Closing Chapter

Two weeks ago I had a layover in Milan, Italy during my flight from the desert to the US. When the plane was drawing near to Milan, I saw the most spectacular view that has stuck with me ever since.

We were well above the cloud line--always amazing anyway--and the sun was rising. The colors were indescribable, each one reflecting itself onto the pillowly clouds. It was, without a doubt, the best sunrise (or set) that I'd seen in at least a year. But because of the way we were above the clouds, it looked more like the sun was setting below the clouds than rising. It hung below the horizon of clouds, and the colors rose above, painting the sky for us to enjoy. I thought for days afterwards about the sunrise disguised as a sunset.

Is that a picture of my life right now? A major chapter has come to a close. I see the brilliance of it all--as I did with the rays of color above the clouds--but it is hard for me to see and understand the source...hidden from my sight. It appears to be an end, a sunset, a closure...night is coming. When in reality, it is a new beginning, a sunrise, a dawn is on its way.

The plane turned. Just when I thought I'd seen the most spectacular, I was left breathless. The captain had steered to the right so we could view what had been straight in front of him.

The Italian Alps rising above the clouds. Remnants of the dawn's hues painted the Alps' tips and the wisps of air above them a bashful shade of pink. A full moon hung centerpiece above it all. A reminder that the fading night of my life had a beauty--unique in its own right--equal to the coming dawn I'd just seen. And the Captain of my life is still the one keeping me on course, blessing me with what He sees along the way.

A new day has dawned...but I will not quickly forget how I wrestled through the night in the desert. And that beauty emerged as a result.

Breathing. Not drinking. Reading.

Several of you have commented about my "no coffee" count-up under my mood thing. (Why has no one commented on my quote from a local commercial? I find that much more interesting!) I guess I'll say a few things that I have been keeping a bit to myself.

First of all. There are some things happening in my world that are not blog-able. Far, far, from blog-able. (I'd like to insert and say that some of them are GOOD unblogable; not all are bad). Last month, I'd hit an extremely low point of despair from all of the bad and nearly packed up on the first plane back to the US. The ONLY thing sustaining me right now is my relationship with Jesus Christ. He sustains me so that I can breathe in this world that I feel is choking me. He sustains me so that I can go back out and face the world each day and even try to love it. It is so unbelievably true that the JOY He gives is my strength. Otherwise I am weak and fallible and wretched and, as I said--would be on the next plane home out of here. This week has been absolutely horrid as I received bad news on Sunday, more bad news from a different source on Monday, and then Tuesday--well...dwelling in the pit again. But with a smile on my face, no worries. Nobody's died, nobody's dying, and therefore it's nothing for anyone but me (and the parties involved) to be concerned about.

I am broken and I am humbled and I am on my knees and I am in the Word. And therefore breathing.

Secondly. Because of all of this, I have been chest-deep in the Word since about July. (Ryusoma, I'm still on my 10 pages a day or more). I recently began attending a study that has added to my daily reading. I really felt the desire to fast in some way during this study. (Also, Ramadan, the holy month of fasting for Muslims, begins on Sunday). I cannot fast food right now because of my meds. So--what's my biggest passion outside of the Word? Yep. Coffee. I DESPISE NOT DRINKING IT. So yes, Claire, it's some kind of Lent in September. Just like I am not Catholic, but like to practice Lent with them, I am not Muslim, but like to practice some form of Ramadan with them. I have also given up several other things as well.

Third of all--Reading is not one of the things I have given up! Hark, all fellow book lovers! I am inviting you to read The Lord of the Rings Triology with me! If you've read it before, then you'll be happy to enjoy it again! If you've never read it, come enjoy it with me! It'll be like the Eternal Nomad's Book Club. Forget Oprah. Read with me. A chapter a day. You can do it.

Breathing. Not drinking. Reading. That's my life in a nutshell right now. :)

The Risk of Unrequited Love

Fear of rejection is something I have always struggled with. So much so to the point that I am almost 30 and never dated anyone seriously, because I was always too afraid too get too close. Why open up and let someone in just to have them realize they didn't like what they see and leave? I got challenged in that a few years ago and have been taking baby steps to take risks in relationships.

(And I learned that fear of rejection is a lie of bondage from the devil and decided I didn't need to listen to him anymore, since Jesus said He came to set me free from that bologna.)

I know I am not alone, though, in that fear of rejection. I hear guys all the time (good friends, Master Yoda, even in movies and such) say that the reason they don't go after a girl is
because of their fear of rejection. So you have all these single people walking around wanting to be accepted and afraid to take the risk of love out of fear of rejection. As a result, it seems
even more rejection occurs. A guy doesn't call (even though he wants to) because he thinks she'll reject him, and the girl therefore sits on the other end (wanting him to call) feeling rejected that he doesn't call. It's a ruthless, vicious thing.

I can relate to it to the depths of my soul as a single. I always tread carefully when a man has worked up the courage to approach me... Who am I to cause another the pain of rejection
that I am so fearful to experience in my own right? But somehow I still walk alone...wanting to take the risk, yet still feeling trepidation for my own heart...

Then I had a deep thought today that I am not even sure I can put into words. God IS love. He is THE LOVER. He is the ultimate pursuer of another's affections--ours. His heart, which is so much bigger and deeper than ours, experiences rejection on a regular basis. He took the risk of unrequited love when He first created humans, and he experiences the pain of unrequited love each time each of us turns the other way.

Even those of us who are his children. Those moments of the day when we choose something other than him, than spending a few moments of time with him. When I think about how much
it hurts my small heart when someone chooses someone or something other than me, and then I think about how much more tender the heart of the God of love is... How it must hurt
when we turn away, when we think He'll understand if we don't talk to Him today for whatever reason. How wretched we are to trample that Heart on a regular basis!

How awesome a God is He! There is no trepidation on His part! He takes the risk of unrequited love knowing full well what our response will be!

It made me smile like I'd just been asked out for coffee...

Arrows and the Buckler

There is an arrow on the floor of the hospital room where baby Blake was born.

In hotel drawers where Gideon Bibles would be if you were in America, are arrows.

On the side of the road today were five men, lined up shoulder to shoulder facing a corner wall, hands palms up, with one man in front of them leading them through prayers. Even they resembled an arrow.

All arrows pointing toward one city.

Lest anyone forget which way to turn. Lest I forget where I am.

I've read of arrows, flaming ones. I always perceived them in relation to me and those around me. Today, with those men on the side of the road, I am perceiving the arrows differently. All those in this place seem to be pointing in the same direction, drawn from the same quiver, and that, simultaneously, pierces my heart with the flaming arrow.

The Buckler is the only safe and comforting place I know in the midst of all these arrows. Oh, that all arrows would direct to Him!

"The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower."

Abide

Doors creak slowly open, giving me the chance to curiously peek around the edge to catch a small glimpse of what lies waiting on the other side. Inhaling deeply to muster the courage to walk through one, I begin to take that step of faith, only for a zephyr to shut the door that in the moment before had just been open before me. Not sure that I have the valor to look around to see if any other doors are open, I remain.

Hopes lie dormant on the shelf of my heart like the unread classics on my windowsill that I can't find it in me to dive into. What if disappointment results in place of what ought to be joy? Am I holding my breath on a hope that may be unrealistic while reality begs attention before my eyes? Not sure that I have the valor to exhale and release, I remain.

I am certain that I am told to remain in one thing. In it I remain, making certain by doing so, to also remain in uncertainty.

Remaining means waiting to exhale. Perhaps when it is finally time and in me to breathe deep, the air I breathe will be the air of home.

Where doors are open.

Where hope is awakened.

Home.

Words

I read last week that while God's words are omni-potent, because we are made in the image of God, our words have potency. His are omni (all) powerful, ours are not. But ours are still potent/powerful.

True.

Words have always plagued me. I love the way they can be woven to make something beautiful from my hand, and I hate the way they can be twisted to create such hurt from my mouth.

I was once dead in my sins, and my heart and mouth were a whitewashed tomb. As I am trying to figure out how to walk this earth as one whose new life is hidden in Christ Jesus, the grave clothes I must shed are the pride of my heart and filth of my mouth. This week has been one of seeing that I have not come very far in either area. Someone helped me to see how my words on this blog had been hurtful. Someone else left a comment about how self-centered I am.

Guilty on both accounts.

How grateful I am for grace. It lets me know that I have not been smote dead again in my sins. It gives me a hiding place where the Balm brings healing to my own wounds, even if I don't know how to give it back out for the wounds that I have caused. The omnipotent Word of grace speaks the truth that my self-centeredness WILL pass away and my tongue WILL be bridled into submission.

Until then, I must continue on with this potent ability to bless and curse from the same source. (I think someone said, "my friends, this should not be!") There is so much more I wish I could say here, but it might constitute a soapbox, on which I only wish to stand for willing listeners. But I will say this: I apologize for recent tirades about people I am supposed to be loving (mullahs, post office men and more), and I intend to take a bit of a different tone of voice from now on.

"Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones."

Faith in God's Traffic Lights

The idea of arranged marriages has been slowly brewing in the back of my head recently. Why? My dear friend, Blessy, who I came to know in India last summer, wrote a few weeks ago and said that she had finally accepted a marriage proposal. (She's been offered dozens upon dozens!) Then, I was talking with an extremely Western-in-all-appearances Indian couple from church and found out that theirs was an arranged marriage.

In our Western way of going about marriage, it already seems like such a huge step of faith to trust someone with your heart, to attempt to fall in love, and then--even more trust to commit to them for life. I don't understand such trust; perhaps because I have not yet been in such an experience! But to think that millions of couples around the world take that PLUNGE of faith with someone they do not know seems like more faith than I even know how to conjure up!

Most are trusting their parents. Fair enough--parents ought to be wiser than my fickleness to know what I need and what is best for me in a marriage.

But Christian couples? I know Blessy was given a choice in the matter, and turned down dozens of proposals. Dozens! And I can't even get a legitimate one! (Proposals for visas don't count...) Why did she accept Ben's proposal? She'd only known him for two days!!! Because she believed he was the man God had planned for her. That's faith. (Whether you choose to have that kind of faith or not is not the question. Blessy believes that God chose Ben for her, and is acting on that understanding. That's definitely what I would define faith).

Stan and Julie, the couple from church, said the same thing. He's Canadian Indian and she an expat Indian raised here. They met, prayed, believed God had planned for them to be together, and therefore got married. They allowed the love part to come later. And now, 9 years later, I can easily see that they are in love and have a happy marriage. It almost seems they are putting more trust in God than they are in the other person.

I would, (in my very me-centered thinking), want to grow to trust the person, and after they've earned my trust, then I would go to God and ask, "Okay...what do You think of this guy? Red light? Green light?" Then, God would give the green light, and I would still go through a whole other period of working up the the trust level to believe that God knows what I need and what is best for me.

Why bother with the first step and not just skip straight to trusting God for an answer? If millions can trust their earthly parents--and act on it--why couldn't I trust my heavenly Father, who gives good gifts--and act on it?

But I'm not Indian. And my dad thus far has not arranged any marriage for me. (Truth be told, I'll be quite content to choose for myself). I think I wisely declined Jamal's proposal at 22 (remember him, dad? The Bethlehemite Mafia guy), the many serenading Portuguese at 25, and the guy who couldn't treat me right in grad school. But I wonder... If I met some man, and God said, "Green light!", would I have faith like Blessy to go forward, sight unseen?

Istanbul not Constantinople

I think I may have a fascination with cities that resemble one another. When I first moved from Lisbon to San Francisco, I was amazed at the similarities: the red suspension bridge, the hills covered in buildings, the water, the trolley cars. Istanbul seems to have all these things but add a Muslim twist to it. At one point I stood by the Bosphorus staring across the water and thought, that could be Lisbon or San Fran! Then the call to prayer sounded out and I remembered where I was.

Today we wandered around the Golden Horn, enjoying that we didn't exactly know which way we were headed. We'd arrived at the Blue Mosque during a time of prayer and were therefore prohibited from entering. We crossed the street to the Aya Sophia to discover it is closed on Mondays. But the Grande Bazaar, our other goal, was most definately open!

I walked through and thought of my friends who'd traveled here two summers ago, seeing the very gifts they'd brought home with them. I saw the card my best friend had sent to me years ago when she'd first come to Istanbul. Ah, Turkey...I've finally caught up with you.My heart is thrilled to be in a place where English is not the norm or even common. To have FINALLY unpacked and put away the suitcase. To be a child in communication. To have eyes of a honeymooner, in awe of everything I see. To be humble because I know nothing. How long my shoes will be outside this doorstep on the fourth floor I do not know, but I will enjoy the time I am here on the city spanning two continents.

Being a "be-er" in a "do-er" world

There has been discussion as of late about "being" vs "doing." I am a "be-er." All my friends are "do-ers." A few weeks ago when I was in Colorado visiting my soul twin (a "do-er"), I was so content to sit in her sun room and stare out the window at the mountains for hours, especially when the abnormaltime snow came. (I thought she was going to push me off the mountain I made her so stir crazy in that cabin!) Ahhh... to sit and enjoy the sweet life that God has graced us with each day.

The time I enjoy being most is around 7 or 8 am when I'm still so sleepy that I'm a grump. Even though I despise the ungodly hour, I love the silence of it. I love how the coffee pot disrupts the silence and awakens all of my senses. Then to sit in the early morning light with two of the most precious gifts God has ever given: coffee and His Word. To sit there and read that He delights in me, He desires to give me more than I can ever ask or imagine, that He has given me His divine power to do more than conquerer type things and His spirit to be more like Him. That is a beautiful moment to be.

The necessity of this world calls us to "do" in order to survive, though, and so I have this new job that requires several weeks of training before moving overseas. This training--very DO oriented. All my "do-er" friends would be pleased with this schedule, while I sit and think, "what kind of international training is this? The word 'schedule' doesn't exist overseas, nor does business begin before sunup." So those early morning moments of just "being" with God have to be pushed back to 6am--or earlier. The be-er in me skirms in resistance to all the doing required of me in this place.

But I was reminded this morning that before Jesus sent the apostles out (to do), He called them to Him (to be). (See Mark 6). These crazy people around here may want me to do until my curly hair goes straight from running so much, but my Master has called me to be. And I'm just crazy enough to get up in the detested pre-six hours to be...with Him.