On longing...

I've been reading this book lately that has been wrecking me.

As most things my sister gives me, I have to wait until I'm ready for them. Whether new music, a 'good' book, or even an article of clothing, I have to wait until my heart is ready for it. Regardless of how excited she is about it. Which is comical because we have similar taste, and enjoy many things mutually.

So, as always, when she handed me this book and said "It's SO good! I really think you'll enjoy it," I tried to be excited and start the book right away.

Epic fail.

I lasted three pages and slammed it shut in frustration with an inner exclamation of, "this is incredibly boring!" I re-shelved it and there it stayed for most of the summer. (Kind of embarrassing when my sister asked how I was liking it and I explained I hadn't started it yet...) But then I watched a movie that got me excited about the Camino del Santiago, which consequently is what the book is about.

I gingerly picked it up again.

I fought through the introduction (side note: I despise introductions. I find them boring and wordy, and I just want to get to the 'good stuff') and got into chapter one. I was hooked.

The author, Phileena, and her husband had been missionaries overseas for years. Day after day after day of giving of themselves to those they had set out to serve. But also copious moments spent not taking care of their own hearts. This granted them the time to take a sabbatical, the first 33 days of which they spent walking the Camino, an ancient pilgrimage route that ends at the burial place of James, son of Zebedee. The book is written along her journey, but walks the reader through the steps of contemplative spirituality as much as it walks along her Camino journey. Its a beautiful ongoing metaphor.

The part that is really getting to me within the last week or so, however, is a section in which she writes about longing:

Longings are like growing pains in that their origins can be difficult to trace, and yet they give indication of something deep and profound, something immediately true of us. In that respect, noting our longings and looking more deeply into them can function as a sort of "thin space," in which God pierces our desires and then redeems them with a more devout understanding for how we can live in relationship to God, one another and all of creation. (p. 58)

These words are probably the most direct avenue I have ever encountered to describe what I've wrestled with for most (if not all) of my life since turning 16. In that year I went on my first overseas mission trip, and I have never been able to be the same. That week in Mexicali brought forth a longing in my heart that has not found satiation ever again, save for the handful of times that I have been blessed to be overseas again.

And like most things, I've tried to brush it aside. I've attempted to hide it, disguise it, smother it. Like an unwanted birth-mark, I've tried to say it wasn't mine. Partly because it's different, but mostly because it's difficult. It is exhausting to constantly long for something different from life.

It is exhausting, but also amazing. It is on purpose and for a specific reason. This truth doesn't make it any easier, but it does shed a different color light on the situation.

And so I sit, read this book that is wrecking me, and long for a time when I will see these desires become reality.

Introductions

Have you ever thought about how you introduce people? Like if you were at a movie with a friend and saw a coworker. What adjectives describe the person you're with and which would you choose to express their relationship to you?

Some introductions are easy: "This is my husband." "These are my sisters." "This is my best friend."

But sometimes it can be more complicated than that.

How do you introduce a friend's parents who were more like surrogate parents to you than just her parents? What about a friend who has walked through more personal crisis with you than the average acquaintance?

I was thinking about this tonight as I was in a very similar situation. In a place where a lot of people know me, and out of context very dear friends showed up. It was interesting to me the words I thought of to describe their relationship to me. All endearing. All full of the gratitude I feel having them be a part of my life. I chose words that showed affection and love, rather than just the basic descriptions. I wish I did this all the time. Sometimes I feel like I waste the moment to inadvertently share with the friend how much they mean to me. Instead of "Hey, this is our pastor," I wish I would have said, "This is our very good friend, whom happens to be the head pastor at our church."

Sometimes I rock introductions, and sometimes I bomb them.

But it still interesting to think of how I would introduce those I care about...

Batman in Colorado

The recent events in Aurora, Colorado are nothing but tragic and heart wrenching. It impacts everyone personally, also, because the people killed and injured were simply doing something they enjoy doing: going out to a movie.

Its never easy to understand when life is taken recklessly.

And then there's Batman.

Not the black spandex clad superhero, but the man who depicted him in the movie those innocent people went to see. Christian Bale went to visit those affected by the tragedy in their hospital rooms. Went to be with them in their time of need.

I can tell you from personal experience, visiting people at the hospital is not a fun thing. What do you say?

"How are you?" "Um. I was shot. In a movie theater. I watched people die right in front of me and I was scared my life was over also. But I'm ok, y'know. I'm here."

Hospital rooms are not places you go to 'hang out.' But still he went to visit complete strangers. To thank the hospital staff who received those injured individuals. Again, from personal experience, I can say that sometimes its just as debilitating to be the person who helps the injured as it is to be the injured.

Say what you want about celebrities and their behavior when they are drunk or high or whatever, but when it comes down to it, they are humans. I'm not writing this to defend any person's destructive, embarrassing behavior. What I'm saying is that we all make mistakes. We all have too much, go too far, say things we wished we hadn't as soon as the syllables leave our tongues. Fortunately for me (for the general public) there isn't someone there with a camera to have proof later. But as soon as your name is known and your face recognizable, the stakes are raised. It is the way it goes.

I'm just glad that at the end of the day, their is still good that can come out of tragedy. There is still humanity and hope.

Thanks, Mr. Bale, for reminding me that strangers matter. That people, even in our broken and messed up states, matter.

Two things

1. I want to learn how to sail in the worst way. 2. These waters would be beautiful to spend some time on. Can't you imagine jumping off the side of the boat into that crystal clear goodness??

The Cross and The Olive Tree

We went on a hike down to a hermitage on the side of a valley. It took us numerous stairs to descend down the valley wall, and about two thirds of the way there we came to this landing sort of area where this rugged cross and old olive tree stand. The valley we were in was incredible enough, and the hermitage was phenomenal (built somewhere around 515 A.D.), but for some reason this scene has stuck with me. I often wondered, while on that hike, why the tree had been planted there. And who had erected the cross. Its an incredible place, one that I felt compelled to tread lightly upon, as it seemed to be holier than other ground. It was a fascinating experience.

The Church and The Cave

Along with the monastery, there is also a church and a cave that have significance at Qozhaya.

The church is fascinating and awesome just in its architecture. It was literally built into the side of the mountain, so that half of the ceiling in the chapel is actually the rock of the hillside. Little prayer rooms off the main sanctuary also have this rock as their ceilings and walls. There is a large Maronite influence in this area, which is the kind of religion practiced in this church. I have never been one who feels completely comfortable in Catholic churches, for whatever reason, but I will admit that the architecture is beautiful and I do appreciate that.

If the church was uncomfortable, the cave was downright creepy. This large cavern with massive door to close it off from the rest of the world was a place where the 'possessed' were held while St Anthony was praying for their deliverance. [A note on 'possessed': mentally handicapped people are not very accepted in Lebanese society. Much of the time they are 'sent away' and live somewhere else. We all couldn't help but wonder how many of the prisoners of the cave might have just been mentally handicapped and not really possessed by a demon. Imagining the torture they endured was gut-churning.] The original chains were still attached to the large rock we faced as we entered, and stairs led up to an upper cavern. Landon climbed the stairs and said it went on for a while, though without a flash light he couldn't tell just how far. As I said before, if something makes me uncomfortable I'm going to do it just to conquer that fear. Well, this cave was a step above making me uncomfortable. It was one of those places that when you enter immediately the air feels thicker somehow, your little wispy neck hairs stand straight up, and you just know you're not the only 'being' in the room. I lasted about ten minutes, and then something dropped from the ceiling behind me and I was out. (Wow. Even typing about it makes my heart rate quicken.) Some bad stuff happened inside that place, and a lot of that bad is still there.

St Anthony's Monastery

The first night of our road trip we stayed at Qozhaya, the active monastery of St. Anthony, hidden back in the terraced slopes of the Qadisha Valley. Established some time in the forth century, this place has a rich and interesting history. As well as the monks who live there and cultivate the acres and acres of fruit trees and other agricultural products, the place also hosts group retreats so had a sort of hostel feel to it. My sister had seen it on a hike through the valley but had never stayed there.After we had been shown to our room and set our things down we decided to go on a hike to a water pipeline that offered an incredible view back down the valley. It was on this hike that I snapped this photo. The gate was the entrance into an orchard filled with olive, persimmon, apple and countless other fruit trees. And the monastery is captured above. The sheer size of the place was incredible.

On this hike I also had my first taste of a raw olive. It was harvesting season while we were there, so the olive I snagged off a tree was totally ready to be eaten. Ready except for the fact that it had not been cured. So. Gross. It turns out that the curing process is really important. I literally could taste the bitter olive taste the entire hike. It even seemed to 'burn' the back of my throat. Not a recommended snack.

Here's a link if you want to read more about where we stayed.

Elias, the Jeweler

My sister pointed out a little shop to us as we walked briskly by the evening before: "This is a cool artisan shop. You might stop in there for handmade jewelry." Ok, I thought, and then continued to focus on not tripping over all the objects littering the somewhat dark sidewalk.

Well, the next day we went back to the artisan shop. We walked in the open door and the shop owner stood up, nodding his head to us in welcome. His mouth was full of grapes, or else he probably would have said hello. We nodded and muttered a hello as we gazed at the wall of handmade bracelets, earrings and necklaces. As he cleared his mouth he offered us some grapes. Initially I refused, not wanting to take someones lunch, but as he insisted we both acquiesced. We began chatting with him, and fairly soon: would you like some coffee? Yes, thank you. Sweetened? No, thank you. We were offered seats, and soon enough we were having a conversation with Elias. Our conversation bounced from topic to topic, each participant listening hard to try to decipher what was being communicated through the foreign accents. We learned that our new friend made the jewelry with his son, who at the time was visiting his sister in the U.S. She's going to university in Philadelphia and has been there studying film for the past three years. Elias was close to 70 years old, but we wouldn't have guessed that. We spoke about the civil war, about other jobs he's had, how he takes his coffee and how much we had enjoyed the city so far.

This picture, to me, signifies hospitality. I think we lose it in the U.S. Some people know how to welcome others, but as a general rule, we're really good at keeping our distance from strangers. Elias showed us the epitome of Lebanese hospitality. And the jewelry we bought is gorgeous to boot!

Little Sister

Besides possibly my own children someday (a huge 'if' proposition), I am never more proud or excited than when I see my little brothers or sister do something they love. Its like the best gift ever to get to witness them triumphing over an obstacle, whether its a sporting event or a musical chord. I love time spent supporting them. Last weekend afforded such an opportunity.

My little sister is much younger than me, and this school year she decided to try soccer on for size. As a fifth grader she's actually starting 'old' but I think she is starting to get it, and likes it, if for no other reason than to be with her friends. Its just a kidsports team, made up of kids who go to her new school, but she seems to fit right in, listening to her coach and fearlessly attacking for the ball. Though she's still a little gangly and awkward, I hope she sticks with it.

She's in the blue shirt and low pony tail. Grace.

White Rock

This is by far one of my most favorite places to sit and wait. For someone like me (bored easily, don't like to sit still, equate movement with accomplishment) being still is a very difficult lesson I've had to learn in my life.

It began to conflict with my desires when I was in college. My sister was the ear who heard way too many times, "I hate it here! I'm doing nothing with my life!!" Somewhat melodramatic coming from a 19 year old college sophomore with 16 credits, 3 part time jobs and a boyfriend. But there was something deeper that was happening. Without knowing to use these words I was trying to tell her, "This isn't enough. Its not satisfying. There has GOT to be more to life than what I'm seeing." And that refrain continues to play throughout my life. Like a little ditty that gets stuck in your head, it's on repeat and refuses to be turned off.

But this rock, this view...

I can sit here for a while. I can be still here for hours, letting my mind wander from thought to thought, keeping my attention and eyes gently focused on the Eastern ridge, awaiting a Mule deer's approach over the rise. But I can just be here. Call it circumstance, call it determination, call it whatever you want. The point is, for the first time in a long time I could just be.

Too bad that buck never showed itself...