Although I restlessly await
Some faraway and distant fate
Still hold me, bind my faithless heart
And teach my soul to wait
Oh, Lord teach me how to wait!
To wait upon thy arms of love
Love stronger than the tide
Than all the ocean’s grand display
Love stronger than my pride
Love stronger than my pride
And when my way
Seemed ne’er so black
The darkness, ne’er so strong
To this bright hope
My heart will cling:
Your love is stronger yet.
Your love is stronger yet.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
of Ice cream, beggars, and frozen hearts.
The sun glared brightly that morning. The air was warm and the thick rays of light shone hotly off the ancient Jerusalem stones of those narrow streets. I was sufficiently aware of the sun's effect on my body, my parched throat reminding me it was due time to head home!
I rounded the corner of Christian Quarter road, the heavy smell of spices, stone and fresh falafel lingering in the air. While skipping to the next song on my ipod a dark figure caught my eyes. She was covered head to toe in black, this Muslim woman who sat against the wall with a young boy in her lap. Her weathered face and dark, distant eyes were lifted up to me as she repeated probably for the hundredth time that morning some pitiful plea in Arabic for a few shekels or more. The small boy in her lap lay with one hand held out wearily waiting for coins, the other hand clinging to his mother's scarf as he squirmed tearfully, looking hot and tired and already weary of the day's work.
I tried to smile encouragingly and continue walking by, telling myself that beggars actually make a good bit of money and she probably could have a real job if she wanted too....
...but what if she couldn't? Or even if she could, that boy looked awfully tired and in need of some cheering, if not a shekel. After walking a few minutes I came across a little grocery market. Stepping inside, I gave the shopkeeper the few shekels I had in my pocket for two bars of ice cream and skipped excitedly out the door in the direction of the mother and child.
The woman recognized me as I approached, and I will never forget her eyes when I had knelt down to give them my gift. The boy's face just shone brilliantly with pleasure, but in her eyes was such a deep, deep look of gratitude; her mother's heart so full of love and simply thankful that somebody had cared.
I only wish I cared more. Whether there in Israel, here at home, or anywhere else God leads me- there are always people who need love- and I pray my heart would be soft enough to give it. Make my heart like yours, O God, that you may be glorified in me!
"Savior, let thy love be felt,
Let its power be felt by me,
Then my frozen heart shall melt,
Melt in love, O Lord to thee."
-Thomas Kelly
I rounded the corner of Christian Quarter road, the heavy smell of spices, stone and fresh falafel lingering in the air. While skipping to the next song on my ipod a dark figure caught my eyes. She was covered head to toe in black, this Muslim woman who sat against the wall with a young boy in her lap. Her weathered face and dark, distant eyes were lifted up to me as she repeated probably for the hundredth time that morning some pitiful plea in Arabic for a few shekels or more. The small boy in her lap lay with one hand held out wearily waiting for coins, the other hand clinging to his mother's scarf as he squirmed tearfully, looking hot and tired and already weary of the day's work.
I tried to smile encouragingly and continue walking by, telling myself that beggars actually make a good bit of money and she probably could have a real job if she wanted too....
...but what if she couldn't? Or even if she could, that boy looked awfully tired and in need of some cheering, if not a shekel. After walking a few minutes I came across a little grocery market. Stepping inside, I gave the shopkeeper the few shekels I had in my pocket for two bars of ice cream and skipped excitedly out the door in the direction of the mother and child.
The woman recognized me as I approached, and I will never forget her eyes when I had knelt down to give them my gift. The boy's face just shone brilliantly with pleasure, but in her eyes was such a deep, deep look of gratitude; her mother's heart so full of love and simply thankful that somebody had cared.
I only wish I cared more. Whether there in Israel, here at home, or anywhere else God leads me- there are always people who need love- and I pray my heart would be soft enough to give it. Make my heart like yours, O God, that you may be glorified in me!
"Savior, let thy love be felt,
Let its power be felt by me,
Then my frozen heart shall melt,
Melt in love, O Lord to thee."
-Thomas Kelly
do you take dirt in your tea, miss?
I had never felt so much like a queen!
The little Palestinian girls at the orphanage in Bethany had grabbed me by the arm and, with giddy smiles and giggles, lead me eagerly; quickly ducking beneath the olive trees in the garden we ran to a small ragged table beside the orphanage, a dulled-white building to match the rest of this Arab village.
The girls' eyes shone with secret excitement as they sat me down in a too-small chair and busily set about preparing the tea. One little girl, Russia, smiled with gentle hospitality as she delicately broke the rough twigs into bite-size pieces (special chocolates, she explained), her dark curls bouncing in the warm, dusty breeze. There was another girl who stood taller with short black hair, big hazel eyes and an affectionate grin. She spread the table with a tattered rug and, flashing her smile, offered me a broken pottery filled with dirt (the sugar, she insisted!). I accepted happily as the other little girls skipped around with curious, mischievous faces and gave sweet tokens of friendship (a plastic cup filled with small dusty rocks, carefully torn olive leaves, a small cracked plate to eat it on, tiny pink pink flowers to tuck behind my ear and into my pocket, a precious smile). I told them I had never had such a lovely tea party, or such a delicious cup of tea!
The tea party didn't last long, as the other little girls tugged at my arm and beckoned me to follow, but as we laughed and talked (more with our eyes and smiles than with words) and sipped dirt tea with mint beneath the lowering sun, I knew I would never forget that tea party! And my heart broke for these little girls who had no family- or if they did, a miserably broken family marked with darkness and abuse- and yet who were so full of life, their little hands so quick to serve and their little hearts so fast to love. And I prayed that amid the darkness that lies in their future God would somehow preserve these moments of peace; that they would always know the peace that is Christ; and that he would bless them. That even when the sun is setting they would always have a hope to cling to- that even in the night they would have a morning to look forward to.
"Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!"
-Emily Dickenson
The little Palestinian girls at the orphanage in Bethany had grabbed me by the arm and, with giddy smiles and giggles, lead me eagerly; quickly ducking beneath the olive trees in the garden we ran to a small ragged table beside the orphanage, a dulled-white building to match the rest of this Arab village.
The girls' eyes shone with secret excitement as they sat me down in a too-small chair and busily set about preparing the tea. One little girl, Russia, smiled with gentle hospitality as she delicately broke the rough twigs into bite-size pieces (special chocolates, she explained), her dark curls bouncing in the warm, dusty breeze. There was another girl who stood taller with short black hair, big hazel eyes and an affectionate grin. She spread the table with a tattered rug and, flashing her smile, offered me a broken pottery filled with dirt (the sugar, she insisted!). I accepted happily as the other little girls skipped around with curious, mischievous faces and gave sweet tokens of friendship (a plastic cup filled with small dusty rocks, carefully torn olive leaves, a small cracked plate to eat it on, tiny pink pink flowers to tuck behind my ear and into my pocket, a precious smile). I told them I had never had such a lovely tea party, or such a delicious cup of tea!
The tea party didn't last long, as the other little girls tugged at my arm and beckoned me to follow, but as we laughed and talked (more with our eyes and smiles than with words) and sipped dirt tea with mint beneath the lowering sun, I knew I would never forget that tea party! And my heart broke for these little girls who had no family- or if they did, a miserably broken family marked with darkness and abuse- and yet who were so full of life, their little hands so quick to serve and their little hearts so fast to love. And I prayed that amid the darkness that lies in their future God would somehow preserve these moments of peace; that they would always know the peace that is Christ; and that he would bless them. That even when the sun is setting they would always have a hope to cling to- that even in the night they would have a morning to look forward to.
"Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!"
-Emily Dickenson
Saturday, August 22, 2009
"Even there..."
"Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, [a] you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast."
-Psalm 139:9-10
What a promise! How sweet to know that no matter what the future holds- no matter how dark, no matter how far from home we end up, no matter how deep in the depths- always we know that God is there.
This past year I spent in Israel was surreal. It was challenging, sometimes lonely, dis-quieting and eye-opening to poverty and darkness; the kind seen in dusty little children with knocked-out teeth, and some forgotten parent to blame.
And yet it was also a beautiful time- some of the most beautiful days of my life, spent among the desert hills and ancient city stones, and golden sunsets flaming over a white city; narrow steets crowded with dust, people living, and hating, and loving; little boys with side-curls and kippas running past old arab men selling fresh juice, and their young boys pushing carts of sweet bread down the ragged steps of the shuk; purple flowers growing through the cracks and bringing colored hope to the windowsills as the sunset fades to dusk.
There are so many things I want to remember- so many places and dear lonely faces I never wish to forget. So many stories- so many friendships and laughter, so many times sitting down to a coffee with a friend- and with them countless stories, such lives lived, shared adventures, shared fears and sweet, sweet moments of shared remembering of God's goodness as we studied the promises in his word- like the one above. So many times God proved his love and faithfulness to me- always bringing me back to his grace and the fact that he is all I need, and he is always there. And he is strong.
I want to be able to remember these stories, to have them in mind so I can share them with others. And so I will share them with you! This blog will hopefully become a rough collection of this past year- and the story of how God was there throughout it all. Because he was there- and always abounding in grace! And always quieting my heart once again with his love.
So I hope this blog is somehow an encouragement to you! Perhaps as a reminder to pray, or maybe a motivation to travel yourself, or maybe just to make you think.....and remember. Remember the people who are suffering, the people who have less than you, the people who have cared. And remember God.....that he is loving, and he is strong, and he is always there.
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, [a] you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast."
-Psalm 139:9-10
What a promise! How sweet to know that no matter what the future holds- no matter how dark, no matter how far from home we end up, no matter how deep in the depths- always we know that God is there.
This past year I spent in Israel was surreal. It was challenging, sometimes lonely, dis-quieting and eye-opening to poverty and darkness; the kind seen in dusty little children with knocked-out teeth, and some forgotten parent to blame.
And yet it was also a beautiful time- some of the most beautiful days of my life, spent among the desert hills and ancient city stones, and golden sunsets flaming over a white city; narrow steets crowded with dust, people living, and hating, and loving; little boys with side-curls and kippas running past old arab men selling fresh juice, and their young boys pushing carts of sweet bread down the ragged steps of the shuk; purple flowers growing through the cracks and bringing colored hope to the windowsills as the sunset fades to dusk.
There are so many things I want to remember- so many places and dear lonely faces I never wish to forget. So many stories- so many friendships and laughter, so many times sitting down to a coffee with a friend- and with them countless stories, such lives lived, shared adventures, shared fears and sweet, sweet moments of shared remembering of God's goodness as we studied the promises in his word- like the one above. So many times God proved his love and faithfulness to me- always bringing me back to his grace and the fact that he is all I need, and he is always there. And he is strong.
I want to be able to remember these stories, to have them in mind so I can share them with others. And so I will share them with you! This blog will hopefully become a rough collection of this past year- and the story of how God was there throughout it all. Because he was there- and always abounding in grace! And always quieting my heart once again with his love.
So I hope this blog is somehow an encouragement to you! Perhaps as a reminder to pray, or maybe a motivation to travel yourself, or maybe just to make you think.....and remember. Remember the people who are suffering, the people who have less than you, the people who have cared. And remember God.....that he is loving, and he is strong, and he is always there.
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