Christmas, for lack of a more creative title : )

Christmas day, I attempted to make an American, Southern traditional breakfast, biscuits and gravy. We have all of the ingredients, except for sausage. The grocery store across the street sells beef sausage, lean and… beefy tasting. My first taste made me shudder (haha). Thank goodness Meg’s biscuits and Ash’s pancakes were yummy.

On the ground floor of my apartment building is a church that met on Christmas in the court area downstairs. Their chatting was so loud it reached the 11th floor and caused me to look out the window. About that time the noon call to prayer echoed, unusually loud because of the decrease in traffic.

After exchanging gifts we took a walk on the corniche. I love that it was 60 degrees warm and that we saw the snow-capped Mount Lebanon as we piddled around by the Med, picking up sea glass and being hypnotized by the movement of the waves. As usual the AUB beach was filled full of shirtless old men, some sunning, some playing tennis and some snorkeling.

I’m glad Christmas for me is more than just a day, as opposed to the many I passed on the corniche who were simply enjoying the weather.

Since November my roommates and I practiced Advent. Every Sunday leading up to Christmas we read the story and prophecies about the coming of Jesus. Jesus the God-man humbled Himself by taking on the likeness of men. This Christmas I have been removed from diversions, namely, the tendency to substitute time with my family for dwelling in God’s presence. This has made Christmas precious.

My empathetic self is affected by Mary, who was pure and faithful in spite of the seeming scandal of her situation. My favorite part: “Mary was treasuring up all these things in her heart and meditating on them” (Luke 2:19). She was treasuring her journey to that point, the very fact that she, a regular young woman was chosen by God to carry the Messiah of the world, and she was treasuring Jesus. If I was Mary I would not have words.

Throughout this month I’ve been digesting what it looks like to dwell in God’s presence. Sometimes I am enthralled with who God is. The story in John 12 of Mary (different one) is taking root in my heart. “Then Mary took a pound of fragrant oil-pure and expensive nard-anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped His feet with her hair. So the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.”

She knew Jesus was her redeemer, she knew that He was God, she did the only thing she could do, her heart bowed before Him and she gave Him her very best. I pray that my heart will bow as hers, that it will be my gift to God, the best thing I can give. I pray that my heart of adoration will be a pocket of glory that radiates like Mary’s rich, fragrant oil.

Ayd LMilad Majeed min Beirut!

Something that delights my heart: The smallest room in our apartment is our kitchen, it’s more lacking counter space than anything. Somehow we’ve managed to fit 5 of us inside, all cooking at the same time. We’re having roommate Christmas today, running late, it’s almost 2. Ashley is making chocolate mousse (Bailey’s and all), Lily wings, Arum, rocca salad with chicken and avacodo and me, potatoes drowned in olive oil and old bay.

just because

There is an area across the street from my apartment building that I’ve tried to ignore. It’s a restaurant that sells delicious, fresh orange juice, but it’s also one of those places with a congregation of staring men, young and old, at all times of the day. In September one of the young men barked at Ash and me… . I’ve been livid ever since, my blood boils when I walk past.

Today it was inevitable that Meg and I walk past. Since there is no doubt that it is now the rainy season, our street floods on the right side, the opposite side of the congregation. I was carrying my umbrella, $3.00 from TJ Mac’s, and the strength of the wind bent it backwards, right in front of the sitting men. One of them jumped up, grabbed my umbrella and like magic, repaired it instantly and handed it back. I was thrilled, said “thank you very much,” and continued. I now realize it is time to stop holding anger against the congregation because of the one guy. Truly I confess that I should have forgiven them a long time ago, but haven’t wanted to until today.

I am now sitting in the famous Café Younes, the best coffee shop in Beirut and authentically Lebanese. All expatriates hang out here. On a normal day the ratio of foreigners to Lebanese is… I would guess, 4 to 1. I come here some weekends to listen to good worship music and absolutely space out. Today the little space is filled to capacity, which makes it so cozy. I didn’t have a place to plug in my lappy so one of the employees brought me and extension cord, bent over backwards to plug it in and continues to risk his life and pride by walking over it with trays of coffee and muffins. Otherwise you wouldn’t have received this delightful blog.

processing

There have been many times when I sat down to write and either fell asleep, remembered I had homework, got sick or somehow words did not come. Sorry I haven’t written in so long, and that this picture is completely unrelated to my blog.

Something I remember hearing this summer as I was living with my family was… the holidays are the worst times when you’re overseas. I have to admit, everything was smooth sailing until today. It is amusing the random things that trigger an emotion. For me it was Bing Crosby’s Christmas music. I was catching up on some reading when I heard a very familiar sound coming from Meg’s room. Right then I felt it was wrong for my family not to be here, since I was listening to Bing. I decided to remedy the situation by reading in Meg’s room while she was listening, and maybe being in the presence of my new sister, with my other new sister across the hall I would feel at home. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision; it felt more like wallowing in my emotion than fixing it.

I hope that this year I will learn how to put my emotions into better perspective (who would have thought of that as an accomplishment?). I will force myself to exercise logic. If I was home for the holidays, would I really feel like I was home? Furthermore, do I ever feel at home when I’m at home? I’ll claim there is a strong sense of comfort and security when I am spending time with those who love me most, and that time away from them inevitably makes me appreciate time with them so much more. I’ll also claim that this strong sense of comfort is… not enough for me. (Now I will switch to 2nd person, my high school English teacher and Grace will have an anxiety attack). Do you find yourself feeling that your family and closest friends can’t provide the level of security and comfort necessary? I confess I often expect my family to love me holistically and they never do. I’ll be brave and announce that it is because we’re made for something otherly.

Tbc…

i'm 22

When I arrived home tonight I opened my bathroom door to a giant roach. I live on the 11th floor of my building, it’s the top floor which in my mind adds up to: there should be no roaches or large insects (don’t tell Ash and Meg, they don’t know). I ran into to living room, ran in circles, screamed and shouted until I realized... I’m a grown-up now. The sad truth is… I am not only able to kill my own bugs, but I have to kill my own bugs. With these things in mind, I grabbed the broom, stood outside of the bathroom door and waited for it to come-out. It finally ran out and WAM! In my first and only WACK it was so dead.

it's endearing

Today was a taste of the coming “winter,” which is more like a Tennessee fall without the changing leaves and rain every day. Living in Beirut is not conducive to fresh air. I walk down the street and breath in nicotine, perfumes, BO, accumulating trash, urine, gasoline, and automobile exhaust. When I get past AUB I can usually smell the salty Med.

Tonight I walked to Bliss Street that runs by AUB to purchase my half kilo of Dunkin Doughnuts’ ground coffee. I don’t often walk alone but when I do I find myself strictly destination oriented. I don’t take my time, I don’t soak in my surroundings, I am in survival mode. My physical reaction to my auto-defensive mindset is a don’t-mess-with-me look, a strong stance and long strides. As I walked today I was suddenly aware of all of these things. I had an internal dialogue, telling myself to slow down, unclench my fists and observe my surroundings and the people that passed.

When I stepped in to the small D D the employee on the clock was somewhere in the back, typical of Lebanon and customer service :). When he came to help me I asked for ground coffee and that if he could, would he double bag it for me. He said no problem and began to work, grinding the coffee into a paper filter and pouring it into one of the small, paper bags. As I waited I watched him, after estimating half a kilo in one paper bag, take another paper bag, unfold it and pour exactly half into the second bag, eye-balling the portions to make them equal. I couldn’t say anything I was so tickled. I took my two bags, crossed the street to the AUB side and inhaled the only patch of lush greenery in Hamra (AUB campus) that when saturated by the rain smells like a dream. I walked home slowly and enjoyed my recent experience and the heavenly scent.

enjoy

haha this girl is three, I wonder where she spends her time

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftmAwbAzPDQ

me being a right-brained emotional person

I’ve often tried to describe a special quality that certain musicians have. It’s almost as if this quality is indescribable because it has to be experienced rather than written or spoken about. The best way I can describe this quality is the way it makes me feel. You may laugh, but there are some musicians that when I hear their voice, I am completely enthralled, I have to stop whatever it is I’m doing and listen. Not only do I have to stop, but my physical body immediately relaxes and all anxiety or tenseness melts away. This weekend I’ve been listening to Derek Webb, he’s one with “the quality.” I believe the quality is God-given, and I believe Derek knows that.

Derek’s songs are like the modern day Psalms. I’m drawn to his music because it expresses my deepest spiritual convictions and at the same expressing the depravity of me. When I hear his music I remember how much words can’t describe how much I need Jesus, I remember that I’m human. I think Derek doesn’t know that he wrote this for me. Read and then look it up.

i repent of my pursuit of America's dream
i repent of living like i deserve anything
my house, my fence, my kids, and my wife
in our suburb where we're safe and white
i am wrong and of these things i repent

i repent of parading my liberty
i repent of paying for what i get for free
the way i believe that i am living right
by trading sins for others that are easier to hide
i am wrong and of these things i repent

i repent judging by a law that even i can't keep
wearing righteousness like a disguise to see through
the planks in my own eyes

i repent of trading truth for false unity
i repent of confusing peace and idolatry
of caring more of what they think than what i know of what they need
and domesticating You until You look just like me
i am wrong and of these things i repent

I’m glad that in our world of shallow, hollow and fluffy Christian music, there are a few musicians who minister to our souls. Tonight one of my friends was talking about art, saying that it is in its rightly place when it is pointing towards God. Truly, when art points toward Christ, it is something so profound it’s other-worldly, it’s heaven on earth.

P.S. Look up his song “What is Not Love,” because you know I could write about this for hours, and I’m sure you don’t want to read all of his lyrics on my blog.

coffee saga

Marhaba! I’m sitting at my desk wondering what is best to share with you. I haven’t written in a while and could write a novel. I am jittery, high on caffeine. It’s 7pm and I’m working on my last cup of coffee for the day. I normally wouldn’t have had coffee this late, but I thought I would christen my new coffee maker that is… sitting on my desk in my bedroom. There are two outlets in our house that match the plug to this coffee maker I purchased today, one is in my bedroom. It seems that if any people were to sell a coffee maker that has a plug that doesn’t fit its normal power outlet, then it would be the Lebanese.

This little problem is one of many that are warring against my coffee habit. The first week I was here I was waiting to go across the city to pick up one (coffee maker) that was left from students that had lived here previously. When I finally got it I couldn’t find any filter coffee in the grocery stores (that wasn’t a weird flavor of imported foldgers , far too expensive or Nescafe instant which I refuse to drink). I tried three kinds of coffee and each one tore away at my insides. I was never so thankful for all of the American restaurants in Beirut as I was when I bought ground coffee from Dunkin Doughnuts. I will be faithful to D D for the rest of my life.

You would think this should be the end of the saga. 2 weeks ago one of the large shelves in our kitchen fell down off of the wall, onto my coffee pot breaking the glass into tiny pieces. Do you know the kind of coffee pot that stops spitting liquid when the pot is taken out? That’s the kind I have, so the metal bowl that goes with another appliance was my coffee pot for a while, it worked. My landlord said he would reimburse another pot, so I bought one, the cheapest one, 79,000LL (52 USD) and it now belongs in my bedroom, with its very special plug and matching outlet.

crazy love (I should finish that book)

I know I promised I would talk about my Arabic class, but la (no in Arabic) I won’t, maybe next time.

P.S. A parade of honking vehicles have just driven by my apartment, it means there’s a wedding going on. I hear it very often in Beirut, but why on a Thursday?

I just got off skype with Sarah, there is pressing issue she is dealing with. She cares deeply about the people involved, so we prayed. We prayed across 7 time zones, together, at the same time on skype. I think that’s awesome. I know the Godhead transcends time, but I’m so glad we could pray together at that moment. God is great.

How absurd is it that God would listen to us when we talk to Him? These are things I take for granted in my relationship with Christ. On Tuesday a friend was wondering aloud and exclaimed how “crazy” it is that God would reach out to humanity that rejects Him. I think a few moments ago with Sarah was one of the same realizations. How crazy is it that God actually cares about humans? He created my innermost being, He knows when I sit and stand. He knows EVERYTHING about me and yet He loves me and pursues me. He wants me to know Him and He answers my prayers, even the trivial requests.

Now I’ll give my bit about age-old Christians. I realize sometimes that I, an age-old Christian who accepted Jesus at 7 have a disadvantage over a person who is older and accepts Jesus. Here’s my reason: we sometimes learn grace through a process rather than a defining moment. Oh how I wish I had that one moment, like my ex-partier friends who know always that they have been forgiven much. I forget I have been forgiven much. My realization comes from a couple huge moments and many less profound ones. All of this to say, the prayer with Sarah was one of those. How after knowing Christ’s sacrifice for me could I ever forget?

my shallow rants, but my pistachio ice cream really deserves the title

I thought I would finally share with you a piece of important information… 10 months from now I will be dead from second-hand smoke. Maybe not, but I do have this unique opportunity to share my opinions without being face-to-face. If you’re reading this and you smoke, STOP. I know our bodies will die anyway, but you’re making your life more miserable than it should be.

Hmm… the mystery and the romance of this place were gone after the first week, as I hoped would happen. I still have a lot to learn, and I’m excited as I think about all the people I have to meet.

I confess I will have an addiction. In Hamra, Beirut, the popular place for ice cream is Bliss House, named after Bliss Street which runs along the edge of AUB campus. I know there’s pistachio ice cream in the states, but not like this. It’s perfect, buttery and sweet, with real pistachios. I’ve been there three times and haven’t even tried another flavor. We were meant to be.

Today I had an impending caffeine headache and I hated all people who drive in this city. My own experiences tell me that city drivers (in general) honk their horns ferociously during stand still traffic, and only during standstill traffic. Again, I am not facing you directly so you can’t tell that I get heated talking about the honking of horns in standstill traffic. If you’re a city driver, don’t honk your horn in standstill traffic, it does no good. Believe me, I know.

Tonight I’m really excited, I get to go dancing with some friends. It’s Salsa night at a nearby studio and I’m sure I’ll have lots of fun.

taking advantage of my time while I have it and avoiding making my personal budget

Yesterday a few of us rode bikes down the ever-crowded corniche. Let me paint a picture for you. After I learn to ignore the trash on the sidewalk, everything is beautiful. On my left is the Med, it is nearing evening so the sky is warm, the water is blue and it is cool. In the distance we can see the mountains with the villages that glitter at night, and past that we can see the Lebanon Mountains.
In the evening, we have discovered, people will walk or park at the corniche, pull out their argile and have a long sit-n-smoke, watching people and the sea. So we see people smoking argile, we see veiled woman, unveiled woman, we see runners, we see families, we see Europeans and everything in between. To the right we see buildings, many of them new, modern residencies that will cost an ungodly amount to live in.

You might not be surprised by what’s coming, but I can say authentically that I was surprised. So we’re riding our bikes down the corniche and I pass by a dad who is helping his (maybe 3 year old) boy pee at a tree on the sidewalk. I’m talking about a nice little palm tree in a little box on the sidewalk. I had to do a double take, that little dude with his pants pulled down, his dad helping him every all the time… . Meg and I had a time with that.

Yesterday I went to an Italian restaurant with some of my friends on Hamra street in, guess where… Hamra! I think you all will appreciate their eclectic mix of music. It was the third song I really noticed. You would NEVER guess: it was the Carpenters. Who would have known that in Lebanon they played a Carpenter’s song in a restaurant?! I should sit longer next time and see what kind of rotation this place has.

what I would like to scream

If God is, then how can we conceive him? If God is, then how do we fit him into our lives? If God is, then how can we even pretend to know what he requires of us? How can we conjure our own god if God is? Do you think he likes that we try to make-up our own ideas and beliefs of him? Do you think he wants us to give him attributes that sound good at the time? Do we take comfort in our human ideas of God? Should we take comfort in our human ideas of God? If God is, then wouldn’t he show us his essence?

the Med, Blue Mosque, Rats and MORE

After a long walk with my roommates on the corniche (sidewalk along the Med) we climbed the hill to our apartment and waited for Meg to take out the keys to unlock the gate. Fortunately, we were able to witness two suave Lebanese men on one moped, but not just any moped, a pink and silver glittery one. Needless to say we laughed for a while and considered that pink might not necessarily be a “girly” color here… only for a half a second. The trendy men of Lebanon where pink button-ups, although probably most of them don’t drive pink glittery mopeds. Hmmmm… .

When I arrived in Beirut and began to unload my suitcases, I realized I had left two very valuable things: 1.The match to my other shoe, and 2.The air pump to inflate my pilates ball. The only thing I could think to do was to go to a gym, and so I gave my pilates ball to my friend Ash who would take it to her gym. She told me that she sees so many crazy things in this city that make her laugh and she was glad that this time, when she walked down the street with my inflated pilates ball, she could be the one whom others are laughing at.

Tonight I was 10 feet away from the Med. I’ll just say, there is every American restaurant known to man in Beirut, and tonight, my friends and I decided that we had to have Pizza Hut (you’ll have to excuse me for this, I promise I have been eating and experiencing lots of Lebanese food already). The restaurant, incidentally, is right next to the corniche. We were feeling very full after dinner and decided it would be best to walk home, so we made our way down the crowded corniche . Today is a holiday, celebrating the end of Ramadan and people were everywhere, sitting, smoking argile, eating lots of food, eating more food and strolling about. The one thing that was a little unnerving was fireworks on the sidewalk. If I only would have known they were coming, the sound of the explosion wouldn’t frighten me so much. It doesn’t help that random people crack jokes to us about bombs. I’m not kidding, it has happened to us 4 times already. Anyway, to get to my point, I was so close to the Med. The third time I stopped to look over the railing at the beautiful, trashy and polluted sea, I saw not one, but two, then three fat rats scurrying in and around the rocks on the shore. About 15 feet further out, there were three people fishing.

One more thing and I’ll go to bed. Yesterday after I went to church, Meg, Ash and I took a walk downtown to explore. We had eaten at this great Lebanese restaurant and then visited Hariri’s tomb, right next to the big, blue mosque. Hariri’s tomb I will get to later. The mosque we were surprised to find so conservative. Have I mentioned that among Muslims in Lebanon, just over 50% is Shiite? This is interesting, because most of the Muslims in the world are Sunni. Sorry, I’ll get to that later too. When we went to the door, the man said we could enter only if we wore these oversized, black, shiny, heavy, button –down robes with shoulder pads and a matching black head-covering. Incidentally, the robes are just waiting at the mosque for people like us, but I respect that, I think. I can’t deny that the mosque is beautiful and unique. It must have cost…a lot.

In the center is a chandelier that we estimated is a story and a half tall, it is HUGE. I have great, unabashed issues with the utter elaboration of some of the mosques I have seen (I could also talk about the churches). I stood in the center, sweating from my layers of cloths, trying to keep the head –covering from falling off of my head, looked up and marveled, conflicted over two opposing forces: the breath-taking beauty of the mosque, and my fervent conviction that I am a temple of Christ and He dwells in me. I know that God does not want our pretty man-made buildings, He wants our lives, our devotion and what in humans is eternal, our souls.

our fruit man, our apartment, and the identity crisis

Will get back to identity crisis, I just have to share with you about our fruit man. Our fruit man is very generous, so generous it makes me wonder. Today I went to this fruit stand for the third time because I really needed to know if he would be consistently generous, and HE WAS! (We go to him because my friend says he’s the only one who doesn’t try to rip her off). I can get a bag with a medium –sized tomato, a nectarine, a few bananas, an avocado and an apple for only 3000LL, 2 US dollars.

We know that it is Ramadan (actually, tomorrow is the last day so you won’t get this before then) and there is a spirit of generosity among Muslims here, but we’re sure we aren’t getting the deals because of the holiday. On to Ramadan: I have only gotten to experience almost two weeks of the month long Muslim fast, which is nice for me because all of the restaurants are empty during the day. Even though I haven’t experienced Ramadan in any other country, I know that in Beirut it is… not as big, partly because of the Christian population. However, it is interesting to see the city with decorations and advertisements in support of the holiday. I say holiday, but Ramadan is not really a holiday. It is an Islamic religious ritual that in Beirut, is holiday-like because of the décor around the city. In fact, I’ve heard they use the same street lights during Ramadan as they do at Christmas [hahaha].

So, I’ve established that Beirut is “westernized” and that it is undergoing an identity crisis. This crisis is for a number of reasons including the civil war. Many Lebanese left during their civil war, therefore left their apartments and homes. Some of these are completely abandoned, so we see abandoned buildings (still owned by the people who left the country) and buildings that have started being constructed but have never been finished. Some of the Lebanese who have left came back to their home country after years of learning a new life in another country. So we have great numbers of people who have… changed.

Another thing, the power goes out (I’m writing this because at 11pm, it just happened), aside from the 3pm every day power-out, randomly at other times. This happens to the whole city. Most buildings have generators (my apartment does, praise the Lord!) but some do not, and the power will be out for up to 3 hours. There are theories as to why this happens. One of them being … I’ll tell you later.

One thing I absolutely must write about before I go to sleep, my apartment. My friends who will be taking language classes with me are my roommates. Our apt has 6 bedrooms and a living room in the center. Our rooms are huge with equally huge windows. I look out my bedroom window and to the left and past the city I see mountains. The mountains glitter with lights from other towns. To my right I see more of the city, where I will be living for 10 months. My roommate’s rooms connect with a balcony overlooking the city and the Mediterranean. I go in there a lot because the light in their rooms is heavenly at every part of the day. If you know me, you know I have recently come to greatly appreciate light. I am instinctively intrigued by the connection of light and emotion. We can blame it on Anne Willingham or Kim Nofsinger. All of this to say, I know what I’m talking about when I say the light is heavenly. I am drawn to those rooms during sunset. I haven’t even mentioned we have roof access, just a few steps away to one of the sweetest views of the city. If you don’t know, Beirut is on a peninsula, so from the roof we see the (dirty, polluted) Mediterranean on 2 ½ sides, also, of course, the city buildings.

I would like to end with, I am especially blessed. My friend who studied here last semester lived in a nightmare apartment (with roaches, holes in the wall, no space, no generator…), and many of the apartments around here are nightmare apartments. We are the envy among our friends for this blessing. I’m just pointing out, we got in the right place at the right time, and bang, it happened. Thanks be to Jesus.

Good Night

first impressions

It’s 12 at night after a long day, I’m tired but my nails are wet so I’ll type while they dry.

Oh yes, on our way to Beirut we had a 12 hours layover in Frankfurt. I’m not really excited about writing about it at the moment. We were so tired but managed to see a couple of churches (dating to the late 1200s), a museum with a very intriguing mural (Procession of the People’s Representatives to the Paulskirche by Johannes Grutzke, 1991), and a really touristy area called Rodenburg. My favorite place was the train station, will have photos later. We passed by the opera house on the way back to the train and since we hadn’t slept in over 2 days we found a grassy spot in the shade and crashed for two hours, haha.

Our flight to Beirut was so empty we had rows to ourselves, weird huh? I guess no one wants to come here, who knows why …. As soon as we exited to plane we felt the moist, humid air inside the airport. I knew Lebanon would be a special, unique kind of place when I saw in the airport an advertisement for a wedding dress, the model sexy, blonde-headed and the wedding dress exposing her midsection. It was the most seductive wedding dress I’ve ever seen!

I remember thinking the first day thinking that Beirut, or Lebanon is so liberal, which is completely against my expectations (the ones I tried so hard not to have). After a week of being here, I’m used to seeing sexy advertisements which are comparable to ones I saw in Germany on the way here. On this subject, it seems that this country is its own kind. My friend and roommate (who has been here since last January) told me she truly thinks the country is having, or has had an identity crisis.

introduction

Marhaba from Beirut! I hope this blog will be sufficient for keeping everyone in the know. I wanted to include something other than my newsletter and realized there were so many people who wanted updates, so I’m blogging. I thought I’d never see the day, but the day is here, I must embrace something new. I have to preface all of this with, I never thought a diary online was all that attractive, everything in me wanted to run away from it. But knowing my personal rants and crazy adventures are for my family and friends, I write with love. So I guess it’s more of a letter.
This is a personal blog about my life in Beirut and what my Lord Jesus is teaching me. I’m excited to share with you all!

Oh yes, and responses are more than welcome, please respond to all of my rants. As you know, I miss you all and want to hear from you!