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.