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.

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.