Do you know that weird stage of sleeping and waking, after you’ve pushed the snooze and you’ve closed your eyes and your unconscious mind takes over? I always regret pushing the snooze button because this is when my mind turns on and goes through its own to do list. In one moment I can feel all of the anxiety I will face for the day. I’d like to put a harness on it and pull it to a halt, but then it could be worse.

This morning was one of those mornings except my mind recalled the dreams I’d had hours earlier. A few weeks before I go home and my anxieties like to creep into my dreams, reminding me that these issues, in fact, are things that I’m worrying about. In my dreams old friends forget about me, I meet Eastern families in Kingston, Tennessee and I ride mopeds through Murfreesboro... .

One of my friends has criticized me for not updating my blog often enough. I told him that I don’t have anything else to write about, or that I have less time than I did. The truth is this place is like an onion: the more I live here, the more layers are peeled away and the more I learn. Just when my roller-coaster of emotional adjustment starts to level-out, I’m afraid I’ll be missing-out when I leave. This is one of my anxieties about going home.

My absolute favorite thing about Hamra, is that it is (surprisingly) ethnically diverse for one reason or another. Yesterday the girls and I went to a Philippine restaurant and ate chicken heart and liver on rice, the day before I discussed the stark differences between spoken Arabic here as compared to Kuwait and then went to Hard Rock karaoke, where I’m sure to always find a rainbow of Eastern and Western music, not to mention, the dancing. By far I will miss the diversity of All Saints, where at least 30 countries are represented on any given Sunday, where we pray in our preferred languages and are unified in Christ.

Yesterday my friend Caroline prayed for our meal in Tagala. As I do not understand I was forced to comprehend her meaning by the tone of her voice, the manner of her posture and maybe the length of her prayer. I didn’t ask her what she said, but I believe she was thanking God for all of the many blessings in her life. Yesterday was another day in which I realized how big God is. He has ardent and fiery love for all people of all nations.

when you read your old journals...when you grow up, when you move forward

My wish is for my rants never to be labored, but an outpouring of sincerity. I’ve been taking a ballet class 2 nights a week, so my desire for creativity has been satisfied, and… I don’t have as much time as I used to. Today I’m taking a day of reflection, although I fear I will not be in the same mood when I return from the museum with friends. This morning when I woke up, I felt lonely, like there was something missing and I wanted to crawl into bed with my roommates. I can’t deny that my morning started with missing my family, especially Grace. I had been wanting for a long time to look through my journal from last summer. For me it’s a way of realizing how much (I’ve hopefully) grown, matured and acquired wisdom.

Although, this time last year I was a wreck, and I’m still a wreck, and I’m sure I’ll always be a wreck. My life has sores that I've escaped from temporarily by coming to Beirut, and today I was reminded of them. Even through all of these things, I can’t deny that my divine Father whose presence resides in me, has been faithful to me when I ignored Him, when I didn’t make the time for Him, when I wanted the things of earth more than Him, when I said hurtful things to people whom I love, when I did not honor my parents in a godly way. I think that if Jesus feels, then how much should He know of my soul-sores? Jesus feels. He has a compassion for humanity that I pray to have, but that only seems to come in me and go out of me from time to time.

The question I’ve been asking myself is what does it look like to go home? After I graduated I felt that I had grown-out of my home town, and now I know I’m a different person. When I leave this city and come back, I feel… that I’ve missed it, that this is almost a home for me, one that I will leave willingly. I have issues at home waiting for me, ones I can’t avoid and relationships I need to invest in. I have decisions to make about my future. I know the Father/Son/Holy Spirit is sovereign, but He wants me, within the freedom He’s given me, to make these decisions to glorify Him.

My entry today has no profound resolution, but I value the freedom to express myself without an ending resolve. All I know is that God is sanctifying me no matter how much I come against that process. I pray that His desires will become mine and that my pride will not keep me from seeing His glory.

2 more months in Beirut and I have to make a bucket list, which includes a flash mob (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flash_mob) on LAU campus which is far too cool for such a thing. Today is beautiful and sunny, like every Spring day in Lebanon, here I go... .

Nayman!

I’d always thought Lebanese women had great hair (in fact, I have hair jealousy). Recently I’ve understood how, but I want to share the full experience. Let me begin by communicating to you that one’s appearance is not something to be taken lightly in Lebanon. I knew before I came that LAU students were fashionable, but I did not know that I would feel ashamed to wear jeans and a t-shirt. I am still baffled to see young ladies walking across campus in 4 inch heels and I know I stick out awkwardly with my little, cheap red backpack amidst trendy, designer bags.

Recently I was having coffee with one of my friends in Younes, she was going on a date the next day and wanted to get her “hair-brushed.” So I invited myself to go with her.

The beauty lounge is deliberately located right across from the main entrance of LAU campus. I entered and got in-line without an appointment, sat down on plush cushions in a little nook-in-the-wall, overlooking a large but cozy room of young ladies getting their nails polished, make-up done and hair cut (down stairs, eyebrows etc…).

As I sat and waited I observed girls relaxing, girls studying, girls drinking soda, girls chatting, all the while, being pampered in some fashion. If she needs to check here email, if she needs to send in an assignment, no problem because Cherry (the lounge) has wireless (never had I seen a girl search the web while having her hair dried). One in much hurry ran in to her friend,an employee there, and with his hair drier he combed her bangs, laying them perfectly on the side of her face, and in 2 minutes she was ready for the day.

When it was my turn I was asked “straight or curly” and he went at it. 20 minutes later my hair looked great. He said, as I expected, the word that you say (in Lebanon) when someone gets a hair-cut, has shaved or cut his facial hair or in my case, a “hair-brushing:” “nayman.” I really don’t know the translation of the word, only the appropriate place to say it. There is a response, but it’s too long to remember (I know, I’m such a good learner).

I was simply excited because cultural experiences in Hamra, Beirut are hard to come by, and from what I know, a hair-brushing is a weekly occurrence.

February Communion

Your Spirit is ushering this needy procession to the altar.

I join the procession with those whose hearts are bowed, humbled by Your perfection and love. Rows bow, in desperate need of that moment of knowing Your glory in their hearts. The sight of it is like no other.

Who can be unaffected? Who is qualified for such a thing? He wants us, but our spirit cries out for Him.

There is no scale of justice, but my sin is gone as if fire had burned it, it will cease to exist.

I will stand and walk to the altar of your Son. I walk with assurance-I enter Your presence because of Jesus.

“The body of Christ broken for you, remember that He loves you.”

I don’t go on my rooftop enough. Today was unusually warm for February in Beirut, 84F, 26C. In the late evening, when the sun has completely set and the clouds block the light from the stars and moon, the city, from my rooftop, looks like an extended and intricate set for a play. It feels as if everything is so close that I could reach out my hand and touch it. The light is muted and the building walls are a smudged grey in the dark. I’d like to think I could paint it, if I tried.

Something about living here makes me feel that I’m not missing out. I understand when I am doddling and thinking on the roof that I co-exist with more than 2 million others. The hospital’s AC was running on the rooftop and muffling all of the city noises tonight. Or, have I finally developed selective hearing? I don’t know, but it was extraordinarily quiet, and beckoning me to come, walk about and exist with 2 million others.

I’m getting used to this place, more than before; it feels aady (normal). Indicators of my adjustment are the things or places I find peace and solitude, like an over-crowded café or, my rooftop. It’s okay now that there is no comprehension of a line at the register of the grocery store, that people run into me on the sidewalk and that taxi drivers obnoxiously pursue me for want of business.

Each day I wonder about the phases of adjustment I have gone through. I hope I have never been too critical or judgmental. I don’t want to just get by as if my time here is so temporary, and I don’t want to want more than the city has, I just want to love it. I know I have evolved and that I have evolving yet to do.