Peace is Every Step

All of the Jerusalem/West Bank YAGM are safe and sound. The recent escalation of violence in this region (but far from our placement sites and homes!) has caused us to pay careful attention to news, heightened our awareness of the situation, and prompted an overwhelming desire to call for prayers for all that live here, make their lives here, raise children here. We are all incredibly thankful for the concern for our safety in light of recent events; however, all of us YAGM have expressed hope that your prayers and thoughts of our well-being can be extended to those who are friends, family, co-workers, neighbors, and people we do not know here. 

The reality is, I am just one of many human beings in this part of the world. To read posts, messages, and e-mails expressing concern for my safety was humbling and reassuring of the love and support. But just as I have dreams, plans, ideas for what my future might hold, so do the people in the West Bank, Israel, Gaza. I thank you for your care and prayers for my well-being and I ask that you extend those prayers to all those who call this land home.

When you pray, pray for peace. Pray for sound judgement for those who govern, for those who have influence and power. Pray that all people can see the shared humanity of the people who surround them. Pray for peace.

When you speak, speak out against violence and injustice. Speak words of comfort to those who are hurting, worried, or frightened. Use your voice to speak in solidarity for those who do not know what tomorrow might bring. Words are powerful tools; they can be twisted and corrupted, used to promote peace or perpetuate injustice. Speak clearly, calling for a just peace for all--Palestinians and Israelis alike.

Act with intention. Do not sit idly by. Read--read the differing news accounts, read the stories of human suffering, read about the political interactions that are taking place. The fact is, the United States has influence in the situation that is occurring; help the U.S. act in a manner that will recognize the humanness of all people and promote the need for justice. In all that you do, act with peace, compassion, and deep love. 

I cannot thank you all enough for caring for the YAGM here; the eight of us were moved by the outpouring of concern and prayers. Use your concern for us, knowing that we love this place, these people, and this culture, to learn, act, and pray fervently. We love you and are so thankful for all those who have supported us in this journey. Accompany us as we learn, listen, and live here in these beautiful communities. Ask questions, read accounts, wrestle with the big questions of justice and peace. But more than anything, be informed: know that this land is wrought with history, beauty, wonder, holiness; this conflict is only a small part of the richness of this place. Seek the beauty of each new day, wherever you are. Strive to see the humanity in every person you encounter today-even if you don't like them, seek to love and respect them. Small changes in the way we treat one another can change the world. Move towards understanding. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, "Peace is every step." 

Prayers and peace to you all.

Home

Last night, over makloubeh (a traditional Palestinian dish of rice, veggies, and either chicken or meat--an important distinction here--all mixed together in amazing goodness and topped with yogurt) and toscana pizza (topped with cinnamon, potatoes and carrots...mmmm), I was asked if I feel at home here.

Yes.

I have long realized that my concept of home cannot afford to be limited to one place or region. I have many, many homes-some of them near, some far, some logical, some yet a dream. So what makes home for me?

People are home to me. People to love me, hold me, laugh with me, share their stories and their lives with me. This is so abundant here: in my host family, in the YAGM community, in my co-workers.

Routine is a part of what makes a place home....I have to land long enough to have a rhythm to the place before I consider it home. Here's a glimpse of a day in my life--at least my Monday-Thursday life!

6:00-Wake up! Coffee, get ready for the day, pack snacks for work, along with a sweater (my office is COLD)

6:55-Mad scramble to find keys, get coffee into travel mug, scamper out the door, lock door, navigate down the series of slippery stone stairs, out another door and find myself in the most unique school bus EVER. Exchange morning pleasantries with grandma (Sahbah Ilher! Sahbah Nuur!) as I dash out the door. Samur, the son of my grandparents, is our driver and he, Rand, Rosana, Kamel (my three oldest host siblings) and I set off for Talitha Kumi, picking up more kids along the way. I have to say this: Initially, this trek to school was terrifying to me. The traffic here is nuts, no seat belts, LOTS of kids scampering about while the vehicle is in motion....but as I've gotten used to the hairpin turns and the incessent honking that fills the early morning air, I have come to LOVE this part of my day. No words, just purely wonderful strangeness.

7:15ish-arrive at Talitha Kumi campus, where the Environmental Education Center is housed. My work day doesn't really start until 8:30 or 9, so I typically will sit in the botanical garden and read, journal or just look over the city of Beit Jala and marvel at the fact that I LIVE HERE! Chat in Arabic (sort of) with Ahmed, the gardener/man-of-all-trades at the EEC....we mostly talk about tea and coffee, how each other is doing, and the weather. It's a lovely exchange and Ahmed is always telling me that "Laura, you speak Arabic good!" So affirming!

8:30/9:00-Work work work. My work is different everyday...some days there's a lot of reading or research, sometimes I work on grant applications or write e-mails for Simon. Some of my favorite days are the ones that are spent with Michael, the lead ornithologist at the EEC, who lets me tag along when he checks on the nets and collects data on our feathered visitors. He keeps promising that soon, my name will be in the book as the researcher who will have banded the bird--Inshall'ah (God willing!). Work is lovely-I work with wonderful people and am coming to feel as though I am a part of the EEC family!

4:30-Home again to my lovely rooftop flat. Typically I will sit and drink tea with grandma and grandpa, play with little Rena, and chat with the other kids before I ever actually make it up to my house. Some days I venture to Jumbo or FuFu, two grocery stores, before stopping by the fruit stand on my way up the hill, eager to try a new recipe (admittedly, some of these cooking adventures have been more successful than others!).

Evenings are usually spent cooking, practicing guitar, catching up on Arabic homework, reading, Skype dates, and enjoying having time to just be. Tuesdays I go to my Arabic lesson with Jen, Wednesdays I am hanging out with little ones at Shadia's library in Beit Sahour, so these "free evenings" are actually quite seldom.

It's such a good life. I am feeling as though I know people and people are coming to realize that I've been around for much longer than a tourist would, so I'm starting to not be such an anomally...I'll always stand out and will probably take a long time to master the language, but I'm comfortable and happy here. I cherish the beauty I see as I walk down my street. I love being able to smile and greet the women I meet along the way. I am enjoying the opportunity to cook for myself and get creative with my makeshift kitchen (mini-fridge, microwave, gas stove, toaster, tea kettle, coffee pot). I value a good night's sleep. I love my host family and I just continue to fall in love with this place and these people.

Am I home here? Yes, yes yes.
Do I miss Concordia, Esko, the Great Northwoods of Minnesota? You betcha. But the thing is, if I was any of those places, I would be missing this place, because now I know this place. I am loved here, a part of this place. I can't un-belong here. So, in the midst of being away from home, I'm creating a new home and loving every minute of this beautiful adventure.

Wilderness

When most people think of their lives in terms of a wilderness moment, it is not typically a positive experience. Often, it is a part of their life when they feel lost, uncertain, distraught, despairing. Yet for me, a wilderness experience is often when I feel most whole, connected to the earth, and in awe of God’s creation.

I grew up in the north woods of Minnesota: lakes around every corner, trees and greenery as far as the eye can see and countless opportunities to get outside and experience nature. Running, canoeing, hiking, tree-climbing, skiing, fishing, swimming, picnicking, frolicking ….being outside was a huge part of my childhood and has shaped who I am. As a young adult, I have found solace in the wilderness. In the quiet stillness that is anything but still when you pay attention to the sound of water lapping on the shore, birds chirping, the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind. I have discovered a deeper sense of myself when I am on the water, reliant on my body and fully aware of my place in the natural world. My heart is in the woods.

And now my feet, mind, brain, and whole self is in the desert! This past Saturday I was fortunate enough to throw on my Chacos and go on a hike along the Road of the Good Samaritan. I was incredibly excited because this was the first real hike/outdoor opportunity that I’ve had since arriving to my new home. And it was amazing.

The desert is an incredibly complex and beautiful environment. Words cannot begin to describe the intricacate beauty of the sand dunes, the dusty roads, the surprising oasis’s of trees, natural springs, and caves. Walking the desert roads, I felt like I had returned to a part of myself, as there was a familiarity to the walk. I know how to hike, how to pack copious amounts of water, sunscreen, and protein rich snacks. I know how to pay attention to my body and ask for help when I need it. There was comfort in this familiar and life-giving activity. And yet, I was extremely conscientious of the fact that I was experiencing familiarity in an entirely foreign setting. My north woods spirit knows next to nothing about the dessert. Hiking through the woods and spending time on the water did very little to prepare me for how to walk through the desert. In all of my comfort with the wilderness, this wilderness was new, exciting, and I was quite aware that I was entirely dependent on our guide.

He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still, small voice. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”  1 Kings 19:11-13

  

Walking those desert roads was one of the most life-giving and spirit-reviving experiences I’ve had here in Palestine. I have always thrived when in motion, so using my body and engaging my muscles brought me great joy. Being on that particular road, hiking towards Jericho, knowing the familiar story of the Good Samaritan that is said to have happened there was such a surreal experience. God’s still, small voice was speaking through the sounds of the water moving through the irrigation ditches; through the gentle touch of the occasional breeze; in the sensation of the dusty earth beneath my Chaco clad feet; in the sound of conversation and the busy stillness of the desert.

This text was the 2009 summer theme at Voyageurs Lutheran Ministry and the idea that God speaks to us through the small, quiet moments is one that has stayed with me. We live these frantic lives, rarely pausing to listen or really see what is in front of us, the beauty that surrounds us. Yet, it is in these fleeting moments where we really listen or we truly feel the earth under our feet, or taste our food, or open our eyes that we are truly aware of the multitude of ways that God is speaking in this world. Living in the Holy Land, I have found myself surrounded by sacred spaces, religious monuments, rich beauty, and unbelievable history; I have also found myself in the midst of a people in conflict, issues of poverty, inequality, gender, and religion. Where is God's still, small voice in all of that? 

"What are you doing here, Laura?"

I am volunteering, working through the ELCA in accompaniment with the ELCJHL. I work at the Environmental Education Center four days a week & at Shadia's Library every Friday morning and Wednesday afternoon. I will be singing in a choir, I am studying Arabic, and I attend Beit Jala Lutheran Church. 

But there's more to it than that.

I am learning, asking questions, expressing frustration, wrestling with the injustice presented to me. I am discovering who I am, both by myself and in my relationships with those who love me. I am challenging myself, working through moments of loneliness or uncertainty. I am building relationships. I am becoming...All of this, the familiar, exciting and delightful mixed in with the incomprehensible and mind-boggling is part of my wilderness.

This is a new sort of wilderness, far from the north woods that I know and love. Yet in so many ways, it is familiar and I am fast becoming comfortable with being uncomfortable. Simultaneously knowing and not knowing is a strange and beautiful place to be.

In the midst of it all God's still, small voice is always speaking...

Jesus was a wilderness guide... 

I do not walk alone...

Oh the Questions...

I have a LOT of questions.

In the past two months (woah….where has the time gone?!), I have learned more than I ever thought possible about this place: about manners (eating with your hands is not only allowed, but is proper), hospitality (one must always drink tea or coffee), politics, injustice, sustainability, religion, interfaith, US culture, language, family, relationships….I have learned SO. MUCH.

And yet it seems that with everything I learn or discover, I have another dozen questions. Initially, I was baffled and a bit frustrated by this, because when seeking information, one does not expect or necessarily desire umpteen more questions—I want concrete answers!  However, my curiosity is piqued and I have become a question asker; in many ways I feel like a two year old with all of my questions:

·         What does (insert Arabic word here) mean?
·         Why does….?
·         Where can I find…?
·         How long have you…?

These are a few beginnings of my most-used phrases! In the midst of my questions, I’m discovering that my degrees in Religion and Environmental Studies, my 18 years of dance training and 6 years of teaching experience, my 5 summers at camp, all my leadership training, my passion for youth ministry, my love of music….most of that really doesn’t matter here. It matters in the sense that all of this has shaped who I am and has allowed me to develop my intellect, faith, passion for people, and love of this world, but all of it really isn’t relevant…I don’t even have the vocabulary to tell people about these parts of my life! Instead, I am left with my curious heart and insatiable desire to learn and discover more about this place. I find myself frustrated at the rampant injustices that are present here; I am saddened by the lack of grace that is extended to neighbors; I am humbled by the hospitality that abounds here, even when resources are limited. While I am still searching for what I can do here....I do know that I am very good at asking questions:

·         Why do we build walls?
·         How can one treat his or her fellow human beings with such little regard for their humanity?
·         When will this conflict end?
·         Why is it that these beautiful people have to suffer at the hands of injustice?
·         When will the world start paying attention and intervene on behalf of these people?
·         Is peace possible?
·         What can I or any other person do to help?
·         How much longer can the world live like this before a change comes?
·         Why are we afraid of differences?

SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!  Some of these are directly applicable to this place and situation; others are general questions of the human population…trust me, there are countless more inquiries and perplexing issues dwelling in my brain.

I’ve come to realize that through my learning, I am discovering what questions to ask. I am learning who to ask and am beginning to seek proper opportunities to pose my queries.

So I’m learning to live into the questions. In a world that prides itself on answers, this is certainly a challenge, but it is one that I embrace willingly and eagerly as I seek to understand and make discoveries that will lead to more questions.

“Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.” -Rainer Maria Rilke

Moments of Holy Ordinary

Every time I walk down the streets of Bethlehem or venture into Jerusalem, I have to remind myself that I am here. That this is the place I've longed to be, that I've dreamed about and planned for over the past six months. That this is the Holy Land, people! I don't know why, but I keep having to remind and re-remind myself of that on a daily basis. Woah.

In the midst of all of the Holy Sites, monuments, and new culture, there is a delightful ordinaryness of it all: people running errands, grabbing lunch at local cafes, walking with friends. I love that part of this place. 

I don't know what I expected; of course people walk and talk and have lunch with friends. Yet, as I told people that I was going to live & serve in the Holy Land for a year, none of those things made the list of must dos. Instead, I got a list of churches, mosques, musical ensembles, food to try, and places to visit. And I have visited some of these places-The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Nativity Square, the Old City, the Western Wall, the Garden of Gethsemane, the Mediterranean Sea. We've made several attempts to visit the Dome of the Rock (maybe when tourist season is over!). I've tasted exquisite Palestinian food, listened to fabulous music, and have taken more tours of Jerusalem than I could have ever imagined. Yet, the simple, every day occurrences are what intrigue me the most about this place.

I love the sound of Arabic being spoken around me; I'm still only catching about every 18th word, if that, but it is a beautiful language. The fresh produce stands are among my favorite places to stop as I walk down the hill from work every day. Standing on my balcony in the morning as the rays of the sun touch Beit Jala always makes me say a little prayer of gratitude for the beautiful world I am a part of. Recognizing people on the street and exchanging pleasantries in Arabic as we pass is a major accomplishment that I get positively giddy with! Playing with my host sisters after school. Being greeted by the littlest sister as she cries (who is only a year and a half!), "Lo-la!" and getting kisses and smiles from her each day. Drinking coffee or tea with my grandparents here & hearing their stories. Starting each work day in the Botanical/Biblical garden, sitting beneath an olive tree, sipping my coffee, reading my devotional book, journaling and just taking a quiet moment before the busyness of the day sets in. None of these moments are particularly exceptional or unusual, but they are among my favorite of each day. Moments of holy ordinary.

Enuma Okoro caputures much of my love for these simple, ordinary moments in her poem "Passing Ordinary Time," a portion of which I share with you here: 

Passing Ordinary Time

It is a hard art to learn,

catching quiet

by palms raised

cupped in air

shifting locations

here and there

like trying to guess the pattern of falling leaves,

and hoping to feel

the soft descent of moments

when silence slips between sounds.

This ordinary time

is gifted with days

weeks of mundane grace

routinely following the liturgy of hours

anticipating creation

tuning its prayer and praise

to the rhythms of incarnate love.

Loved from All Over the World.

When I logged into my blog this morning, I was redirected to the stats page. There, I was shown the map of all the places that my blog had been viewed:

Italy
United States
Palestine
United Kingdom
South Africa
Mexico
India
Norway
Malaysia
Spain

As I read through the list, I got goosebumps as I realized that the people I love and who love me are all over this beautiful world. What a humbling and incredible realization. We are called to be global citizens, to care for one another and to encourage each other.

I am loved.
From all over this world.
Love to you all!

şıwey şıwey

My favorite phrase in the Arabic language is "şıwey şıwey" (pronounced "shway shway") or "slowly slowly." 

My Arabic speaking abilities are coming--şıwey şıwey

I'm beginning to understand my work at the Environmental Education Center--şıwey şıwey

Little by little, I'm learning to navigate cultural norms and customs--şıwey şıwey

Slowly slowly, this place is becoming home.

I don't typically like to move slowly. I am much more adept at being in motion, all a flurry of tasks and appointments, leading and directing...not here. Here, I am listening more, paying attention to see if I can catch any familiar words in the whirl of Arabic that surrounds me. I have been trying to understand the conflict here in a deep and authentic manner, through reading, tours, relationship building and asking lots of questions! It's a lot. And it's all good. The sheer amount of what I have yet to learn dictates my pace of life though--slowly slowly. 

My days are full: I get up bright and early to catch a ride to Talitha Kumi, the Lutheran School that houses the Environmental Education Center (a project of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Jordan and the Holy Land....another blog post to come on that soon!). My work at the center is an evolving task list. I have to admit,  when I heard I was going to be working at an environmental center, I was both excited and perplexed--how in the world does sustainability fit into my work as a short term missionary? I have always seen a very clear correlation between the environment and our call to live as people of faith, but through my work, I am learning so much about how social justice, faith, creation, and times of struggle are all intricately connected. Many people know that this is a place of conflict and dissent; it is also a beautiful place. Yet, much of the natural beauty is hindered because of restrictions on water, the building of settlements, and the ever present separation wall. In the past week, it has become quite evident to me that learning about the environmental degradation that is taking place here and witnessing the effects that limited access to natural resources and green space have on the people of Palestine, this is indeed part of our call as people of faith. More specifically, caring for creation is a part of my call. 

After work, I typically walk home--down the hill that is Beit Jala, winding through the streets and making my way to my little flat. A word on traffic here: people are kind of crazy! It doesn't seem like there are any traffic laws and consequently, the air is filled with sounds of horns and shouts as pedestrians dodge traffic and taxis weave in and out--as my friend Majd said, "Watch out for those yellow things!" 

My evenings are either spent with my lovely host family or with fellow YAGM. Annela and Jen live right down the street, so it is nice to have familiar faces and English speaking companions. I feel very fortunate to be in close proximity to the girls--we are building a beautiful support system! Eventually, Arabic lessons, a secondary placement, and social events will be scheduled into my evenings. Already, I have experienced holy hospitality in a number of family homes--food, conversaton, lots of delicious mint tea...şıwey şıwey!

Even when there are moments of frustration, confusion, or miscommunication, every day holds some-if not countless-moments of affirmation of my need to be here. The beauty of the sunrise over Beit Jala. Finding my way home by myself. Sharing smiles and simple conversation in Arabic with coworkers, host families and new friends. Sitting in the Biblical gardens at my worksite. Laughing with my host sisters. There are so many beautiful things about being here. Little by little, I will learn. Slowly slowly, I will be at home here. 

Slowly slowly...şıwey şıwey