tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82733888729987477012024-03-14T04:43:13.819+02:00I hear them allJanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-51664506499045040702017-11-06T20:21:00.002+02:002017-11-06T22:16:07.675+02:00Notebook Entry: 11.2.17 (November Newsletter)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"May I ask a question?" <br />
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Seven judges sit around a table at the front of the courtroom of the local primary courthouse. After a long day of work, they had come here for further practice and study in the English language. Despite the fact that each judge is fluent in Kinyarwanda and French (and a few in Swahili as well), each has committed to adding English to his list of fluency. A YAGM volunteer sits among them as he does every week, there to provide another opportunity for the judges to practice English through Bible Study and games.<br />
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The president of the local primary court continues: "Is there a name for that day you mentioned? What do you call it? Would you say it is. . . Division Day?"<br />
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We had just finished an English vocabulary game inspired by Martin Luther's nailing of the 95 Theses to the doors of the Castle Church in 1517. To set the stage, YAGM Ryan Campbell had given a brief explanation of what that action has come to mean for the Protestant Churches at the beginning of the session, but this judge wants more. <br />
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"Isn't this the day the church divided*?" he asks. "And do you think we will ever be united again?" A judge in search of a verdict. I suppress the urge to shout an enthusiastic, "Yes!" and smile widely as conversation around the table begins.<br />
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***</div>
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Along with other significant shifts in the history of the Church, October 31st stands as an important marker in Christianity, but in what way? The judge's question gets at the heart of struggle to name the 500th anniversary of Luther's posting of the 95 Theses. Is it a celebration? A remembrance? A commemoration? Where Lutherans say the day marks a reformation, others, like the judge, might name it a day of division. Both are correct. Since the time of the Reformation and even beforehand, the body of Christ has been fragmented time and time again into different denominations and communities around the world. At what point in time will we be united again? <br />
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It is possible that we will not know the answer to that question beforehand. We are an imperfect people, constantly falling into cycles of division. We must remember that regardless of the aftermath of an event, not all acts of division are divisive. In fact, we are called to separate ourselves from the forces of sin in acts of confession and forgiveness--the great unifier. However, it sometimes goes that following the way of just reform means we must follow Christ to the cross, a place of ultimate division. On the cross, Christ was torn from life and even the curtain of the temple and the skies above were torn in two. Our walk to the cross with Jesus means we are going to confront division. There is no other way. The thing is, however, as we walk with Jesus toward the cross we already know the answer to the judge's question is this: "Yes, we will be united again." And we even know how.<br />
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At the foot of the cross, we are separated from Jesus by the power of death, but we know that the story does not end there. Division is not victorious. Just as Mary knew when Jesus called her by name outside of the empty tomb, so too do we know that our redeemer, our unifier, lives! And in this world of polarization and division, not only are we called to follow Jesus to the cross, but we are also compelled to witness to Christ's resurrection promise just as Mary did!<br />
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No point of division--be it schisms, or Reformation/Division Day, or even death--can separate us from the power of God's love for us, all of us, together. It is that love that will unite us all again. And it is moments of that love made visible which we witness and share in our daily lives that opens the way to unity.<br />
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So, when will we be united again? I cannot say a date or time, but I know that division will not have the final say. Unity in Christ is assured. Even though the present day political climate may make unity seem impossible, we know that with God, all good and just things are possible. For now, let us keep seeking ways to share and witness to God's message of justice, mercy, and hope for the world. Be it on a Thursday evening in a courthouse classroom in Rwanda, a Monday afternoon around the water cooler at work, or a Sunday morning at church, wherever we might find ourselves, may we fully know and determinedly share: In God's eyes, we are one. </div>
Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-59965845703859379932017-08-01T20:41:00.001+03:002017-08-01T21:07:01.248+03:00Notebook Entry: 6.8.17 (August Newsletter)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black;">I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. No idea why, I imagine it happens like that to all of us once in awhile. All morning I took deep breaths each time irritation reared its ugly head, trying my best to let it go. By the afternoon I was pretty even-keeled, albeit not terribly energetic.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">I walked up the steep road to the office and sat in the sanctuary of the Kigali Parish, waiting for my meeting with the Bishop of the Lutheran Church of Rwanda (LCR). I've learned that most people who come to the office for meetings first sit in the sanctuary (which also serves as the waiting room) for a time of prayer. I have begun that practice as well. Over the past few years, my personal prayer posture has begun to take the form of a basketball player anxiously sitting on the bench, hunched over with elbows on knees, hands folded out front, head bowed in deep concentration, ready for game time. Recently, a portion of my prayers have included asking God for guidance, courage, strength, wisdom, and daily pep-talks as I enter the busy months ahead. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Today, however, something changed in both my prayer and my posture. A word popped out of my lips before I could even give it a second thought: <strong><em>joy</em></strong>. <em>"God, grant me joy."</em></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Something twisted inside of me. Joy!? Huh!? Why?! Joy isn't typically what wins basketball games. And regardless, this was the kind of day where I didn't really have much to say to joy. It was definitely not a player in the starting line-up.<br /><br />But as I sat up, looked around the sanctuary, and opened my Bible, it was not diligent determination or intense focus that came my way. Rather, joy began to flood my senses. And as it did, I thought about the YAGM who served in Rwanda and those who will soon arrive. I thought about the communities of the LCR I have yet to meet and the possibilities that lie ahead. I thought about the communities who have prepared me for such a ministry as this. I thought about the wonders of God's crazy beautiful and chaotic creation.<br /><br />And it was with this unbridled sense of joy washing over me that I entered the meeting space. Bishop Mugabo and I shared in exciting conversation, brainstorming about our work together and beginning preparations for the six YAGM preparing to come to Rwanda in late August. We spoke of new opportunities for the coming years and reflected on the months of work ahead. In the midst of our diligent focus, joy permeated the room and our meeting time ended with prayers of supplication and thanksgiving.<br /><br />Ask me how this all transpired and I'll be the first to tell you, it was by no means of my own. The Spirit intercedes for us with joy too great for words to express.<br /><br />Today, I was humbled to receive a wellspring of grace and enthusiasm at a moment when my grumpy, dried-up bones needed it most. Today, I give God thanks for the intercessions of the Holy Spirit. And today I'm reminded once again that I am a beloved (even when I'm irritable) child of God, and but one part of a much larger body of Christ in the world. And that, I believe, is grace, mercy, peace, and joy come down.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></div>
Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-30696738681502848562017-08-01T19:40:00.002+03:002017-08-01T20:04:27.958+03:00haven't stopped listening<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been years since my last update. Between my last reflection on "home" (written in May 2012) and now, I have been claimed by three more communities: Chicago, Milwaukee, and Jerusalem. For five years, these places continued to torrentially shower down on me experiences of grace, visions of hardship, moments of solidarity, and awakenings to the work of justice, shaping and forming me in ways (some painful and others joy-filled) that I could not have imagined when I published that last post.<br />
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Honestly, I imagined coming back to write here time and time again, but my bones became weary and my mind often could not find the right words to convey what I was learning, unlearning, and relearning about myself, my country, the Church, and our world. I fought to find myself in the chaos of it all, struggling with severe anxiety and entering a new arena of self-examination. In that time, deeply loved friends and companions came into my life. Most everyone even stuck around. And while these years simultaneously opened my eyes wider to my own needs and to even more of the deep needs of the world, I thank God for them. For out of them I have been called to proclaim that which my year in Palestine first set on my heart: God's abundant hope.<br />
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Over the last five years, I have completed my studies at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago and was just ordained into my first call. I sit here in Kigali in what has quickly become my new home. Ask me how the past five years led me to this place in particular and I can say definitively, "Only God knows." I will serve as a missionary pastor within the Lutheran Church of Rwanda, a relatively new (23-year-old) church body, and the country coordinator for the Young Adults in Global Mission program in Rwanda. (Notice that this is the same program that set the stage for this blog to begin seven years ago as I prepared to serve in Jerusalem/West Bank.)<br />
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Slowly, the words that evaded me for so long--those from all of the experiences I encountered since my last blog on this page--are coming my way. Words about pilgrimage, seminary discoveries, war, disappointments, anxiety, mental illness, police brutality, my own internalized racism (and other -isms), unlearning that racism (and other -isms), being an accomplice in the work for racial justice, recognizing the work and the love of friendship, claiming my whole self, letting go of love lost, understanding power and privilege, analyzing power and using it wisely, advocating in deed and word, opening my eyes to Jesus in the streets, learning what praise really is, and so much more.<br />
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I pray the words continue to come to me, that I might begin breaking through the silence of this page to share what I've been hearing, to provoke thought and prayer, and to proclaim, above all, the hope that is alive and kicking despite the things in our lives that try to convince us otherwise. Some of what I post will be cross-posted between my Facebook and Instagram, some will be from Newsletters I will write quarterly, and some will find a home here only. Check-in when you can. Share your thoughts when you have them. And may the grace and peace of God be with you now and always. </div>
Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-8136368595957875882012-05-15T23:00:00.000+03:002012-05-18T00:59:11.686+03:00Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Home is where the heart is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are four places that I have claimed as my home over the course of my life: The College of William and Mary, in Williamsburg, VA; Caroline Furnace Lutheran Camp, in Fort Valley, VA; the community of Beit Sahour, in Palestine; and the house in which I grew up, in Olney, MD. Over the past six years, I've transitioned back and forth between these four homes time and time again. As of last August, I found myself back on Lafayette Drive, in Olney, living once more at the family homestead. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yet, with their children out of the house (well, almost...) and no need for the cozy 6-person home they created over the past twenty-five years, my parents have decided to downsize to a small condo in northern Virginia. While their choice is both helpful and logical, goodness gracious am I going to bawl my eyes out when we drive away from this place for the last time. A different family will soon fill my childhood home (the only Neubauer family home I have ever known) with their own memories. I will no longer be able to claim this house as one of my homes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Home. As we've renovated, fixed, and cleaned my house (so much so that my ten year-old-self would not recognize a lick of it) I've thought a lot about what "home" means: what it feels like, what it represents, what it provides. In what way is a house different from a home? How do we grow to acknowledge one specific place as "home"? Is "home" tangible? Can we ever really--truly, honestly--let go of the homes we've known despite having to leave them behind? If we had the option, would we try to go back?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, forgive me for reverting to song lyrics, but... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Dixie Chicks, in "A Home", capture the difference between "house" and "home" quite well:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just a place to run when my working day is through.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They say home is where the heart is,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">if the exception proves the rule I guess that's true.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hmmm... no form of love, no home?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In "Lost in My Mind," the Head and the Heart suggests maybe home is not quite so tangible after all:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mama once told me, you're already home where you feel loved.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ahhhh... home IS a feeling!</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yet, one of my favorite songs ("Homebird" by Foy Vance) gives another perspective--that memories of home are deeply routed in our very souls, part of who we are and how we remember our lives:</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The orange was the size of a watermelon to me. Well, at least this is my memory.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sunshine made my bare feet burn upon the road, far away we roamed.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I'd be howlin' out a song in the backseat. The boys would laugh and tease about my black feet.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They'd tell stories that would warm my soul: motor bikes and chrome.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Jimmy could not wait to get home.</b></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Homebird sing, fly me high on an angel's wing.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Homebird sing; leave out nothing tell me everything.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Well, I hear ya, Jimmy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My home is full of memories that I associate with physical things:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the kitchen table where I'd sit and play cards with my grandma; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the toilet that I was convinced would conjure a ghost when I flushed it at night (glad to have left that fear behind);</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the backyard where my brothers taught me about all things outdoors (for the suburbs, that is); </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the heart wallpaper and the stars on the ceiling of my original bedroom, both lovingly placed by my parents, that reminded me every day that they loved me and supported me in the things I loved;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the living room where we have held our family meetings throughout the years; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the unmistakable yet unknowingly spackled bust of an alpine man on my parent's ceiling (I SWEAR!) that my mom and I would point out to each other during cuddle time; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the pot-belly stove, where one of my brothers and I started a fire (without permission) when my parents were away one day (whoops!), that taught me a thing or two about risk management; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the notch in the wall, where I stuffed a plastic sheep from my miniature Christmas Nativity set soon to find I could not wiggle it back out (it's stuck there to this day), that gave me some insight into the world of not being able to fix mistakes all the time... and letting go; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the old garage turned rec-room (at that time referred to as "the pit") where I spent one of my favorite New Year's Eves among my brothers and cousins as the grown-ups paaaaar-tayed(!) in the house; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the garden out front where, gardening with my other grandma, I received my first bee-sting;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the back deck that my friend Brittany and I painted once in return for a pizza;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the lawn I spent countless hours mowing (it had to be juuuuuuust right), and then remowing;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the kitchen where one of my brothers and I explored our culinary skills (for better more often than for worse... just never ask about "the pud");</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the driveway where the neighborhood kids would gather for street-rules basketball games or rollerblading X-game style competitions (jumping off of our home-made, wooden ramps);</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the office in the basement, home of the terrifying portrait of our ancestor, Pruella... (I didn't go down there if I could manage).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'll stop there. (Thanks, Pruey.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So. This home is where I have felt and feel loved; this home is where I have memories of the good times and the bad times, all of which formed the person I am today. This sense of home<i> </i>is represented in the tangible people or things that remind me of precious moments of personal growth and growing relationships. I carry this home with me in my very being, and have carried memories of similar formative moments and relationships from every home I've known. What is "home"? Home is life--is living, is loving. </span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today I'm especially aware of what it means to have, and love, and care for a home. Today (May 15th) marks the Palestinian commemoration of the 1948 Nakba (Catastrophe) where an estimated 700,000+ Palestinians were forcefully driven from their homes in waves by the growing armies of soon to be Israel. In total, 531 villages were forcefully evacuated, some of which by extreme measures. Many of these villages were wiped off of the map completely. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Home. A land? A building? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A peace.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Home. Forced removal. Home. Demolition. Home. Land-grab.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My thoughts about leaving my childhood home? Unlike many people around the world who have been driven from their homes and their lands by human cruelty, I will walk away with a sense of closure. Is that fair? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I cannot fathom how it felt to be a Jew during the Holocaust; and I cannot fathom how it felt to be a Palestinian during the Nakba. Even as I prepare my mind to accept moving out of my childhood home, I cannot even fathom the thought of being forced to leave my home this very night... told I could return in a few days, ushered to the outskirts of town, driven away on foot or taken away by train, unsure of my fate... never able--never allowed--to return. Where is peace in that? There is only longing: a longing for a lost peace and a longing for a lost love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Of the three other homes I have left behind, I intend to return to each throughout my life. And while I will most likely never again set foot in my childhood home, at least I have had these few months to cherish each new memory that pops to mind as I've sorted through the rooms and objects that hold so much of my story. I will miss this home dearly, but I get the chance to take all of the memories with me. I know it is time to let go and say goodbye to my house, and I am blessed to be able to hold on to the feeling of this "home" despite leaving it behind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thankful for the homes I have and will cherish, and blessed by growth and relationship in each, I pray that everyone may find their souls warmed by the sense of peace, love, and comfort that accompanies being "home." I pray for the communities around the world that long for a peaceful home. I pray for Israel and Palestine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And, I think I might just wholeheartedly agree with Emily Dickinson when she writes, "Home is the definition of God."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May we all find a home in God's love. In God's hope. In God's peace--t</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">he peace that passes all understanding. Amen.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">NOTE: If you want to hear a first-hand account of the Nakba from a Palestinian Christian who is committed to peace and reconciliation in the Holy Land, I highly suggest you read <b>Blood Brothers</b>. A relatively short yet powerful story, <b>Blood Brothers</b> is the autobiography of Elias Chacour, the current Arch-Bishop of Akko, Haifa, Nazareth, and all of the Galilee in the Melkite Greek Catholic Church. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">To learn more about the Nakba through the eyes of an Israeli Jew and a Palestinian Muslim (both of whom claim the same house in present day Israel as their rightful "home"), read <b>The Lemon Tree</b>*. This book outlines the unique friendship that formed between these two parties as they met each other at various times over a number of years. The book also outlines a lot of history surrounding the formation of Israel and the migration of European Jews to Israel after the Holocaust as well as the experience of Palestinians who later became refugees due to the tactics of the proto-Israeli army. It is truly an amazing, and heart-breaking, weaving together of lives and stories. (*The movie <i>The Lemon Tree </i>is a completely different story, though it is also good to watch.)</span></span></div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-47274197630184746402011-06-18T14:45:00.004+03:002011-06-18T17:35:53.701+03:00right now's the only moment that matters<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's hard to believe how quickly my return to the States is approaching. School officially ended this past Wednesday when the older students came to get their certificates and ever since then I have been moving from one place to the next saying the first goodbyes to students, colleagues, and friends. Needless to say, I don't like it very much--I have never been one to move through transitional periods smoothly and this is no exception. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My defense mechanism used in trasitions past? Preparation. If I prepare my mind enough for what's coming, I'm generally able to roll with the punches and do what I've gotta do for as smooth a transition as possible, and frankly, I thought I had the system figured out. My quick transitions out of college and into camp last summer went much more smoothly than I had thought they would. My time at W&M meant so much to me and my senior year was especially wonderful for a plethora of reasons, yet I left the College looking ahead with eagar anticipation for the next chapter of life. Thankful for all W&M gave me, I rolled into camp with bucket loads of college memories and a readiness to tackle the great outdoors for another summer. Throughout the summer, I likewise anticipated the quick transition into my YAGM year so that the four days between camp and in-country orientation in Chicago were filled just with family and friends, void of the typical emotional transition time moments. I surprised myself with how smoothly all of those transitions played out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Yet, as I look at my calender to find that I'll be heading back to the bustle of the Metro-DC so soon, I can't seem to put a finger on how to prepare my mind for this transition. I cannot see myself leaving, but I also cannot see myself staying here past our departure date. I want to be with family and friends back home, but I don't want to go from my community here. I hope everyone will listen to what I have to say and understand everything I tell them, immediately sharing the same passion about what is going on in this area of the world. Yet, recognizing how little I actually knew before I came here, I know it will be almost impossible to share every experience, relationship, and realization with people back home expecting them to "see" everything I've seen without ever having been here. If you can't tell, I hit a wall in my scheme to "prepare" myself fully for this upcoming transition. All I know is that time seems to have sped up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">With two and a half weeks left between now and leaving the country, all I can do is take every moment I can to be in this place, with this community, among this family. Maybe I cannot wrap my head around the upcoming transition because it is not time to leave quite yet--I'll take the hint and live in the moment. Maybe the best preparation for the upcoming transition will be to simply prepare for whatever emotions come and embrace them when they do arrive. Even as I smile to think of welcoming bear hugs from family and friends back home and tear-up to imagine the last moments spent with my family and friends here, I continue to rejoice in all I have experienced and for all those experiences still to come. </span><br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"seems to me that right now's the only moment that matters...</span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">come write your wisdom on my heart, </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and teach me the power of a moment" </span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">-Chris Rice</span></em></div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-85897363794252936362011-06-01T01:12:00.002+03:002012-07-25T04:47:00.934+03:00"rejoice with your family...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em>...in the beautiful land of life!" -Albert Einstein</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For the first 18 years of my life, my family gathered for a reunion in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. This was my favorite weekend of the year hands down. My brothers and I would get off from school every Friday before Memorial Day to drive the six hours into the mountains, spending the weekend with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins at Woodloch Pines. Each time I was there I would dread our impending Memorial Day smorgasbord, knowing that a few hours after we stuffed the last bites of Mud Pie into our mouths, it would be back to Maryland and away from my extended family and the fun I’d had with them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After a few years away from the tradition of our Memorial Day Weekend reunion, my Grandpa decided to bring the family together again this year. Despite the fact that I knew I would not be able to join, I was ecstatic for my family to come together in this place once more—especially with the addition of a few family members who had yet to experience the intersection of the Neubauer clan and Woodloch at its finest. Yet, little did I know when I set off on my YAGM year that my Memorial Day Weekend would likewise be chock-full of special family gatherings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The weekend kicked off with a concert. A student from my school invited me to the opening concert and album release for the band in which he played—the Momken Band. (Momken means “Possible” in Arabic.) Little did I know that the band was composed of 9 people including his sister and her husband, and a pair of brothers from another family. As the musicians took the stage, a little boy in the front row shouted out, “Mama!” to the main vocalist (the student from my school’s sister) to the amusement of the audience. Every once in a while throughout the concert she would catch a glimpse of her number #1 fan in the crowd and give a wide-eyed wink to him; at the performance’s end he trotted up on stage to present her with a huge bouquet of flowers in return. Seeing all of these family members interact on and off stage, I could easily sense of the love and appreciation they have for one another—a family bond that was confirmed again the following evening.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On Saturday, the Tawjihi students (12th grade class) graduated from the Evangelical Lutheran School in Beit Sahour; it was an event to be seen! Most schools don’t hold anything like a prom for their graduating students, so graduation itself is the big event and it includes the families of each student and the teachers from the school. Every student was dressed in their finest. All the girls arrived in brand new dresses with their hair intricately styled, and all the boys looked sharp in their suits. The families likewise came dressed for a party, and party they did! I have never seen a dance so packed; the Tawjihi students were hoisted up on shoulders and in chairs to dance above the crowded floor.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yet, after these initial introductory dances, students were casually whisked into their family circles. Each family surrounded their student and took turns dancing traditional Palestinian Dabkeh with them (including the student and the members of his family I had just watched in concert the day before). This shift to the family click happened very subtly, yet it was such a profound public family celebration—the way each student stood and danced amongst family members as their friends did the same. In that room, on that night, I witnessed families stop, focus on each other, and celebrate their lives together as much as they were celebrating their accomplished student. With around 30 students and their accompanying families on the dance floor, you can only imagine the sense of “family” that was present.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On Sunday, the family celebrations continued. My roommate and I were invited to cook alongside our landlady and friend to prepare for a buffet meal to be served that evening. Why was there to be a buffet? Around 6:30pm, the most immediate relatives of two families would gather to formally inquire and agree on the relationship and soon-to-be engagement of her son and her son’s now official girlfriend. Afterwards, her and her husband were hosting the most immediate of family members from each family at their home—my roommate and I were invited to both of these events and all of the preparations involved.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The entire morning, as we cooked, our landlord kept repeating, “Inshallah, we will cook this food for you at your wedding!” As I rolled stuffed grape leaves my landlady continued repeating that when I come back to visit, I will stay with them because we are family! As we cleaned the kitchen, I was in charge of rinsing, drying and putting things away; having long ago become part of their family, I’ve learned where every specific item is to be placed. Finishing the food for the buffet, we proceeded to get dolled up for the festivities. If spending a day being immersed in one family isn’t enough, than joining in the celebrations of two families merging together does the trick. After joining the family motorcade to the hall where the meeting would take place and witnessing the families celebrate the relationship together, we returned to the house and enjoyed each-others’ company into the late evening hours.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Throughout this weekend I saw the same bonds I recognize within my family in the everyday lives of my friends here. Though I missed having that connection with the Neubauer troupe in Pennsylvania this year, I cannot say I wallowed this weekend away pitying myself for missing out on my favorite weekend family event. Even as my family members back state-side enjoyed each-others’ company, I was rejoicing in the company of those here whom I consider family; rejoicing for a weekend I will not soon forget. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em>What greater thing is there for human souls than to feel that they are joined for life—to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories. ~George Eliot</em></span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-small;">A very quick public "thanks" to the Neubauer fam</span></em></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ci71UTDSGcM/TeVi0Jib9tI/AAAAAAAAAT4/lN9wGMHEeTQ/s1600/pop+pop+and+gramsey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ci71UTDSGcM/TeVi0Jib9tI/AAAAAAAAAT4/lN9wGMHEeTQ/s320/pop+pop+and+gramsey.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Thank you Gramsey and Pop-Pop for making sure we recognized the value of taking the time to get together as a family over the many years of annual family reunions. All my love.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YYnCS2La-oU/TeVixqTgAeI/AAAAAAAAAT0/s6YYgv6Vyy4/s1600/for+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YYnCS2La-oU/TeVixqTgAeI/AAAAAAAAAT0/s6YYgv6Vyy4/s320/for+blog.jpg" t8="true" width="136" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">A shout-out to my siblings and their children, and my cousins--</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">love you and look forward to keeping up family reunion tradition!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Mom and Dad--How can I thank you? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">You're the best parents I could've asked for--love, love, love you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Aunts and Uncles, I love you and thank you for all you've done for us over the years.</span></td></tr>
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</div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-54369089374093688912011-05-24T16:11:00.000+03:002011-05-24T16:11:24.632+03:00the rocks and stones themselves do sing<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>Today, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Beit Sahour sent out its second newsletter. I was asked to write an article describing my time with this community over the past year and thought to share it with you all as well here on my blog. If you are interested in seeing the rest of the newsletter, you should be able to find it on the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Jordan and the Holy Land's website. If not, email me and I'll forward you a copy. </em></span></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"In the Holy Land: Teaching, Learning, Struggling, and Growing"</span></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When I learned I would be coming to Jerusalem/West Bank as a member of the Young Adults in Global Mission volunteer program, I was ecstatic. While called to serve as a missionary volunteer here working in Lutheran Schools, I have to admit that after majoring in Religious Studies in university, the thought of arriving in the heart of the Holy Land thrilled my intellectual mind. How easily I could walk through the streets so sacred to Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. How amazing it would be to witness these three faiths up close and personal. How many stone churches and ruins I could visit and explore! Yet, I quickly learned that my religious experiences would have very little to do with the holy sites of Jerusalem or even Bethlehem. Rather, the faith I have witnessed and participated in has been with the people I live and serve alongside, not the stones that mark religious history. Within the space of relationships I have found the most holy ground. </span></div> <div style="text-align: left;"></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sl-ZuHeBSCY/TduqmRu4VmI/AAAAAAAAATs/qs8_mchvPTk/s1600/46190041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sl-ZuHeBSCY/TduqmRu4VmI/AAAAAAAAATs/qs8_mchvPTk/s200/46190041.jpg" t8="true" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lutheran Scouts</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I arrived in this land full of expectation—expecting to teach, expecting to learn, expecting to grow, and expecting to struggle. Little did I know how quickly and in what way I would find my expectations fulfilled. I was welcomed into the community of Beit Sahour as soon as I stepped foot into my flat. Beginning my volunteer placement at the Evangelical Lutheran School, I slowly immersed myself into a culture built upon this very sense of community. I soon found myself playing football with an emerging woman’s club team, marching alongside the youth of the Lutheran Scouts as a member of the brass band, and enjoying barbeques and meals with new friends and family. Within a matter of days, my expectations were replaced with actualizations of life in Palestine. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I soon found myself teaching, learning, growing, and struggling—but not as I expected. Yes, I began helping teach at the school, started learning Arabic, struggled finding my way around, and grew in relationship with my community, but as time went on, I experienced so much more. Instead of being independent, I had to teach myself how to rely on others to help guide me through the ins and outs of daily life here. Instead of just learning facts about the culture, I learned to take the time to listen to the pains and fears as well as the hopes and dreams of my colleagues, students, neighbors, and friends. I grew to realize that despite how vibrant Palestinian culture and life still is, my friends here suffer from injustices daily and find little outside support. I struggled to determine how I, myself, could have been so unaware of these struggles in Palestine prior to my staying here. </span></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cU87ilWbdO0/TdureXY5GyI/AAAAAAAAATw/goGcYophYqY/s1600/IMG_0918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cU87ilWbdO0/TdureXY5GyI/AAAAAAAAATw/goGcYophYqY/s200/IMG_0918.JPG" t8="true" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Where I had previously only known about the antiquities of the Holy Land—amazed by the structures scattered throughout the country marking thousands of years of history with stone facades and churches—until living here I had failed to consider the living stones that build the community of the Holy Land today, the very people I now call my friends. Beyond all expectation, I have witnessed a strength of spirit within this community that despite occupation attempts to live as we are called to live—loving one another. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As I continue my year with the YAGM program, walking alongside my brothers and sisters, I am especially grateful and blessed by the experiences that have opened my eyes to the here and now. The community of Beit Sahour, especially the Lutheran School and church, has greeted me with such genuine compassion. May we all as living stones continue to open our hearts and minds to greet each other with this same compassion. Together may we strive to build a greater community of hospitality, peace, and grace. In the Holy Land, as well as the rest of the world, we find in such a community the very thing we so often declare war over—holy ground. Lord, help let us let these living stones live.</span></div></div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-68400455315560221262011-05-07T21:46:00.001+03:002012-07-25T04:53:38.131+03:00everybody loves bumper cars<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Everybody loves bumper cars," I commented to my friends as we stood in line waiting for our turn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We were on a school trip to a carnival theme park three hours north of our school for a day of fun and relaxation. Despite the hot day, our spirits were high as we enjoyed such attractions as the "House of Horror", the "Crazy Dance", and the "Pirate Ship," taking occasional breaks to sit with other teachers and students who gathered to play cards or drum traditional rhythms on the tabla. For students and teachers alike, this day was a welcome break to the routine of craziness that becomes the last month of school. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For a few of us, our last stop before heading back to the buses was an undisputed classic: "Bumper Cars." Waiting in line, I looked at the faces of everyone currently driving around--they were all so keen on plowing into each other, throwing their heads back and laughing every time they were jeered off course. The only ones who appeared unsatisfied were the people who got stuck for one reason or another and were losing precious time in their allotted rampage. In line we were being pushed and prodded as people shoved to the front, hoping to get in on the next go of reckless driving. Needless to say--everybody loves bumper cars.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Whether it's a stretch or not, I couldn't help but think how similar bumper cars are to human relationships. Of course, the opening to the movie <em>Crash</em> came to mind--</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"It's the sense of touch... Any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people. People bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much that we crash into each other just so we can feel something." (<em>Crash </em>2005<em>)</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Unlike this description of L.A., I can say that the sense of touch is very important to all cultures represented in Israel and Palestine. Yet there is a sense of touch that is missing in the overlap of these cultures, partially because there is very little overlap. For one reason or another, violent clashes are often considered (in the public's eye) the only interface that occurs. To some extent, this is the case. I have seen frustration and pain in the eyes of those who have been "stuck" behind different walls not having opportunities to build any kind of relationship with their neighbors because interface is restricted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I know that an important part of relationships is being willing and, more importantly, able to bump into each other, spring back, reflect, and enjoy the moment for what it's worth. If we bump into each other--one-on-one, face-to-face, person-to-person--we have the chance to learn so many different stories and to tell our own. I have not found many people who have disliked that chance to listen and share--I pray that people will find those constructive moments more and more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Still, not all relationships are as simple as ramming into a friend to share a laugh during bumper cars. In fact, many relationships are challenging--only sustained by a mutual willingness to honor the other person and yourself at the same time, even in the midst of disagreement. Yet, we must continue to bump into each other as much as we can with open hearts and minds. In these moments, even when they are uncomfortable or painful, we must be thankful and joyful that we have the opportunity to touch the soul of another person for however brief or extended a period of time. Tough stuff, yes, but I realize more and more the importance of these moments, and am grieved that in this place those moments are few and far between across the cultural divide. I pray that one day everyone will love bumping into each other just as much in personal relationships as in bumper cars--enjoying time together as seperate entities gathered into one joyful mess of reckless abandon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As for now, I continue enjoying the moments when I get "bump" into my friends and neighbors within my community. What was the most joyful "bumping into" experience? Walking towards my volunteer site yesterday, I ran into my landlord's mother. While she speaks almost no English, we have become friends over many meals and evenings together with her family. She had been walking home after attending a mass for St. George's feastday. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After greeting her with two kisses on the cheeks and asking how she was, in which she replied, "Mabsuta! (Happy!)," her first instinct was to reach into her bag and break off a piece of bread to give to me. I recognized immediately that it was the bread from her church--in the middle of the street, she shared with me what I could only consider a moment of holy communion. Church tradition and institution forgotten, I thanked God for the brief moment where I got to 'bump' into someone and something so dear--a moment of pure and unspoken faith. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em>Namaste</em>--may the divine in me recognize, honor, (and bump into) the divine in you. </span></div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-18285791065847557352011-04-09T19:12:00.000+03:002011-04-09T19:12:25.240+03:00I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here is an early Sunday morning look at the Old City of Al-Quds (Jerusalem). Having arrived for service at the Redeemer Lutheran Church with an hour to spare, my friend Luke and I set out on an exploratory photoshoot. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I took these pictures within the Christian and Muslim quarters of the city--you can only imagine the sounds and smells that accompany these images, as well as the thoughts that pop up. You will see delicious freshly baked goods for sale, small street shops opening, the empty courtyard of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, a woman on her way to pray, hidden entrances and doorways to homes, beautiful graffiti, clothes hung on the line to dry, the Dome of the Rock, and Jewish homes within the Muslim quarter. A whole lot of beauty amidst of a whole lot of pain, surrounded by a whole lot of faith.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-25227098070676881932011-04-04T16:35:00.001+03:002012-07-25T04:55:00.808+03:00all too familiar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Lutheran schools of the ELCJHL are currently being swept up in a frenzy of new books--English books! The brain child of two friends of mine, the "ELCJHL Libraries Project"* is in full swing. This project allows people from around the world to buy brand-spanking new books (from ABCs all the way to classic novels) to help support the libraries of the Lutheran schools and programs in Jordan and the Holy Land. In Beit Sahour, we are grateful to be phasing in our new books while weeding out the outdated, donated books that currently adorn the library's English section shelves. </span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mSrKCRebRSM/TZnGNUdMX9I/AAAAAAAAAPI/YI8XJwOCTL4/s1600/butterbattlebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mSrKCRebRSM/TZnGNUdMX9I/AAAAAAAAAPI/YI8XJwOCTL4/s200/butterbattlebook.jpg" width="141px" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With a new delivery coming in just this week, I was asked to do one of my favorite tasks--organizing the books into categories on the shelves. (For all of my friends who studied library science, let me take a second to give thanks for all you do!) The next free period I had, I walked up to the library, stepped inside, and squealed in excitement. Before my eyes were some of my favorite books from my childhood--books that I may or may not still read on occasion when I'm home: <em>The Magic Tree House</em> series, <em>The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar, Love You Forever--</em>I could name a handful more! Though, as I started organizing the shelves, one book in particular caught my eye--<em>The Butter Battle Book </em>by Dr. Seuss**.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can't tell you how many times I read this book before going to bed as a child! While I couldn't remember the whole story or even how it ended, I did remember how it was by far my favorite of Dr. Seuss's stories. As soon as I noticed it among the other books, I determined I would read it again for kicks once I finished my work. With the last books arranged in some kind of order on the shelves, I took a seat and began reading.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For those of you who haven't read it before, or have forgotten it's ending much like I did, here's a brief summary. There are two villages separated by a wall. In one village, the people proudly spread their bread with the butter side up, and in the second village the people enjoy spreading their bread with the butter side down. Eventually, a small skiff between two men across the wall from each other triggers a "one-upping" match of weaponry and threats. At the books end, the same two men stand facing each other on top of the wall, each with a weapon of atomic proportions in their hands while their villages (aside from one of the man's grandson who narrates the story) hide underground awaiting the fallout. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is how it ends...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "'Grandpa!' I shouted. 'Be careful! Oh, gee! Who's going to drop it? Will you...? Or will he...?' </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">'Be patient,' said Grandpa. 'We'll see. We will see...'"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wasn't quite anticipating this reality check when I opened up my childhood bedtime story memories. No wonder I couldn't remember the ending--there was no end. Sadly, this story sounds all too familiar, especially living within sight of such a wall. How easily we point out the differences between ourselves, creating the a sense of the 'other' and putting up walls to keep ourselves 'safe'. We seek comfort in gathering allies against a common enemy. We strike with violence and hatred to try to gain the upper hand. We begin losing sight of what makes us similar; what makes us human. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">For now, I pray that the <em>Butter Battle Book</em> becomes a favorite of the students who read it. I hope they gobble up every rhyming word, laughing at the goofy sketches and enjoying the silliness of the whole conflict. Beyond all else, though, I hope in reading it they find hope. The book itself ends with the hatred of the other, but the story is not complete. While complete destruction is only seconds away as the last page is turned, it does not come. There is still a chance for reconciliation and peace--a peace that I pray these students may eventually know and help to determine. Amen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">*If you'd like to purchase books through Amazon Associates for the ELCJHL Libraries Project, you can find the site here! </span></div>
<a href="http://astore.amazon.com/e0a08-20?node=12&page=2"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">http://astore.amazon.com/e0a08-20?node=12&page=2</span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">**If you'd like to read the <em>Butter Battle Book,</em> you can find it here. Sadly, there aren't pictures, but the story is available.<em> </em></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://english11poets.pbworks.com/w/page/19005446/The-Butter-Battle-Book"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">http://english11poets.pbworks.com/w/page/19005446/The-Butter-Battle-Book</span></a></div>
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</div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-25916107680439466632011-03-07T20:51:00.003+02:002012-07-27T15:14:31.414+03:00dig, plant, water, wait, grow?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The second grade class at the Evangelical Lutheran School in Beit Sahour recently studied a unit on gardening in their English class. The story that accompanied the unit was about a boy named Sam and the plants he grew from the seeds his granny gave him. Over and over again we tested the second grade's memory and mastery of this unit, asking the students the steps Sam took to plant his seeds and how we could likewise garden. <em> </em></span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"First, we dig the earth. Second, we plant the seed. </span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then, we water the seed. Then, we wait. </span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Finally, the seed grows." </span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ironically, at the same time I was helping teach this unit I had the opportunity to join a day of olive tree planting in a nearby village. As a tourist you often only see the importance of the olive tree to Palestine in the olive wood carvings of camels, magi, and manger scenes, but the olive tree represents much more. Alive and thriving in groves hundreds of years old, the trees' annual produce is integral to many families' yearly salary, not to mention their own supply of precious olives and olive oil. Sadly, many people have lost their land and olive trees. The Palestinian farmer for whom we helped plant this new grove will soon lose around 80% of his land to the building of the Wall. Hopefully, with these trees, now planted on the land that he will soon be cut off from, he will have more of an arguement by which he might possibly gain permission to access his land after the Wall is built. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">During this day of planting olive trees, I practiced hands on the same steps to gardening as the second graders at my school studied... but in a slightly different order. </span></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. First, we dig the earth.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em>2. Second, we plant the tree.</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em>3. Then, we water the tree. </em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em>...(Eventually), the tree (will) grow.</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em>4. (But for now), we wait.</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pictured above is the owner of the land we planted on.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For whatever comes next, he waits. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It is with him that we wait in the hope that these trees will be allowed to take root and thrive. It is with him that we wait in the hope that the Wall that will soon hide his trees will not claim them completely. It is with him that we wait in the hope that one day the only waiting will be for the next olive harvest and not the decision regarding whether or not he will be able to join in the harvest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It is with him that we wait in the hope that the lesson these second graders have learned was not in vain--</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">that growth does in fact accompany such waiting.</span></div>
</div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-69914332460576419772011-03-03T17:16:00.011+02:002011-05-17T20:24:14.394+03:00strength<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When I was younger, I was captivated by <em>The World's Strongest Man</em> competitions--participants coming from all around the globe to compete in events such as the Plane Pull, Fridge Carry, and Giant Log Lift (though my favorites were always the more ambiguously titled events like the Pillars of Hercules, Atlas Stones, or Giant Farmers Walk). While Miss America always screams with joy when she receives her crown, these men screamed throughout the competition as they pushed their bodies to the limits, straining and snapping joints and ligaments in their quest to prove their outrageous strength (...come on, a <em>Plane Pull!?</em>) all for the title of World's Strongest Man (at least until the next year...). I don't think anyone would argue that these men are not strong--but what of strength?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Despite the many World's Strongest Man competitions I've watched over the years, no muscle man's battle with a heavy object compares to the feat of strength I witnessed at school today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This afternoon the Evangelical Lutheran School in Beit Sahour hosted the annual Arabic competition, held between the four Palestinian Lutheran Schools. Students from the 5th, 6th, and 7th grades compete against each other in two areas; a dramatic poetry recitation and an individual presentation. For the first half of the competition, the students were given a poem to memorize in advance and recite before the audience and judges. As the recitation portion began, I was amazed by the students expressiveness, using gestures and intonation to emphasize the beauty and meanings of the first poem, recited by the 5th grade. The only phrase I could completely understand was, "أنا فلسطيني,"</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">('ana falistyeenee'--I am Palestinian) but I was completely entranced as each syllable dropped so powerfully out of the mouths of these 11 year olds. As soon as one student was finished I couldn't wait to hear the next.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When the fourth student to recite came to the stage, she introduced herself and began her passionate recitation, but after two lines or so something happened. Whether it was sudden stage fright or a crippling brain lapse, she promptly broke down on stage and was gently whisked into the arms of her teachers and supporters in the audience. The competition continued as she took her seat. Yet, as the master of ceremonies began introducing the poem to be recited by the 6th grade after all the 5th graders had finished, the teachers and parents surrounding her interrupted him so that she could take the stage once more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">With a look of fearful pain on her face, she peered out into the audience, introduced herself, and began to recite. She again tumbled through the first verse and doubled over in embarrassment and despair. My heart dropped in my chest: I could feel her fear and her disappointment. Her supporters, seeing her suffer and wishing it to end, soothingly called to her, telling her it was okay; she could stop; she should come down from the stage. Yet, she did not move from her place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Standing up straight once more, voice cracking and eyes barely holding back tears, she continued to recite. With each line she spoke her voice became bolder--"I am Palestinian." With each rising syllable her emphatic gestures became even more passionate--"I am Palestinian." With each statement of her very identity, her fearful glaze disappeared and was replaced by a persevering gaze that itself declared, "I am Palestinian."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As I sat in the back of the room, watching this transformation take place, I could not help but feel that my heart was not just lifting back up from the bottom of my stomach, but growing in admiration for her genuine strength. While the other students had stood up and presented their work in order to win, she was now reciting her heart out in order to overcome her fear and prove her equal abilities despite her now disadvantaged position. Tears welled in my eyes as I listened to the inspiring defiance in her voice, watching her not only not give-in and give-up, but truly nail the end of her recitation. When finished, she gracefully walked off the stage to the applause of the crowd with her head held high.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In this little girl I saw not only the statement, "I am Palestinian", but also, "I am Palestine." Like this young student did in her Arabic competition, my friends wake up each day and face their struggles with great strength--at times pushing through tears--in the hopes that one day there will be peace in this land. Forget <em>The World's Strongest Man</em> competitions.... When it comes to strength, this 5th grade girl is one of the strongest persons I know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>"Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength." -Arnold Schwarzenegger</em> </span><br />
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</span>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-33018942354784855052011-02-22T17:59:00.002+02:002012-07-25T05:01:59.831+03:00what 1000 words do you see?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"A picture speaks a thousand words." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">It's practically a given that we've all heard this quote before--it's one of the oldest adages in the book. Call it cliche, but these words sure are accurate. Much of what we base our initial judgements, assumptions, decisions, and conclusions on are the things we see around us. Our experiences shape the way we think. Our minds are not unaffected by images put before us. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For instance, what does this picture say to you?</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eqdRy1PlUB4/TWKArJmO9mI/AAAAAAAAANE/MN0yWybpPQA/s1600/IMG_3398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 349px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 242px;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eqdRy1PlUB4/TWKArJmO9mI/AAAAAAAAANE/MN0yWybpPQA/s320/IMG_3398.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Who is the soldier? Who is the other man? What are they doing. Is the man mocking the solidier? Is the soldier threatening the man? Where is the gun pointed? Are there more people around them? What is going on here? What happens next...?</span><br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">*****</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">....Would it surprise you if I said these two men were not even interacting? The man, Ibrahim, was simply trying to sell my friends and me some of his souvenirs as we walked the streets of Old City Hebron. He walked away from us shortly after the photo was taken. The soldier was on duty securing a group of settlers/tourists as they toured the old Jewish homes in the Old City. At that moment, these men were both peacefully doing their jobs. Yet how easily this picture could be skewed to represent either side of the conflict that, as we see here, has become visible throughout everyday life and duties. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">How do we let pictures like this and what people have to say about them affect the way we think and imagine, or affect what we decidedly believe? We have to challenge ourselves to determine the truth despite what we may be told by media sources. We have to talk with people and hear about their experiences rather than merely experience people who talk a lot about things they might not really know or understand. We need to recognize the significance of two men who are both doing their jobs, but will most likely never share a friendly conversation about their day at work. Regardless of what we see from day to day, we should first and foremost recognize that whomever we see here are first and foremost people--people who all breathe the same air, and bleed the same blood, and share the same emotions. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>I have come into this world to see this: </em></span><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>the sword drop from men's hands </em><br />
<em>even at the height of </em><br />
<em>their arc of </em><br />
<em>rage </em><br />
<em>because we have finally realized </em><br />
<em>there is just one flesh </em><br />
<em>we can wound.</em><br />
<br />
<em>-Hafiz of Persia</em></div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-71334736606725494662011-02-09T22:55:00.003+02:002011-02-28T19:56:53.020+02:00the art of being<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">One meditative yoga class, it appears, is all it takes to wake me up again and remind me how beautifully simple life can be. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">From the very first day of our training in Chicago for this YAGM year, we were told to work our hardest--yes, in our placements, but almost more so in our relationships with the communities around us. We were told to put the greatest effort into--get this--"being." <em>Being</em> present, <em>being</em> a member of the community, <em>being</em> aware of what's going on around us, <em>being</em> a friend, a neighbor, a confidant, a student, and where needed, a helper--this is what we are called to do in our time of service. Accompaniment--walking not only<em> beside</em> other people, but actively walking <em>with</em> them, hand-in-hand. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Let me tell you this--much easier said than done! Coming from a culture of "doing" things--always having a schedule, constantly planning the next move, making sure our hands never cease movement--it has been a daily struggle to give up that want to see a physical product from a days work and rather embrace the productivity of a day spent building relationships of trust and love over, say, an ear of fresh corn or a cup of herbal tea... or even sharing a few hours with others in meditation and yoga. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thankfully, a recent yoga class reminded me of the importance of "being". Just the other week, I had the opportunity to join a meditative yoga session outside of my regular class. The focus of this yoga class was the breath, using it as a tool to root yourself to the earth in order to access your whole being. I kid you not, the yoga teacher (from Italy no less, with English as a second language!) used the exact expressions we were taught at orientation as a reminder of how to intentionally care for ourselves, and thus, those around us. She repeated over and over again these instructions: "Remember, do not force movement. Let your breath move throughout your whole body, moving you without effort. Accompany your body by simply <em>Being</em>. Don't try to <em>Do </em>the movements. Let them happen naturally." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Wowzers. What a put it right out there reminder about the important things in life. That if we focus on being, both in a natural flow and an intention mindset, our breath (...hmmm, image of the Holy Spirit?) will spread through us, fill us, and move us the way we are to be moved. If we only accompany, we will see more plentiful products than if we went on our merry way "doing" things all the time and missing all that is going on around us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As I walked out of that yoga class, I was so thankful of the reminder to "be." To be intentional and relaxed. To be aware and satisfied. To be open and loving. To be a part of a journey rather than on a quest. What is more fruitful than being with people who understand that love and care is not shown in actions alone, but simply in the act of being friends.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In other words (or possibly words of wisdom in a slightly different context), seriously, "Let it <em>Be</em>."</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">_______________________________________________</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-small;">Check out my new poetry page which will be coming to a blog near you (...my blog) soon. ...Possibly right now! Just a few poems'll pop up every once in a while. Nothing too fancy, but hope you check it out and enjoy!</span>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-79571471691999298472011-01-30T20:36:00.004+02:002011-01-30T21:07:03.377+02:00"the streets is tricky in these parts here"<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's 4:30am, January 6th. My phone alarm goes off and I half fall, half roll out of bed. Quickly stuffing my pjs in my pack, still half asleep, I grab the last of my things and head down to the lobby of the Grand Hotel in Cairo. Fellow YAGMs and travel buddies David and Luke are already waiting for me. We've begun our journey back home to Palestine after a cluttered, crazy, and collectively awesome trip to Egypt. </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KGuHig7eBiM/TUWw8PPGCnI/AAAAAAAAAM0/pk3n0oVsTUk/s1600/IMG_3108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="110" s5="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KGuHig7eBiM/TUWw8PPGCnI/AAAAAAAAAM0/pk3n0oVsTUk/s200/IMG_3108.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Giza in sepia with dog" <br />
(proper name for the photo I think..) </td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">While our time roaming around the pyramids, museums, and metro stations of Cairo was an unbelieveable experience, the more eye-opening of our adventures was yet to come. As you've probably noticed, I've gotten caught up in the concept of time, letting almost three months pass by without allowing you all the slightest insight into my growing love for and appreciation of my community here. No fear--more blogs to come about what's been going on these past few months. For now though, let me share my journey back home from my jaunt over to Egypt to give you a little hint into what at least one amazing and outrageous day in my life looked like. So sit back, and enjoy my ride... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">First leg: "<em>Is</em> there a bus back?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That's right--we headed off that smoggy morning with the mere hope that there would in fact be a bus that would pick us up from outside the Cairo Sheraton Hotel. We had clearly not planned our return nearly as well as we should have, researching online only the night before about buses back to the Taba border crossing. The only info we had--"bus to Taba--pick up at Sheraton at 6:00am. *unaffiliated with Sheraton Hotels. Book tickets atleast a day in advance." Whoops.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KGuHig7eBiM/TUWyrtkiA9I/AAAAAAAAAM4/BAD5_06f-5A/s1600/IMG_2895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" s5="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KGuHig7eBiM/TUWyrtkiA9I/AAAAAAAAAM4/BAD5_06f-5A/s200/IMG_2895.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coming up to the Taba Border <br />
on the Sinai</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Well, we sure hadn't booked tickets, but we decided to give it a try. Having arrived at the Sheraton at 5:00am and being reassured by a few hotel workers that a bus should coming (and they made sure we knew it was not affiliated with the hotel), we sat and waited. Long part of the story short, turns out the bus was to come at 7:30am, meaning we had a full 2 1/2 hours full of anxiety before our trip to the border was secured. Thankfully, the man in charge of boarding pitied us and we boarded our 8 hour ride across Egypt and Sinai.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Second Leg: "On the border of laughing and crying"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We made it to Taba. Thankful to be so close to Eilat, Israel (where we knew we could catch a bus at 5:30pm back to Jerusalem), Luke, David, and I made our way to the border control. Pleased with ourselves that our trans-Egyptian bus trip had gotten us to Taba by 3:00, we confidently stepped into line... at least what turned out to be the first line of many. Between ill-explained protocal (+45 minutes), a routine passport "extra security check" confiscation (+5 minutes), and having acquired too much coinage in my bag (+15 minutes at screening station), we made it across the border only to arrive at the Eilat bus terminal at 5:35pm. Yes, that's right--5 minutes after the last bus to Jerusalem headed off into the sunset. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Third Leg: "Show me the way to go home"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Decisions, decisions. Should we stay or should we go now? If January 7th was any other day, an overnight in Eilat might have sounded like a better idea, but in Beit Sahour, January 7th is Orthodox Christmas and I had to make it back for the festivities! Trudge on we did. Route? We bought tickets for the 8:00pm, five hour bus ride to Tel Aviv with little plan of what we'd do after that. All we knew was Tel Aviv was only an hour away from our homes as opposed to Eilat's four hour distance. Cramming our faces with bus terminal falafel, we filled our time up laughing at our own absurdity. (Were we really in high hopes or was it the lack of sleep!?) The bus pulled away on time, and finding our seats (the very last ones before we would've had to sit in the eisle for the whole trip, whew!) we moved into hour 17 of our journey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KGuHig7eBiM/TUWzkVCqC1I/AAAAAAAAAM8/-DuTB_WeG0c/s1600/IMG_3279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" s5="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KGuHig7eBiM/TUWzkVCqC1I/AAAAAAAAAM8/-DuTB_WeG0c/s200/IMG_3279.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David and Luke, utterly pooped,<br />
but almost home. (Forgive me guys,<br />
the picture was just too great.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Fourth leg: "27, 20, 25 New Israeli Shekel"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thank goodness we met a very friendly and kind woman on the bus to Tel Aviv. Becky, who lived in Jaffa and was on her way home with her daughter, was very concerned about how we would get to Jerusalem so late at night. She even asked the bus driver what our best option would be, walking all the way back to us right before her own stop to ensure we knew we could get a cheap "service"--and thank goodness for that! We were ready to shell out 250 NIS (over $60) for a private taxi, but upon arrival to the bus terminal, we discovered Becky was correct! Our hour long trip to Jerusalem turned out to be 27 NIS each. With each of us paying the service driver 20 NIS more, we got a ride straight to the Bethlehem checkpoint. Easy as pie, and much cheaper! With a 25 NIS taxi ride to Beit Sahour (what is normally a 15 NIS trip, I was too tired to bicker...), I made it back in my own bed by 2:30am. All-in-all, 22 hours on the journey of a life time. Beat Moses' record at least!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This semi-spontaneous (aka, poorly planned) trip was definitely one for the record books. Other than teaching me how to successfully navigate across a continental ledge, this trip gave me insight into much of what I've learned/experienced during my time here. Thanks to trust, community, confidence, flexibility, patience, and having an open-mind, we made it back safe and sound with a lot of pictures to share and experiences to reflect upon. More reflective blogs to come now that I'm back bloggin' action...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">...As I finish up this blog in the midst of the turmoil currently going on in Egypt, I lift up all those living in the region in my prayers, as well as though in Tunesia, Yemen, Lebanon, and Jordan. May there soon be justice, respect, and peace in these lands! While my day long venture full of smalls trials and troubles makes for a good story, their struggles definitely put my 1 day of travel concerns into perspective. May God's peace and love be with them all.</span></em>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-63931965209598771362010-10-30T18:48:00.002+02:002010-10-30T19:21:55.629+02:00feeling the beat of the reformationIn Palestinian music, there is one drumming pattern that can carry just about any tune. <br />
<br />
boom boom, tak ka tak boom, tak ka tak <br />
boom boom, tak ka tak boom, tak ka tak<br />
<br />
Sounds simple, yeah? Well, for the beginning tabla player (yuppers, just got one!) it is very difficult to get this beat to sound good, let alone get the correct beat down. Have you ever seen a baby trying to walk? You know how they get that look of determination in their eyes as they decide to trudge forward solo for few steps... then you know how they get that look of desperation in their eye as their feet either start leaving their body behind, or their body starts getting ahead of their waddling feet? Well, my hands = baby's feet, and I'm pretty sure I also mimic baby facial expressions subconsciuosly when I'm practicing this uber unsophisticated yet unimaginably difficult beat. ...Go ahead and ask my flatmate.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, that same metaphor can be applied to life here and in general. One minute, your in step with the ways of the world, marching to the beat of the communal drum. ...the next minute, you're tripping up and stumbling over where the down beat falls. Thankfully, I feel like after two months trying to mix a little of my own beat with that of life here, the two are coming together in some odd-ball symphonic declaration of "hear I stand!"<br />
<br />
Yup--here I am... just down the hill from the birthplace of Christianity with only a few days left before the celebration of the Reformation. What an interesting event to celebrate! Luther took a look around one day and said, "Hey, something is not right here. Something must be done. Let me come up with 95 reasons why things must change, and nail them to the door of a church. That'll do it!" ...If only reformation was that simple!<br />
<br />
It takes a lot of time and effort to reform a life, a system... a world-order. I find myself every day trying to reform my own habits and lifestyle to be more productive, more vibrant, and more loving... or at least I find myself <em>thinking</em> <em>about trying</em> to reform my life everyday. It's really not the easiest thing to do--reform, renew, revitalize yourself. How easily we start to settle into routine. Likewise, how easily we look at all that "is not right here" and begin to lose hope, forgetting that "something must be done." Reformation is a practice and a way of life. <br />
<br />
Over the past three blogless weeks, this has been a big item on my mind. How do we keep the big picture in mind when we get caught up in the everyday? How do we reform our daily lives in order to begin to live in harmony with those around us? How do remind ourselves that every decision we make has an effect on other? How do we reform our world into one of peace? <br />
<br />
Nail up some ideas to a door, of course! The idea of reformation seems as simple as the Palestinian drumbeat--boom boom ta ka ta boom ta ka ta. But how quickly we can lose the beat and forget the rhythym we were aiming for. Reformation takes time. Reformation takes practice. Now-a-days, reformation takes learning, growing, sharing, discovering, caring, and loving.<br />
<br />
As I continue through my time here, I plan on practicing reformation the same way I practice my drum: with enthusiasm, vigor, patience... and lots of prayer! Baby steps…<br />
<br />
Here I stand. I cannot do otherwise. God help me. Amen!Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-18618203898151237212010-10-03T18:06:00.007+02:002012-07-27T15:28:33.431+03:00what is this?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><span dir="rtl" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: 'Arabic Typesetting'; font-size: x-large; line-height: 115%;">شوهدا؟</span><span dir="ltr"></span><span dir="ltr"></span><span lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span dir="ltr"></span><span dir="ltr"></span> </span></strong></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span> </strong> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> </span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>“šū hāda?”</strong> </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If there is one Arabic phrase that I can pick out of most all fast-paced conversations I attempt to listen in on, it is "šū hāda?" (pronounced "shoe hada"), or "What is this?" When I hear this playful phrase used, I equivocate its meaning with something akin to any one of the following statements:* </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"What's up with that!?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Come on, seriously?"/"Really?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"What were/are you thinking?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"You can't be serious."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"What's going on here?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Yeah, right..."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">or, the obvious, "What is this?"/"What is this supposed to be?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">*Make sure to imagine I'm saying all of these phrases with a joking and playful smirk on my face. Realize that most of the time it's a fun, not judgemental, phrase!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">While used in said playful manner in everyday conversation among my Arabic speaking friends and colleagues, I think this simple phrase, with its many contextual meanings, can sum up a lot of my experiences and reflections over the last few weeks. Here goes...</span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>"What's up with that!?"</strong> --This past weekend, our small YAGM contingent went on a small excursion to Ein Gedi Nature Preserve and the Dead Sea as a part of extended orientation. We had a lovely morning hiking the cliffs surrounding the lowest place on earth, trying to make it above sea level before calling it quits. After coming face-to-face with a few hyrex's and refreshing ourselves in one of the waterfalls in the park, we spent the afternoon mudding up and floating around in the Dead Sea. Despite the heat, it was a beautiful and relaxing day in the sun--definitely something to experience! Now, why is it that we, as foreigners, can freely enjoy these natural wonders of Palestine when our Palestinian neighbors cannot visit these places without special permits? What's up with that? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>"Seriously?"/"Really?"</strong> --In the 11th grade English class that I help out in at school, the students were given an assignment. The exercise, meant to help improve English skills through creative writing, included three questions of which the students selected one to answer. The questions: 1) What needs do you have as a young Palestinian student? 2) What could you say to the world to show that Palestinian's are tolerant people and not terrorists? 3) What is special about your country Palestine? Shocked by the blunt nature of, say, question #2? I was, but these students are faced with the occupation everyday--even in their classrooms. Even if #2 was not a question, the occupation would still make its way into their written prompts. For instance, many of their answers to question #1 included that they, as students, need equal opportunities to use resources that they, as Palestinians, are denied. Now, those who answered #2 suggested that if people only came to experience Palestine, they would quickly understand Palestinians are not only tolerant but extremely generous and hospitable. If the world (especially the U.S.) could only see through the fog of media sources and into the hearts of the people, maybe we'd see things a little differently in the States (where we hold life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in the highest regard). The answer to #3? Yes, Palestine is special because of its religious value through the locational Holy sites, but the students made sure to focus on the rich culture steeped in tradition and community. Yes, it is a land... but how quickly we forget about the people. Really world? Why can't we take a step back and see Palestine through the eyes of its youth? <em>What is this</em> that these students even have these questions to answer let alone the fact that the world seldom listens to their response. Come on, seriously? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>"What were/are you thinking?"</strong> --As you may have heard on the news, there was great unrest last week around Old City Jerusalem. A Palestinian man was shot by an Israeli private security guard in the Silwan neighborhood just outside of Old City early in the morning. At the man's funeral on the Temple Mount later that day at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, riots broke out and reports of Palestinians throwing stones at Israelis surfaced. That is a very bare bones synopsis of the day's events. Still, what were they thinking, those who threw stones? Now--what are you thinking? Yes, violence is not the answer--is NEVER the answer--but did you know that stones are thrown by <i>Israelis</i> AT Palestinians, too? For instance, Israeli settlers have thrown stones at passing Palestinian children walking home from school in Hebron. Not everything makes the news... What a good time for a cliche-- "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind." ...Let's try and open our eyes. What are you thinking, now?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>"You can't be serious."</strong> --The settlement freeze just ended. I definitely have to do more reading on this, but I do know that the ending of the moratorium on settlement construction only means that the settlements that have been in the process of building through the moratorium (yeah they were still building illegally) can now continuing building legally? Or is it still illegal? A lot still to learn on this topic. All I can say right now is, "You can't be serious."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>"What's going on here?"</strong> --The West Bank is split into different zones to determine what authority is responsible for that land. Thus, there is a portion of the land that is under complete Isreali rule. Ironically, because one needs a permit (which are hard to come by) to build anything on these lands, Israel is helping to preserve the Palestinian landscape that is slowly dwindling away. Benji Boyadgian, an architect and artist, who happens to be the son of my friends' landlords, currently has an exhibit of black and white water color paintings depicting the "Vanishing Landscapes" of Palestine. I was able to make it to the opening of the exhibit in Bethlehem and my jaw dropped at how beautiful and simple such a landscape could be. It's odd to look at what appear to be simple paintings while knowing how complex the actual painting process can be. I encounter similar dichotomous thoughts when I walk down the streets here everyday. Life appears (and is) normal, but there is such a complexity to it that I can't even fathom. I can only continue to ask, "What's going on here?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>"Yeah, right..."</strong> --Despite all that is going on here, there is still much reason for celebration, so here's a funny little anecdote regarding what participating in a celebration may entail. So I finally got in touch with members of the Scouts with whom I hoped to play my trumpet. My timing was impeccable. I inquired about playing with the Scouts on a Tuesday morning, was told to come to practice that evening, and was marching alongside the Scouts in a celebratory parade for Bishop Younan, the newly elected President of the Lutheran World Federation, the next afternoon. I have to admit that when they told me that within 24 hours of practicing with them for the first time I would be marching through the streets of Beit Sahour with them, trumpet in hand, my first thought was--"yeah right!" While I expected to "walk alongside my neighbor" through the model of accompaniment this year, I did not expect that to include marching, too! Thank goodness for their welcoming and gracious spirit--loved every step of that small life journey. From what I've been told, it appears this was the first of many events I'll be able to participate in with the Scouts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>"What is this?"/"What is this supposed to be?"</strong> --Still in the process of figuring this one out. For now, this is learning. This is discovering. This is struggling. This is loving. What is this? A place that never ceases to catch me off guard, continuously surprises me around every corner, and perpetually gives me a lot to think about at the end of the day. So, what do <em>you</em> think? What is this? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><strong>“šū hāda?”</strong> --A girl trying to figure things out... time to turn the brain off, and let the heart do the learning. Peace to you all! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm." ~Willa Cather</span></em></div>
</div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-15783624259660685942010-09-13T17:10:00.000+02:002012-07-27T15:05:39.754+03:00an 11 hour lesson for life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Food. Family. Friends. This is the perfect combination for any social gathering, especially in Palestine. Every function I have been to has included these main components, and the joy and laughter that proceeds lasts for hours.<br />
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Just this past Sunday, there was food spread before me for approximately 11 hours straight. From the brunch celebration of the installation of Pastor Fred Strickert as the Pastor to Redeemer's English speaking congregation in Jerusalem, on to a family gathering taking place at our landlady's (Shadia's) home, and finally sharing in a small gathering over in Beit Jala with one of the English teachers, I enjoyed a day of non-stop visiting, eating, and chatting.<br />
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Now, there are a few things that I must note about such a food-filled day. Here is a sneakpeak (and possibly the only peak...) into "Eating for 11 hours?: Tips by Janelle."<br />
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Before we begin, it is imperative that you do not know that you may possibly... hmm, no... <em>will</em> be eating for such a period of time. If you have any inkling about the liklihood of such a smorgasbord, then just <em>pretend</em> you aren't aware of this possibility and proceed as directed.<br />
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1) Take small portions of everything. While normally this is in order to ensure that you don't take too much of something you won't like, I find it is beneficial just so you can make sure to fit some of everything on your plate. Now, eat slowly and savor each bite. Need something salty? Go for an olive--just make sure not to chomp down on the pit! Need something to mellow out the flavors and give a little sour zip? Yogurt is your answer--it is almost the ketchup of my Palestinian diet. You can put it on just about anything! For a sweet kick, check out the fresh fruits--especially pomegranate. D to the E to the Licious.<br />
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2) Most of the time you don't even have time to think about getting seconds before someone asks you if you'd like some more. Everyone is so giving and generous--take what you can eat if food is offered for you to grab, but it is also okay to politely mention that you might wait a little bit before diving in for more. You will eventually find yourself chomping away again soon enough! (Though I must make sure to say that no one is overbearing or pushy when they offer more food--the hospitality is simply such that people want to ensure you are feeling at home enough to grab more should you still happen to be hungry. They are looking out for each other (including you) all the time.)<br />
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3) Be trusting and bold--your hosts may chuckle and say, "Eat it first, then we'll tell you what it is," when bringing you a sample of food off of the grill, giving you and uneasy feeling of, "Oh my, what am I about to eat?" But of course they would never harm you! You can palate one bite (and maybe more!) of anything that at least looks like something you'd normally eat.<br />
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4) Wary of using your hands? Don't be. Make sure to follow suit with the people around of course, but normally picking away with your fingers is a-okay. The process of eating the food should be just as enjoyable as the process of tasting the food, and who wants to wrestle a chicken-wing with a fork before eating it? Save the forks for the salads. Dig in!<br />
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5) Know that you will almost always be offered tea and/or coffee whenever you visit with someone, no matter whether it's a quick visit or a long gathering. I cannot tell you the number of cups of tea or coffee you will drink in such an epic day. Just know that when enjoying a number of gatherings, you should be prepared to enjoy a caffeine surge, and a delicoius one at that!<br />
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6) Most important of all, know that as much as the food is a part of the day, it is simply a medium by which people come together. My biggest tip--make sure to enjoy and join in on conversations (especially when your rudimentary Arabic allows). It is the people that make the 11 hours great. The food, while delicious, is truly just icing on the cake. The jokes, stories, games, traditions, experiences, conversations, celebrations... these are the things that make a day "lived" rather than "survived." Food sustains the body, human relationships sustain the soul. (And, boy is a soul sustained after 11 hours). Make sure you hop into bed thankful for what you experienced because the truth of the matter is that, at the fundamental core, you experienced 11 solid hours of being loved and cared for. Now here's the trick--share that same spirit of love and care with the world for... I don't know... for forever? Yeah? Yeah.<br />
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Man, my guidebook makes that sound so easy, right? Well, a day like that definitely made me think about how I can share that same unending hospitality with others around me. Having been given so much, where and how am I now called to give? And the reflecting continues...<br />
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Before wrapping up this post (which only touches on a few experiences and reflections of the past week... no worries, more posts to come) I want to share a quick observation about the family bbq I attended with Shadia's family. Back home, it is usual that either my dad or my brother will man the grill on such an occasion. The pleasure (or burden?) of cooking all of the food is on their shoulders for the most part. Now, in the five hours that I spent sitting outside and enjoying the company of Shadia's extended family, I think I saw almost every member of the family mosey on over to the grill at one point or another to make sure things were running smoothly. Flip a kebab here, put some chicken on a plate there, sear a little fat for Janelle and Sarah to try... everyone took turns preparing parts of the meal. Though I couldn't understand most of what was being said, it didn't seem like people were being told to go and check on the grub. It just seemed so natural for the family to share in that task. Neato!<br />
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I'm sure there's something more to be said about what that means, or why I even happened to notice that dynamic, but I'll leave room for reflection...</div>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-79440554236590396732010-09-07T21:34:00.000+03:002010-09-08T16:00:44.276+03:00the thing about time is...Tomorrow marks two weeks in Israel/Palestine. With a week and a half of orientation under our belts, the other five YAGM and I began volunteering at our placement sites this past Monday.<br /><br />As James Taylor sings, "the thing about time is that time isn't really real." These words seem quite true now-a-days. While it feels like we have been in the country for so long, it also still feels like we have just arrived. Already we are saying, "there is time...," yet realizing that regardless of the ten and a half months left, time is surely slipping by fast. Two weeks!? Can't be....<br /><br />Inspired by that "facebook note" frenzy that I took part in two years ago, here are 25 random things about my time here so far... hopefully this will help to sum up all the joy and laughter as well as the reflection and contemplation that has made up these past two weeks.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514294355066889010" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KGuHig7eBiM/TIa1f_y0IzI/AAAAAAAAALU/ZrluQxVUSPU/s320/IMG_1170.JPG" /><br /><br />1. Public Transportation? Not a problem. Just make sure you're getting in the right cab that's going to the right spot for the right price. Normally a shared taxi ride (in a yellow and black cab for 2 1/2 NIS per person) will be your best bet to get to the main centers of Beit Jala, Bethlehem, and Beit Sahour. But beware--sometimes you need to take one or two of these to get to the place you're going. The blue buses? They only go short distances, but paying 1 1/2 NIS to get up the hill to Manger Square from Beit Sahour is well worth it. Need to get some place further away in a hurry? ...Say, the Bethlehem check-point from Beit Sahour? Get ready to dish out 15-20 NIS for a private taxi. Sound a little steep? Not really--$1 = 4 NIS. Some Arabic helps, too!<br /><br /><br />2. My love of falafels will only continue to grow throughout the year. I will never be sick of them. What's the saying? A falafel a day keeps the doctor away?<br /><br />3. We have been flipped (denied entrance) at check-points into Jerusalem twice when driving in for programming. While we've never had a problem walking through a check-point (once even with just a photo-copy of a passport), we have witnessed a Palestinian being flipped despite the fact that all his paperwork was in hand. Security?<br /><br /><br />4. We have successfully navigated through and out of Old City Jerusalem and on to the 21 bus (6 1/2 NIS) to get back into Bethlehem.<br /><br /><br />5. I've "chewed" icecream. Some ice-cream here has Arabic gum in it (an edible gum) that makes it kinda gummy. Imagine that! Gum making something gummy...<br /><br />6. On an ICAHD tour (Israeli Coalition Against Housing Demolition), we learned about, witnessed, and reflected upon the conflict that divides Israel and Palestine. The situation must improve. Inshallah, one day soon it will begin to do just that. (...now how do we join hands and help? This is a question I'm sure to ponder for more than just this year.)<br /><br /><br />7. My confidence in speaking Spanish has improved. I forgot what it was like to learn an entirely new language. Our lessons in Arabic are fun, but it is a difficult language to catch on to. Still, one day I hope to know enough to converse casually with my landlady's mother (who reminds me a lot of my mom's mom, Baba). For now, I find solace in the fact that I have in fact studied and somewhat retained another language already. It gives me hope for this coming year of Arabic! Thank you 6 years of Spanish! This is the most you've ever done for me...<br /><br /><br />8. I've discovered the beauty of Nescafe instant coffee. It ties me over in the morning until I arrive at school where I am able to grab a small (smaller than a tea-cup!) sized Arabic coffee during the short recess after 3rd period.<br /><br /><br />9. My landlady's (Shadia's) mom has graciously read my coffee grounds for me (which settle to the bottom of any/all cups of Arabic coffee), combining my admiration for her and my newly-found love of Arabic coffee. Oh, and my fortune is looking good for now!<br /><br />10. I learned how to make a snack (out of a roasted egg (like a hard-boiled egg), smushed on sesame bread, and topped with Za'atar (a Palestinian spice)) at midnight with Shadia's extended family last Friday night... I may or may not have eaten three of these assembled delicacies. Delicious.<br /><br /><br />11. I've rekindled my appreciation for journaling. While I still practically have to force myself to sit down and start writing, I find that I could reflect for days on what is going on around me here. Life goes on as normal. But there is a wall. Where does peace and justice fit into this world?<br /><br />12. I've learned the answer to that question isn't as clear cut as we all hope it would be... </p><p><br />13. "Love your neighbor" is the only answer I have right now.<br /><br /><br />14. I realize I agree with some parts of the wall--I mean, I agree with some <em>of the graffiti messages found on</em> parts of the wall. For instance, I agree with whoever wrote, "I think God hates this wall."<br /><br /><br />15. Community is at the core of life here. Having spent an evening with Shadia's extended family (including participating in one of the most intense pick-up soccer game of my life--Shadia and her sisters' sons and me vs. all of the brothers' children in a 5v5 show-down), I now know how important a simple gathering can be. What joy, what life, what vibrancy that family shares with each other by simply being together! So glad Sarah (my flatmate) and I were invited to join!<br /><br /><br />16. Proximity: While I expected that the 16 inch personal bubble I'm used to enjoying at all times in the United States might be disrupted by people I met here (which I don't mind at all), I failed to understand that that idea of this bubble of safe proximity might be disrupted by other things... like cars. Let me rephrase. I'm used to cars giving plenty of space when passing, sneaking through, maneuvering around anything. This is not the case here. With confidence, drivers pass by, through, and around people, parked/moving cars, buildings, walls, and the occasional cliff coming within an inch or so of what I would consider shear doom. Still, I have yet to see anyone even scrape another car. How do they do it? Magic. Must be.<br /><br /><br />17. Want a fig snack? Pick it fresh off the tree from my neighbors yard. Just make sure it's a little brown--means it's ripe. In other yards you can find pomegranates, olives, limes, and lemons. Sadly we missed apples :(<br /><br /><br />18. Pita, pita everywhere. Brilliant, really. Parents don't have to worry about cutting off crusts! (Not that mine ever did... ;)<br /><br /><br />19. Word association time: My thought process when put on the spot to sing a song for a couple members of Shadia's family--song, sing in shower, shower at home, home in Beit Sahour, Beit Sahour near Bethlehem, Christmas, winter, snow, uh... "jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way..."<br /><br /><br />20. Considering water to the West Bank is delivered from Israel (I believe once a month?), and everyone stores their water in water tanks/cisterns on top of their houses, the car game "water tower" (where the first person to spot water tower in the distance gets a point) has taken on new meaning.<br /><br /><br />21. Pick a clear day, walk up the Mount of Olives, and look to the east. The Dead Sea and the Jordanian mountains are right before your eyes.<br /><br /><br />22. Handala, a cartoon sketch of a Palestinian boy, is everywhere. Though life goes on as normal, Handala is a constant reminder of a land in conflict.<br /><br /><br />23. Regardless of how much English they know or don't know, most everyone makes sure to let us know we are "Welcome!"<br /><br /><br />24. "Simon Says" surpasses language barriers... for the most part. As does jump-rope.<br /><br /><br />25. While the Holy Land doesn't seem all that Holy sometimes, God is in this place. May God's peace be with us all. May we find that peace with one another. May we find that peace within ourselves. Inshallah, one day we'll all walk humbly with God.</p>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-9140359092299442122010-09-03T10:02:00.000+03:002010-09-03T11:34:54.931+03:00two months, one postCamp flew by. After I returned to Caroline Furnace from my week off, I took off running on many adventures of all sorts. From carp and bald-eagle filled canoe trips to coordinating a week of camp at Hungry Mother Lutheran Camp, to tenting on camp with younger campers and backpacking up Duncan's Knob with older campers, I was happy and content but utterly worn out by the end of the summer. Despite the exhaustion, I would not have changed the summer for anything. While camp always provides certain challenges to overcome, camp also provides a support network of true friends who will pick you up when you're down. Shout out to my Caroline Furnace people. You all are why camp was/is such a special place.<br /><br />Camp being donzo, I trekked back to MD in the early hours of August 14th to spend a day at Hershey Park, PA with my mom, brother, and nephew. One quick highlight from this laughter-filled day: We all decided to ride the Howler together, five-year-old nephew included. The Howler is like the favorite board-walk ride "tea-cups" to the max. You can spin yourself as fast as you'd like while the ride spins you up and down in the air with your feet dangling. My nephew jumped into a harnessed seat with no fear and stated, "I'm going to "moo" the entire ride!" Sure enough, as my mom screamed, I howled, and my brother laughed, my nephew "moo-ed" the whole time. Priceless.<br /><br />For the next three days, I was shopping, packing, and hanging out with family before departing for Chicago to start my year volunteering with a week of orientation. (Let me pause here to thank my family and friends for all of their support those hectic three days of transition from camp to YAGM. You made me laugh when I needed it, helped me focus when I had to, and gave me confidence to go into the unknown of this year with an open heart and mind!)<br /><br />Orientation in Chicago:<br />Held at the Lutheran School of Theology in Hyde Park, Chicago, orientation served as a week of devotion and reflection while providing tons of information to help us through the year. From discussions of inward reflection and spirituality to issues of religious pluralism followed by navigating public transportation in an unknown city, orientation helped prepare us for the broader concepts of what it means to be a missionary serving through the model of accompaniment. Essentially, orientation provided us the means by which we could depart being fully prepared for more country/placement intensive orientation. In one week, we grew close as we shared our faiths with each other, struggled with concepts of "being" and letting go of our expectations and control, and joined together in the knowledge that the next time we all met together, we would find ourselves changed. At 11:30am on August 25th, the five other Jerusalem/West Bank volunteers and I loaded up our bags, and departed for O'Hare to start our epic journey of faith and accompaniment.<br /><br />This was a summer for the books, as I'm sure this year will be. With our intensive in-country orientation almost complete--and now that I am all settled into my flat in Beit Sahour--be on the lookout for my reflections and anecdotes as I dive into the life and culture of Palestine by walking alongside my neighbors.<br /><br />Now for the real blog to begin...Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-64897274617433179792010-06-28T16:32:00.000+03:002010-06-28T17:09:27.219+03:00life is old there, older than the treesWhew. First week of camp is finished! Thirty-seven miles down the Shenandoah later I find myself with a strange <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">PFD</span> tan and a few bruises from jumping in and out of the canoes, but also with a smile on my face and lots of canned meat in my belly. All-in-all, a fantastic four day adventure floating from site to site camping alongside the river having packed everything we needed. "Country Road" is probably still resonating throughout the valley, having sung it multiple times a day for the past week. What better way to learn about "Keeping the Earth" (our summer curriculum) than to experience it 24/7 without the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">niceties</span> of AC and bathing! <br /><br />I'm currently sitting at my house in Maryland feverishly working on paperwork/fundraising for next year. To-do list in hand, I intend on tackling a good bit of it today. Wish me luck. I just received a packing list from the main Global Mission office as well--how exciting! Next years adventures are becoming more and more real. Now I just have to get all of my stuff together (hence the week off from camp). Thoughts and prayers are appreciated as I begin to transition around my time at Caroline Furnace. <br /><br />A big thank you to family and friends who have been a great help and support throughout the past few months! Love you all. Congratulations again to Joel and Danielle--your wedding was a highlight of my summer for many reasons. I look forward to seeing family and friends here and there throughout the summer! For now, it's back to the grindstone of organization and getting things done! Peace to you all.Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273388872998747701.post-3230129064562834252010-06-03T16:19:00.000+03:002010-09-08T16:20:57.255+03:00what was, and is, and is to comeGraduation wasn't just a dream? That's right--college is over. Hard to believe I won't be heading back to Williamsburg in August, but excited to see where life is taking me next. Well, I guess I know where that'll be for the next year...<br /><br />First, camp for the summer! Who can resist another 3 months in the cell-phoneless land of Fort Valley, VA, where a night on the town consists of a meal at the local family restaurant "Seven Bends" and a jaunt on over to scout out rollbacks at the Walmart. ...and that's not sarcasm--if you've experienced a summer at Caroline Furnace, you'd understand how special it is to spend the summer in Shenandoah. Looking forward to monthly firehouse BINGO nights, trips to the "$5 all-you-can-grab-bag" at the thrift store in Luray, and gallivanting around Harrisonburg when we really feel like getting out and about... and that's just on the weekends! Camp itself will surely be an adventure--spending overnights on the river, camping out on the top of mountains, and trekking around camp itself. Not to mention witnessing so many campers grow in faith in the midst of God's creation! I can practically smell the sunscreen already...<br /><br />After camp, (and the main reason to keep this blog up-to-date!) I'm off to Israel-Palestine for a year, participating as a Young Adult in Global Mission (YAGM, "yag-um") through Lutheran Global Missions for the year. Though I'm not certain of my exact placement quite yet, I will be serving in either Ramallah, Jerusalem, or Bethlehem. There will be 5 other YAGMs heading over to Israel-Palestine as well. We join all 43 YAGMs in Chicago on August 18th for a week of orientation before shipping out. Right now it seems so far away, but I'm sure time will fly until then!<br /><br />I'm in the beginning phases of organizing myself for the year--taking care of documents and papers, getting doctors and dentists appointments figured out, and working to raise the money necessary to support my year of service (If you're interested in learning how to help support me in this process, please email me for details)! This blog will serve as a way to keep everyone state-side up-to-date with all I'm up to throughout the summer in preparation and then throughout the year. So, keep on checking-in for what's sure to be an interesting read! I appreciate all thoughts and prayers as I prepare for the summer and the year--God's peace to you all!<br /><br /><em>"The new day dawns, and I am practicing my purpose once again. It is fresh and it is fruitful if I win, but if I lose--oh, I don't know. I'll be tired but I will turn and I will go--only guessing 'til I get there then I'll know--oh, I will know." -All Will be Well by the Gabe Dixon Band</em>Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04193309619583722740noreply@blogger.com0