn't it? Especially considering what many people think of the region where I live, particularly on the issue of religion. There are dangers to both ways of treating faith of course, but that's impossible to avoid whenever considering something human originated. However, it does make interesting processing... To use a favorite word from my high school English teacher: I feel like letting these thoughts percolate for a little longer.

Citadel Nights

Ack! I guess since I haven't written a lot in a while all of my posts tend to go a little long. However, as this is a blog about my experiences here in a foreign land I suppose I should make some mention of Ramadan* before it ends within the next couple days. The whole month has had a very in-between feel to it. Without my usual language lessons and regular visiting of friends, I've had a lot more free time on my hands. Add to that, the fact that my roommate has been gone for the past two weeks has made this month quite unusual and seemingly empty... or not.

As is usually the case, supposed "free time" fills up very rapidly. I have spent most of this past month of Ramadan studying independently (listening to old lesson recordings and improving my reading & writing), exploring the art of making jams and scones (yum!), practicing instruments, spending a lot more time in prayer both with others and by myself, and occasionally participating in iftar (the meal breaking the fast) with a couple of my closest Muslim friends and their families. All in all, it's been a lovely month, but I will be happy to resume my normal schedule after next week.

 
Perhaps one of the most memorable nights of Ramadan for me was a trip to the capitol to experience "Citadel Nights", a celebration held after iftar next to some ancient ruins. (Have I mentioned yet how much I love living in a country where you can see ancient history side by side with modernity?) After a brief walk around the ruins (they were closing the gate and were only just let in to explore for '10 minutes') we then sat down to eat some snacks and watch the city come alive after iftar. Special Ramadan lights (with crescent moons and stars) lit up several windows reminding me of Christmas lights. Then we entered into the actual celebration.

Oh, it was definitely touristy but the number of Arabic speakers certainly outweighed us foreigners. There were numerous booths with crafts and food lining the walkway that made its circuit around the whole festival. We paused to examine mosaics, hand-embroidered scarves and clutches, and jewelry. There were two stages and on the smaller stage my ethnomusicologist heart was delighted to hear the rabab (a one or two stringed instrument) played live while the musician sang folk tunes. But the best for me was yet to come. At 10 p.m. the big stage opened for the main entertainment. In preparation for the professional group to play, the two hosts asked members from the crowd to come up and either sing or tell a story. This was my favorite part. Though glamorized, it reminded me of a time when perhaps it was commonplace for people to sit around in a tent telling stories and singing songs to one another. I have to admit, some of the voices weren't so great, but even that was amusing as the hosts tried desperately to get them to finish and get off the stage. However, there were also some amazing voices that were a pleasure to hear. You could always tell which ones the sound engineer enjoyed because he would add an echo to the microphone to make them sound even more professional. The group that capped off the night's festivities was led by a female vocalist and supported by an electric violin, piano, bass & electric guitars, drum set and tabla. I had fun watching the pianist and the violinist play off each other in a mixture of parallel ornamentation and some improvisation. My fingers itched to learn to play some more Arabic music.

Perhaps the most beautiful sight of the night though were the floating lanterns. Two or three paper lanterns were set off into the sky, their lights getting smaller and smaller until you couldn't distinguish them from the stars.



*For those unfamiliar with Ramadan here's the brief overview: Once a year Muslims set aside a whole month for fasting and prayer. They fast from early in the morning to when the sun goes down. This fasting includes not only food but also liquids as well. After the sun goes down then they are allowed to eat and drink. Many people stay up late at night and then rise later the next morning if they don't have work. At the finish of Ramadan there is a four day eid or festival.

Fighting a Faith of Obligation - Part Two

Part Two of the long reflective post to be concluded here...

The Seeking

Ironically in my fight against a faith of obligation, I continued to read my Bible and set aside personal time to pray even when my heart could not fully realize the benefits. I guess I just wanted to continue trying the lock, so to speak, and see if I'd rediscovered the key yet. 

Well, first I traveled north for a week to help at a hospital and also with some relief work for the refugees there. I sought to be useful but also to gain perspective in the change of scenery. That I received both was very restorative. I think I now understand a little of the importance of journey to a pilgrimage. I began to realize how thankful I am for my community of friends here in the city where I live. About that time I also started listening to sermons from my home church on a frequent basis. They served as reminders to both the truth of their messages in my life, but also the memory of the fellowship there. I then spent three days in the mountains, basking in creation and the pleasures of exploration and relaxation. Each of these actions started to build in me an appreciation and thankfulness for what I have been given. I think a true awareness of thanksgiving can begin the restoration of joy. 

Strangely enough, or perhaps not so strange, my fiction reading also started pointing me in the right direction. On a whim I decided to pick up The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, thinking I had never read it before and an adventure story suited my mood at the time. Well, unbeknownst to me, the first half of the story is as much a story of Crusoe's faith as it is of him trying to escape the island. (Yep, he escapes during the first half of the book. I had to peek ahead to reaffirm that his return to England was not the end of the story as I had previously believed.) Anyway, there quite a few insightful quotes, particularly concerning thankfulness: "I enjoyed so many mercies, which I had no reason to have expected... that I ought never more repine... but to rejoice, and to give daily thanks."

I also rediscovered the writings of Stephen Lawhead, an author of quite a few novels revolving around Celtic history. The ones I read included his trilogy on the Crusades and a stand alone novel titled Byzantium. Each of his characters has a story of faith, but it wasn't their faith that challenged me but their faults. In the first book of the trilogy the main character has a keen sense of justice and as such completely writes off God due to the corruption of the church at the time. In the second, the main character treats his friend with contempt because his friend disregards his advice, even though the protagonist's judgement proves correct in the end. In the third, the main character tries to use God's plan for her own selfish desire. I read them and realized that, particularly with the first two, there were tendencies in myself I could recognize as similar. Then I read Byzantium which in essence tracks the story of an Irish monk who over the course of events in the story loses his faith due to bitterness, disappointment, and anger at injustice and corruption. It was a sobering read, especially as the protagonist continues to act intelligently and even admirably despite the condition of his heart. Again, though not to the extreme portrayed, I found elements in the protagonist's behavior that I could identify with myself. These reflections enlightened me on my own faults while at the same time renewing my thankfulness for grace and that I serve a Savior who understands all because he also lived on this earth and suffered even greater injustice than I've seen, let alone experienced.

Yet, I can't say that I recognized the restoration until last Friday sitting on my roof unable to reach my friend to discover whether she passed her exams or not. (These exams determine whether you can attend university or not, and since my friend's family is not from this country also determined whether she would be attend a university in this country or not. I had been praying for months that she would have peace despite the pressures.) Well, after pouring out my heart to God on her behalf and finally leaving it in his hands I went to bed still not knowing. Yet I think during that time I felt my heart opened again and the next day when I discovered the favorable exam results, I was able to rejoice fully.

So there ends my incredibly long story of the past two months. The words from James 4 come to mind: "Submit yourselves, then to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you... Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up."

Fighting a Faith of Obligation - Part One

BEWARE!! Long reflective 2-part post starts below...

The Discovery 

At some point in June I realized there was a shift in my attitude. I felt like I was fighting something spiritually and emotionally. I described this to others as feeling "dry" and certainly with the arrival of a desert summer, I did feel physically dry as well. My heart was not engaged. Not that I ceased to love those around me but the ability to pour into others was significantly reduced. My encounters with others were still sincere and enjoyable but they were less frequent as I felt them to be more draining than before. Not less did this apply to my relationship with Jesus and my faith. Cognizant of this change and not content with it, I felt myself fighting against it not even entirely sure of its name. It wasn't until today that the elusive term finally settled on me: Obligation. I was fighting a faith and a life of obligatory action. 


For the past year I think the statement from Nehemiah 8, "the joy of the LORD is your strength" has been true of my heart. Though not absent of difficulties and challenges, God always encouraged me with little joys each day. These sustained me and filled me with the desire to spend time with him and also to reach out to others. So when the same manner of encouragements ceased to make an impression on my heart in June, I was surprised and not at all satisfied with myself. I did not, and do not, want to read my Bible, pray, or serve others because it what I should do but because it is what I desire to do. I might also add that during this whole time I was consistently aware that I remained under grace, God was still faithful, and if I didn't feel close to Him it certainly wasn't an issue on his side.


Now I know that it's perfectly natural for a Christian to go through high and low spells in their walk of faith. This was certainly not the first time I'd experienced a feeling of dryness or obligation to my faith. In fact for the first couple weeks, I resolved to just continue on my course and wait it out, certain that with time and patience my joy would be restored. Psalm 51:10-12 was a very apt prayer at this time, "Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me."


Well, after a couple weeks of waiting, I came to realize that yes, it is good to wait for the Lord but seeking him out doesn't hurt either. Isaiah 55:6 "Seek the LORD while he may be found; call on him while he is near." So at the beginning of this past month I embarked on a series of actions to search for God's presence in my life and the eradication of obligation in my relationship with him and with others...



 

Sketching

I am a compulsive fidget-er. One of my early memories consists of me trying to sit on my mother's lap during church and she, understandably, having to move me off because I couldn't sit still. I was dubbed a "wiggle worm" and deservedly so. I've always maintained this is one of the reasons why I took to playing an instrument so readily. My fingers don't like to remain still and music is a great occupation for them... so is doodling. My school papers generally had very neat precise outlined notes on one side and margins filled from top to bottom with patterns, picture fragments, and ornate letters on the other.

I haven't seemed to break this habit and honestly haven't found any real need to. However, since the majority of my Arabic learning is spent listening to recordings of my lessons, I've had to brain-storm some ideas of how to keep my hands occupied (picking at callouses or the dirt under my nails not generally being acceptable or preferable...) During the winter I would knit. As it is now too hot for me to want to handle anything warm, I have taken to sketching. Thankfully I have wonderful blank walls and grateful friends that I can distribute to, so I'm not inundated with my drawings.

 

Matthew 11:28 - 30 in Arabic

 

My List of Nationalities

It's almost impossible to be invisible walking down the street of a smaller Arab city as a foreigner. I may not dress like a tourist yet on most days walking outside I will be greeted with a "Hello, how are you?" and on the rare occasion, it will be followed by a swear word when I don't respond. I think they are just trying out the English they know from watching films, though there could be other motivations as well, but as the local women here do not talk to men or young boys on the street, I follow their example and ignore the comments. To be honest there are days, particularly when I am tired, that I would much rather be left alone and not be quite so visible. However, for the majority of the time I find ways to treat it as amusing. 

For example... I have a list of nationalities. Nine times out of ten they will guess correctly that I am American and start speaking to me in English but every once in a while I will be greeted or asked if I am from someplace else. To be greeted differently is almost refreshing and so I have a little inward smile and laugh... and keep walking. Over four months I've been able to gather quite the interesting list so please enjoy:

1. Enti urduniyye? (Are you Jordanian?) - I got this question within my first month and it surprised me. Yet, there are some Arabs who do have light colored eyes and even hair so I guess it's not impossible.
2. Enti arabiyye? (Are you Arabic?) - This is along the same lines as the first, though a bit more general.
3. Enti turkiyye? (Are you Turkish?) - On the occasion I heard this one I was walking home and a group of young men asked in rapid succession whether I was a foreigner, Arabic, or Turkish. They didn't really give me a chance to respond which was just as well since I wouldn't have anyway.
4. Ajnobiyye! (Foreigner!) - I think I've already explained this one in an earlier post.
5. British - Well, the speaking English part is correct anyway....
6. Bonjour! - Apparently this fellow who greeted me on the street thought I was French.
7. Swiss! - I'm not exactly sure why this pair of young men keep on shouting "Swiss" at my friend and I, but I added it to this list.
8. Russian - This was asked in a village where some of the men had married Russian women. They also asked me if I wanted to get married...

And here are my favorite two because they make absolutely no sense whatsoever:

9. Ya Hindi! - This little boy decided to call me Indian. As far as I know, I don't look a bit like I'm from India but hey, the people there are quite beautiful so I think I'll take it as a compliment.
10. Nee Hao - Why someone decided to greet me in Chinese I will also never know...

Waiting on the Sunrise

Well, it's not often that I find myself posting twice in less than 24 hours but sometimes you just have those moments that are worth reflecting on and writing about. Much as I have used this blog to post about some of the quirks of living as a foreigner in an Arab country, there is also a deeper reality. Wherever I am, I have been called to wait on God, to meet with Him, and let the overflow of those encounters reach into my everyday life.

Lately I have been struck with the importance of listening to God and then obeying. It's one of those simple truths that can be so easily distorted or distracted from. A friend of mine and I have since decided to wake up every Friday morning and, as of today, Monday morning at 4 a.m. to devote some time to prayer and listening. Odd and crazy as it may be, there is something special about getting up before the dawn and turning my heart, mind, and soul towards my Creator. 

This morning I felt especially refreshed and filled with joy after a middle of the night conversation and fellowship with my church community group in the States. We signed off just after 4 a.m. with the calls to prayer echoing from the mosques over the howls and yelping of wild dogs. My heart poured out with psalms, thanksgiving, joy, and prayers of blessing over my community group. Then I quieted myself and began to listen.


First, I felt led to turn off my light, pull back the curtain, and gaze at the beauty of the full moon shedding its light in the predawn darkness of the western sky. 

Then I went to a different window and looked to the east where the sky was just becoming rosy. The words that God gave me in my heart said: Do you see this beauty that I have created? Beautiful as they both are, the hearts of people, your heart, is more precious to me." (Matthew 5:26)

I then went up to the roof to sit still and just watch the sky change colors before me, each hue shifting and turning more brilliant than before. As I watched, I could feel myself becoming a little impatient (I was getting a little hungry and cold) but I still felt compelled to wait. 

When the sun came it was sudden and gloriously radiant. I realized that I had just witnessed the perfect metaphor (Hosea 6:3). God's coming seems slow but with each transformation of the heart the sky becomes brighter and more colorful, until He comes with the fullness of His light. So beautiful...

 

Ajnabiyye!

I would like to think that today I discovered the Arab equivalent of "Moo Cow." 

For those of you who have not experienced Moo Cow, let me explain: I was introduced to Moo Cow on a college band tour. We were traveling through Kansas at the time and suddenly I started hearing people behind me on the bus shouting "I claim those cows!" or perhaps later "I drown your cows!" Essentially when the landscape doesn't change for hours (as is the case in Kansas, Iowa, Nebraska, etc.), you start hunting for something that isn't the same. In this case, cow herds. The first person who sees them, claims them for one point. By the same token, the same person who sees a body of water can then drown the others' cows by one point. 

Today as I was walking to my language lesson, I saw two boys on the other side of the street playing. As soon as they saw me one of them started shouting, "Ajnabiyye! Ajnabiyye!" ("Foreigner! Foreigner!"). Usually this is followed by the persistent, "Hello! Hello! How are you?" However, for some reason, he kept on repeating the "Ajnabiyye!" to his friend. I'd like to think that somehow by spotting me, I managed to give him a point in an Arabic version of Moo Cow or perhaps it should be called "Find the Foreigner". This is a much better thought than the metaphor of a bird giving a warning call when a stranger enters their territory.


However, I do hesitate to think of what the equivalent to "drowning cows" would be in this "Find the Foreigner" version of the game... maybe "I send your ajnabiyye away in a taxi"??

The gerbil wheel

After biking five days a week to work and back for over a year, it's not that surprising that I've felt the lack of exercise. Actually it's a little surprising that I haven't felt it earlier. True, I do walk almost everywhere in this city. (There are numerous visits with friends, lessons, and necessary food items to buy that compel me to leave my comfortable flat on a daily basis.) However, my sleep at night, or the lack thereof, has been letting me know that walking isn't quite enough to expend my energy.

Another fact: My room is very large. I haven't had a room this large to myself since... well, since I lived in this country last. Even then, half of the room was overtaken by a ginormous bed. 

You can probably see where this is leading but let me explain a couple more things: Running outside isn't really an option here. In my three months here I've only seen one man running outside for exercise and certainly no women. With my clearly foreigner appearance, I don't have the desire to attract any more attention than I already do. I have also seriously considered joining one of the women's gyms (there are at least two) but somehow it never became a top priority.


Which then leads me to my final solution: I run figure 8's in my room every morning.

I always pitied the gerbil frenetically running in it's little wheel, but now I think perhaps it isn't so bad. I put on some music (Adele, Florence & the Machine, Coldplay, Gungor, or whatever else strikes my fancy) and for the next 5-6 songs I am quite content to run back and forth in a figure 8 pattern. Oddly enough I feel a lot freer running in my room than I think I would elsewhere, chiefly because I can run barefoot. Clomping along in shoes, my toes getting all red from confinement, just isn't as appealing. Best of all, it works. Though I still tend to wake up a few times at night (the curse of an overactive brain), I feel a whole lot better rested in the morning.

An American Overseas

Tonight I felt like I was part of an old movie -- one of those ones where the American lives a ridiculously idyllic life overseas. This evening after my language lesson, I cooked some smoked salmon, baked a sweet potato, fried slices of eggplant, and topped them all with mushrooms. 'Twas one of the best dinners I've made here yet. After the meal, I sat contentedly with the open window to my left and the sound of boys playing soccer in the warm darkness outside. Then on goes the classic big band swing and I clean the kitchen with a smile to In The Mood and Ella Fitzgerald singing It Don't Mean A Thing.

Not all life here is idyllic -- in fact most of the time it's just normal, if maybe a bit more tiring with all the cultural adjustments to make. However, occasionally there are those moments when I just have to smile and enjoy. Some of my favorite days here are "Bread Days", the days I need to visit the bakery to pick up fresh bread. I hand the coin to the shop clerk who prints off a receipt with the amount, not even needing to ask what I want anymore. He has seen me enough times to know by now. Then I head to the back of the bakery and hand my receipt to another employee who weighs out the bread and hands it to me in a bag. I think he must do this every day because he is usually singing an Arabic pop song to himself, with only a cursory glance at the receipt, and hardly a look to the customer. I walk back home, swinging the bread bag in anticipation, where inside I can then enjoy a piece of fresh bread, still warm from the bakery. 


Sometimes it can be the sight of a new wildflower sprouting from the desert, or perhaps a successful conversation held almost entirely in Arabic, that will bring an unexpected smile. I'm never quite sure when they'll happen but it's nice to know that those contented moments can still find me.

Mother's Day

Somehow it has been almost a month since I last posted, which means that I have been here for almost two months. Not quite sure I believe that...

In any case, this post is about Mother's Day. Today is in fact Mother's Day in this region of the world. Unlike the States, the date doesn't change from year to year but always remains 21 March. I find this a bit easier for me to remember than trying to recall the second Sunday in May. (I actually had to look that up. I knew it was a Sunday in May...) Movable holidays usually confuse me, like Easter, and now Easter is even more confusing because everyone celebrates the Orthodox date for Easter here which is also different from back in the States... 

Anyway, perhaps this is just because I happen to be friends with kindergarten teachers, but I've also noticed that Mother's Day is emphasized a bit more here. When I was here the last time there was a short celebration put on by the children in honor of their mothers, and this year there will be one on Saturday as well. I think it's absolutely wonderful. As a result of that first celebration, I now know half of the chorus of an Arabic Mother's day song, which of course has been stuck in my head all day. (Ya rombi haliki ya omii...)

Although my attempt to wish a Happy Mother's Day to my adoptive mother here has been thwarted (being that she never answers her phone and wasn't there when I stopped by to visit), I realized that this blog is a good opportunity for me to send a message to my Mom. (Yep, my mom reads my blog... how cool is that?). I'm sure it can't be easy for her to have a daughter far-flung halfway across the world, (though Skype can certainly do wonders in reducing the felt distance), but she's been supportive and an amazing listener the few chances we do get to skype. She's been a wonderful example of that thoughtful generosity which does not call attention to itself but serves to make others feel loved (i.e. the extra cookie slipped into my school lunch bag all those years so I would have one to give to each of my friends.) She gives the kind of love that can't be diminished by distance.


Lucky for me, I get two Mother's Days this year to tell her all about it ;)

Input, Processing, & Output

Moving to a new country has many challenges and joys. One of them is processing the enormous load of input and then spitting out rather simple, confused, and slightly nonsensical sentences into a new language. So I decided to draw this picture:

Here is the text under "Processing": It is so good to be back. I am so glad to see everyone. They are going through a hard time right now. I hope I can be a good friend. Should I stay when I know they can't afford much? But they seem to enjoy my company and seem offended if I leave. Perhaps I didn't communicate that well. I am remembering lots of words but not enough. I like my language lessons. My brain feels full. Time to take a walk but I should avoid that street. Am I really back here? This is great but at the same time not. Ooh! I should draw that...

Cowering in the Cold

Ahem... I've been a bit remiss in my blogging. This is not from a lack of stories, but rather an inability to read Arabic. One would think it would be easy to find the setting that changes the language from Arabic to English, but I assure you that when all of the categories are listed in a language you don't know well, it becomes more guesswork than anything else. However, here I am, currently hiding from the cold under the weight of a sleeping bag while contemplating a mad dash to the gas heater to turn it up to the next setting, and enjoying the wonders of control buttons that are in English. 

As you may already know, there is no central heat in most of the buildings here, my flat not excluded. Their walls are meant to trap coolness, which I can guarantee they do quite well. So when the weather outside (and scarcely different inside) is 39 degrees Fahrenheit and rainy, I rediscover an undeniable fondness for my heater and bed. The weather is as fickle here as every northern state in America claims exclusively. Last weekend I walked around without a coat in 60 degree F sunniness -- oh, so lovely...

All right, I believe I have geared myself for the mad dash to the heater. Ready in one... two... THREE!

Mission accomplished. I even found the resilience to make a foray across the room to grab my camera so I could take this photo of my friend heater. Later I will need to be even braver and remove myself entirely from this position to welcome company.

In case you are concerned, not all of my posts will comment on the weather. Life here has many quirks that I am readjusting to and hopefully now that I have regained access to this site in English, I can relate some of them to you in time. To summarize: I have experienced jet-lag, remembered a spattering of the language, found old friends & created new, heard people pouring out their hearts to God in prayer, twice have been asked if I am Arabic while walking on the street (with my hair color, really??), scoured my second-hand carpet of hair (not mine, ugh!) for about an hour, and disturbed a cat from its resting place in a dumpster... among other things. Anyway, 'tis time to emerge from my cocoon -- enough cowering in the cold.

"Your Deliverance Is Coming Today"

1 January 2012

It’s a small group of people gathered at my church on New Year’s Day. I am tired (I did stay up past midnight to welcome in the New Year after all), but my attention is caught by the speaker. He is telling stories of God’s miraculous provision. I know God still performs miracles but I never tire of hearing how He is working. I recognize that the message is apt as I am in the position of waiting on His provision to go overseas. My thoughts also turn to what will happen after I arrive. Then, as I sit there listening, a prayer comes to mind: “Lord, will you give me a story to share for every week I am overseas and then for every wedding I miss (the count is currently at six), may someone I know come to realize who You are.”

31 January 2012

Today was my planned departure date. I curl up on my sister’s sofa-bed reading through the book of Acts and praying. I am waiting. I’ve been waiting for over a week now for something to change. My passport was sent to the embassy for my visa and it has yet to return. My support has remained unchanged at 85%, so close but not enough. I still hold onto my faith in His provision but there is definitely a longing to just end the uncertainty and go. Then as I pray, this phrase springs to mind: Your deliverance is coming today. I know who the message is from and I immediately turn on my computer to check on the postal service tracking number for my passport’s return envelope as well as my support. Nothing has changed but in my email inbox there are at least 10 messages from people letting me know that they and those around them are praying. I am encouraged, but at the end of the day there is still no sign of what this deliverance might be.

1 February 2012

I am now in the kitchen with my sister drinking tea while she sends out a text message to her church and circle of friends asking for prayer regarding my visa and support. As she sends out the request to each group of people we hear a knocking on the door downstairs. Thinking it’s the neighbor I go downstairs to answer it. Instead of the neighbor it is the US Postal Service with an envelope from the embassy. I run up the stairs yelling, “It came! It came!” My passport with its visa had been sent last night from the embassy, though it did not show up in the postal service tracking system. My deliverance was coming last night but did not arrive until the morning. I sit down beside my sister again as she reads off at least 8 responses to her texts. In each is an assurance of prayer.

My lesson: This is not the result of just my prayers and faith in God’s provision. It is much bigger than that. It is the result of the prayers and faith of many.

So concludes the first of my weekly stories…

Living to the last moment

When I was a little, family devotions were held in the morning before school with all of us together in my parents' room. I can remember climbing into my parents' bed with my sisters and listening as one of us would read a story from a devotional book. We then spent time praying for each other, family members, church members, and missionaries. Even though I tended to be in a mostly drowsy state in the morning, some of the stories seeped through and have stuck. 

One particular story has always stayed with me. It was the story of an old man sitting on a porch with a young boy. As they sit, a car drives up with a family. They ask the old man if the town is a good place to live. The old man responds with a question. He asks them what their previous home was like. The family proceeds to complain of how horrible their previous neighbors were. The old man tells them that they will be no happier in his town. After the family drives away, a second family drives up. They ask the old man the same question and he responds as he did to the first. The second family then tells him of how much they will miss their previous home and how wonderful the people were. The old man welcomes them and says that they will find a good home in his town. After the second family drives away, the young boy asks the old man about his two very different answers. The old man explains that contentedness is something that we bring with us wherever we go.

As I have moved from place to place over the years, this story is always a good reminder that I need to be "content whatever the circumstances" (Phil 4:11-13). Part of learning to be content for me is realizing that God has set me in places for a certain amount of time. I can be thankful for where He has placed me in the past and where He is sending me in the future. However, I am called to live where I am at until the last moment. It can be so easy to see our future as the solution to our problems or to consistently mourn the ending of past good times. There is so much joy in living with what God has given me now in the knowledge that He is my true source of contentment.