Morning - Day 3

Yesterday seemed like a sprint through the some of the New Testament's greatest hits.  Hard to take it all in when surrounded by the array of people, sights and sounds - and information.  This place has so many exposed layers - it's all hanging out there to be experienced if you dare.  It's like a rough cut of an onion - all rock on rock and stone on stone, culture on culture, religion on religion.  The political situation is raw in ways we're not used to and you wonder even when you don't see the very issue in super 20-20 focus, when it will emerge right in your face.  Resources of all kinds are at stake here, in play, in jeopardy  - in real ways that we as Americans don't touch everyday.  Some of us have to go seeking this exposure and knowledge.  I think of the ways we are constantly trying to find ways to immerse students in environmental and sustainability.  Here the immersion is palpable.  

This morning we are getting ready for Meeting for Worship and for our first venture into Ramallah.  I'm still trying to absorb yesterday and all the images - Orthodox Jews at the Wall, and in the streets with their garb, walking by street vendors.  Me trying not to stare and wanting to take snapshots of every one of the men, women and children. They go by too fast. I want to watch and follow them as I step over trash in the market, including an jockey briefs underwear package with the obligatory model pose.  CONTRAST.  

I went with the young women to shop a bit in the old city streets yesterday.  Looking at jewelry we automatically entered into a bartering discourse.  Pressure to buy was intense.  I played mother hen with one of my companions while she was grilled by the shopkeeper about how much she had and how much cash she was willing to spend.  Meanwhile, one shopkeeper, a little older than me, sat quietly on his stool in the street.  He was the one recommended to us by a Friend we met from Oregon yesterday.  I told him I appreciated his approach and kindness while we had shopped in his place.  "Come, sit" he said.  He was calm and kind, and immediately we were speaking about being people first and dealing with others "heart to heart."  I'll never forget Mohammed's face.

Eireyna runs our guest house.  She is a beautiful Egyptian woman in full black head to toe covering.  She has a gorgeous smile, is funny and engaging.  I already wish I had more time to talk with her.  What is her world like?  She teaches middle school children and works here.  She's hoping to expand and add more rooms on the third floor.  She said that so many of her guests are Serbian, seeking God here in the city.   

We had dinner at home of an incoming Guilford student.  Yazin is a lovely young man who seems delighted about his upcoming adventure to Greensboro.  His father Amin started the "Hand to Hand" school.  Their home was lovely, and right on the LINE of the Arab/Jewish neighborhood.

The bells rung loudly this morning.  I wonder what the Lutherans are doing around the corner.  I wish I could go to church there this morning.  I feel my kinship with them suddenly in this strange place.  I expect to feel similarly this morning at Meeting.  

I'm in Jerusalem.  It seemed so vastly foreign and ridiculously far away last week.  But now I'm here and have talked on the phone with Julia, texted Joseph, checked email.  Everything is so much closer now.  

Jerusalem Day 2

I am tired tonight after a day that seemed like several!  Was it just this morning that we walked to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher to start our day?  Watching as people draped themselves over the slab of stone that pilgrims believe was part of the tomb of Jesus?  Orthodox Christians/Greek Orthodox, Armenian...people from all over the world here absorbing what they believe is a holy place with actual artifacts from their Lord/God, while the Quakers look on with quizzical faces wondering how symbols and things can mean so much on spiritual and emotional levels.  I have had both perspectives in my upbringing to some small degree, and I was kind of wondering when I would be hit with a deeper sense of something.  

Just to recap the day...after the walk through the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, we walked to the Western Wall.  I touched that wall and wondered what it would be like to have so much reverence for this singular place - so much of a sense of history and the sense that "God" was there.  From a terrace above the Wall we could see the Mount of Olives which is where we headed next.  We walked through the Garden of Gethsemane and the Church of All Nations.  From there we hiked up to the Mount of Olives for a truly spectacular view of Jerusalem. We regrouped after that with lunch and coffee at a small cafe and heard from Jesse Hampton who is here for a while and just out Seattle College of the Pacific.  She is working with Coalition of Christian Churches here.  What an articulate young woman.  We then walked back and through the old city, through a Roman era route that showed road stones and games that children would play to 'mock' kings which many believe is where Jesus was mocked on the road to his crucifixion.   We decompressed a bit, shopped and got hounded by shop keepers to buy buy buy! (except for my new friend here, Mohammad, who doesn't barter, prices all his things, and was a very, very kind soul -- I sat and talked with him a while while others' were being harassed by merchants!)  Then, it was off to dinner with an incoming Guilford student and his parents and sister.  Amin, Ronna, Yazan and Bene were delightful and fed us so very well.  Amin started the "Hand to Hand" schools, teaching both Arab and Jewish students.  Yazan will be coming to Guilford in the fall!  What a delightful evening in their home.  

So many sights and sounds to write about, but more details tomorrow.  Legs are tired from stone walks and steps, but what an extraordinary day.

More first day photos from Israel

The web gets bigger - Jerusalem, Day 1

Why?  Why leave, why go, why pack, why fret, why stress?  And, why not?  The comforts and narrowness of view keep me tethered to the familiar and safe in ways I would really rather not acknowledge.  A fat and happy safe American.  How can I even think in my lifetime of comforts that I will ever confront the desert wandering that I'm reading about in a book that is my latest preparation for this trip, Abraham, (Bruce Fieler)?  

Today, yesterday I left, packed, fretted and stressed and leapt a little...and now I'm lying in the bed at the Coptic Guest House in Jerusalem's Old city on the first night of this trek!  I'm here with fellow travelers, all wanting a piece of what Max Carter, Friends Center and Campus Ministry Director at Guilford, has to give them from his 44 years of visiting this part of the world.  First as a young Conscientious Objector teaching at Ramallah Friends School in 1970, and now as an almost retired pastoral minister and leader at Guilford, Max has brought numbers of people here to experience the layer upon layer that is the "Holy Land."  I'm grateful to be among the members of another group he is leading with wife Jane. His almost childlike enthusiasm for every chapter of the "story" here is infectious and his energy rivals and surpasses all of ours, even the young ones just starting their college experience.

Yesterday and today the universe smiled on us as we breezed down I-40, everyone made their connections, we arrived safely in Newark, boarded our flight to Tel Aviv, and then casually walked through customs at the airport.  It was the afternoon of Shabbat and very quiet.  I expected an abrupt cultural force to be waiting for us, and to be questioned and intimidated at the custom gates.  No such thing happened today.  We stepped out of the airport to a delightful upper 70's temperature, blue skies, and a kind bus driver - with a luxurious tour bus!   

Straight to the Damascus gate we went, rolling and carrying our luggage as we entered this city that has existed even before time it seems.  The way in was a ride through hillsides of rocky terrain and olive trees, settlement housing, and Palestinian dwellings.  A snapshot of childhood Bible stories.  

Tonight the streets of West Jerusalem were quiet as we strolled after dinner to get our bearings.  We were met by two lovely women who run this Guest House  which is next to the Coptic Monastery.  Traditional Jews in their black dress with brimmed hats, fur hats, curls and prayer shawls flooded the streets on the way to the western wall for prayer.  We circled outside of the walled city and then back in, passing the Lutheran Church, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and endless shops

Our group is kind and adaptive.  Two rising 2nd year students, an alumnus, a faculty member, a young Quaker RN from Indiana, a CCE student, a Quaker woman/Friend of Guilford from Mt. Airy, Max, Jane and me.   I feel good about these companions.  

I'm thinking about my sweet Grandmother who made this trip in 1989 with her sis, my Aunt Mabel.  They were 79 and 81 years old.  My "Naneen" had never left the country and really never had ventured out of NC/SC in her life!  I will love thinking of those two here, and what it must have been like for them to see places that were such a part of their spiritual lives, albeit a most western, American, white, middle class, protestant view and trip.  Regardless, they stepped out of their lives to be here, mostly buoyed I bet by their love for each other and their love for goodness and "God." 

Will this trip provide some desert wanderings for me? 

irritations and celebrations Feb. 15 and March 7, 2014

The day after Valentine's day and the teenagers have used all but one, tiny drop of the half and half in the coffee that I MADE for myself this morning.  IRRITATED.  

What day can do more to irritate me than Valentine's Day?  It did.  I was irritated by my son, by my work, by my friends, by the couple on the street who decided 10 FEET IN FRONT OF ME to practice their movie scene kiss and dip.  I was even irritated that the snow was melting. I was irritated by my shovel, because I swear it looks like someone sawed off the handle.  Shoveling felt like the equivalent of having someone short-sheet my bed.  I was ruminating on these irritations while I was walking in to a concert venue.  I had asked myself out on a date months ago to see one of my favorite groups, The Wailin' Jennys, who were performing on, none other than, V day in Greensboro.  It's easy to get a good seat with a party of one, by the way.  I felt triumphant when I purchased my tickets.  But as V day arrived, my irritation was rising.  Even the Jennys sort of irritated me.  I mean, if one of them said "snuggle up to your sweetie for this song" one more time I thought I might have to leave.  Why didn't they just put the spotlight on me in the 3rd row, showing me in my singular seat with no one to either side.  I couldn't hide if I wanted to.

...almost a month later, it's funny to read what's above.  I mean, I think I'm kind of funny, which is a good thing since I'm always with myself.  Seriously though, I was irritated around Valentine's Day.  It was a wrestling match I suppose between my actual life and happiness, and what the (made up/fake) world tries to tell me around holidays about what is supposed to make me happy.  But truly at my core, I am loving this part of my life.  I feel actual delight everytime I turn the key to my home.  Some sort of welcoming cloud greets me there, a cloud of myself and my family really.  After 8 years it's nice to feel this cloud of a place that has developed out of new beginnings.  It took a long time to create my own space, and to own the right to do so.  

Surrounded on all sides, as we are, by the pressure of Hallmark holidays, being young, thin, and part of a couple, I seem to be finding my own definitions of happiness.  The great and terrifying thing about right now is that it seems like just a beginning - and I'm officially middle-aged.  It's hard not to wish I'd started long ago, but there's no use in that kind of regret.  On the other hand, I think there's a grief about the past that has to be acknowledged and honored.  The sage Carol Stoneburner talked about that as recently as last evening at a talk she gave with Adele Wayman (another sage).  I was struck by the dialogue and dynamic between these two colleagues and friends once again.  Carol, in her absolutely incredibly astute way, pointed out the "glow" in Adele's paintings.  The image of the Adele painting I have in my living room appeared in my head as Carol talked about that.  I was drawn to the "glow" in the painting the first time I saw it in Hege Library years ago.  In this particular piece, the glow is buried in woods, through trees and some darkness.  That glow is what beckoned to me when I first saw it.  It captivated me. It called me forward, and still does.  I couldn't name this phenomenon back then, but I was aware of the sudden immersion into a relationship with the piece.  To hear Carol say "the glow in Adele's paintings are about the 'woman who is not yet'..." named it for me clearly last night.   Carol also noted the grief she sees in Adele's work...(for women in particular), "...about what's left behind, and of not knowing what's coming."  This is the grief-wash I'm in.  At the same time that I feel tremendous joy and gratitude I also feel grief for time lost, not embracing or acknowledging myself, for missed opportunities.  And then there's the not knowing what's coming next, at a point where factors of age, health, earning power, and more are coming into play in new ways.  

 I am so very late to the feminist party.  I often feel like a middle-aged baby.   Part of my grief  is that I have known and been in proximity to Carol, Adele, Jane, Beth, Judy (John, Mel, Jerry) and others since I was a very young woman. I had access, but I didn't partake.  As crazy as it sounds, I didn't know any of this was about me.  So, last evening, I got another chance to take this all seriously; to do away with what doesn't matter, to make room for what does.   To pay attention to the woman who is not yet. 

Adele, so generous with stories about her own evolution, says that though it may appear that her journey as been orderly and planned, that it has not always been so.  The pieces and fragments of life come together to create their own pattern.  It seems that only when I look back, do I see a new and unique picture, or read a story that makes sense.  I have done what I can with the materials available to me, and have been busy (often unconsciously) creating the art of myself.  Such a product of southern, middle-class culture of being and staying invisible as a human being.  It's such a giant hiding place, where women are encouraged-URGED to go.  So while there may be grief, it is not uselful to indulge in regret.  I could only be as "awake' as I was, I can only be as awake as I am.  Waking up and giving credence to my own gifts is the playground now.  With being awake comes irritation, right?!  And maybe anger and rage.   With knowing myself comes knowing what is and is not acceptable.  Beyond the minor, daily, middle aged irritations of privilege (like teenagers drinking the half and half), comes my own "knowing" on so many levels.  I want to "know what I know" and not be afraid to know it. I want to take risks of acting on what I know.  I want to have courage to be prepared for how "knowing" only leads to a vast "unknowing."  And then, there's the gratitude for having guides like Carol and Adele. Thank you Carol and Adele (and Beth, Mel, John, Jane and others) for pointing me to the "glow."  

Klondike

Day, night, night, day...I've been spending days on end mostly in one space, my living room by my fireplace.   This has made it seem like one, long, continuous moment.  My head is full of words.  My mind is composing, composing but no writing has happened.  There's so many places to start.  There's so much to say.

Big dog is sick.  I don't have to believe it because there's something growing in his mouth.  What I have to believe is that it will undo him.  When I was told the news, my vigilant watch began.  It's hard to know how heightened my senses have become.  I listen to his breath, his snores.  I watch him twitch when he dreams.  I woke up this morning, almost afraid to go to him.  Would he be in a pool of blood because I slept overnight?  I read something into his every look.  He comes to me with enormous brown/black eyes - lumps of coal in the snowy white face.  I translate those looks through my feeble, spiritually disconnected, limp, selfish human filter.   Last night I thought he was trying to tell me that time was getting shorter.  He followed me and needed to be touching me.  His paw reached out as if to say, "stay close friend."  We laid by the fire some more, my hand on his side, massaging, stroking, scratching, so he would know of my deep love.   I wondered how the clock was ticking.  Then, all of a sudden, dogs bark and out he and they go, running full out to the back of the big yard.  Barking, chasing, leaping, protecting.  Being true to their work and breeding.  My big white protectors.  I laugh at myself and all that I'm fabricating in my mind about this moment.

To be fair though, this fabricating isn't all bad.  I'm trying to make sense of this time.  I'm trying to learn about what it means to be living and what it means to know it's not forever.  I was (am) afraid I'd spend every moment feeling that weight around my neck of grief and sadness.  I did have days where my arms felt loaded down with rocks, too heavy to raise all the way.  Utter grief.  My friend is going to leave.  How will I get through this?  Then, I tried to place myself in his world - yes, Klondike's.  I do believe that these canine beasts, and this one in particular, are aware of our energy and emotions.  Are we sad, sick, angry, happy, content?  I think he would know if I was wallowing in distress, anxiety, fear, sadness.  I think he would also know if I was in a place of gratitude, love, and the sheer delight of being with him no matter the circumstances.  So, by grace I have been able to spend time in the latter.   And we are enjoying hours of rest, and hours of walks, hours of him being the keeper of the yard.  Days on days have been given to hibernate together in this house, and by a lit hearth.  The other dogs have been calm and patient.  We have been quiet together.  We have been reading Mary Oliver, and Dog Sense.   They have been sitting near while I read and work.  It's been cold, and he likes it.  The cold, winter days have been a gift for me too...more justification in hibernating, more still, more quiet.  

I will continue to try to interpret his looks and movements.  I have always believed he has given me exactly what I  have needed, when I have needed it.  He's a calm force.  He is patient.  He is content.  He is happy, loving, attentive.  He's predictable.  He's ready when I'm ready - for a car ride, a walk, a nap.  He snores every night the most contented, snuffly, beautiful, loud snore.  I don't mind.   I am soothed by it.  

We will take each moment.  

Coffee talk

Once again, I find myself at a local coffee shop, this time in my home town, listening to the entertaining and intriguing chit chat of the other coffee sippers. This is one of my favorite past times. My introvert self sits back, looks busy on my iPad, and my extrovert eavesdrops on the stories being told...the connections being made. We live in such an place of luxurious richness - we who are fortunate enough (like me ) to have the time and resources to even buy a cup of coffee, in a part of Greensboro that is beautiful, safe, friendly, relaxing. This morning I'm thinking about how rare this is - or nonexistent - for so many people in this world. And, I am thinking about how much I depend on these places in time where people meet, greet, share, talk, extend good will to strangers.

I'm also really aware these days of time with my Dad. Yesterday when he rolled up on Guilford's campus in his adorable mini pick up truck, full of pine needles, after his morning trip to the Garden Center, I grabbed that moment in my mind knowing what a gem it was. We all have those moments don't we? When we know for not nearly long enough, that the precise moment we are in is the only one we've truly got. And then, poof...that crystal clarity disappears again. I went to two memorial services this week. Those rituals that give us the opportunity to ponder the fragility of life - the uniqueness of each moment. I always think about how much I take for granted every day, and how I forget to really look at the faces and into the eyeballs of my friends, loved ones and even strangers. How I don't listen to the sounds around me, or the timbre of my children's voices. About how many times I have not taken the opportunity to tell someone that they matter to me, or to demonstrate it.