Friday night fill-in...

It’s 8:00 on Friday evening. Which means that normally everything outside would be just keying up again, after Ifthar. I can hear the lazy chanting over the loudspeakers from several mosques that are near by. They mingle in a most interesting way with the noise from the streets, taxis, street cars, busy bustling life outside. It is so quiet in comparison to the evenings of the past week, where they’ve shot off cannons, blasted music, and basically partied until at least 2:00 every morning. Both a product of life here and the celebration of Ramadan. But today is Friday. And Fridays are “Sundays” here. So life has nearly ceased. Such a dichotomy to the normal rhythm of life in these streets.
We decided to go to church this morning. And as we walked past the gates the quiet seemed almost scary. It’s never quiet here during the day. We meandered towards the main street where we’ve been cactching taxis, our daily little march through the sandy, broken up, garbage littered streets. And normally we play “dodge that taxi”, but this morning we walked. Casually. Together. And like always as we hailed two taxis and told the drivers, “Shutz Academy, 15 pounds”, they both nodded and said “yes, yes”. We always assume they know where they’re going when they agree. Silly Americans. You should know better by now. We asked them to stay together. They didn’t. And when I say we had the scariest taxi ride we’ve had yet, that’s saying a lot! We drove down the Corniche (the coastal highway) at 120 miles an hour (no exaggeration). Only honking the horn to indicate others better move out of the way. I’m not sure he used his brakes until we turned back towards the city. And then we realized he had no idea where we were going. He began asking John, in Arabic, the address. Oh no. Wendy and Blu experienced the same thing. We were dumped roadside and left to figure it out on our own. And I don’t know how many times we’ve said it this week, but we said again, “Thank God for GPS”, as John whipped it out and pointed us towards the alley, that led to more alley, that led to more alley, until we finally came up on the school and were pushed through the gates by guards.
Do you remember Maranatha worship? It was the order of the day. All 80’s all the time during worship. We will HAVE to update the Pearson’s often with new stuff from home. Wendy says it’s essential. But it was precious to hear it sung with an Arabic lilt. There was such a mix in the little auditorium of faces and races. I loved it. The sermon title, “The Road Less Traveled”. A description of what the Pearson’s are walking out now…denying themselves and asking God to take over, regardless how hard. Isn’t God good? And the Pearson’s made some connections with others who have been in the same place they’re in now. Starting out. Needing direction and encouragement. We’re praying they continue to make connections like these as they search for home. I know they’re tired. It hasn’t been easy. They’re incredibly brave.
We left in search of a post-church meal. Just like home. Instead today, we walked with new friends from Uganda. And the streets were blocked at times by hundreds of men on prayer mats, spilling out of mosques. There were no women. And it took me some time to absorb that they’re not invited. Not allowed to worship. Can you imagine? My heart breaks for their hearts. They seem to be kept in cages. Don’t speak. Don’t look. Walk 2 steps behind me. They have no value. They’re covered and hidden and shushed. They don’t know there’s any other way. So I imagine they don’t share in my grief, but I make a point to look them in the eyes when they’ll meet mine. To tell them with a look that I see them and know their value with a smile. At least that’s what I wish they saw there. I’m sure most of the time they just see strawberry blonde hair and fair skin. I am a novelty. We all are for that matter. Sore thumbs, most definitely.

It feels almost like we’re living in a bubble, here in the halls of the monastery where we’re staying. It’s quiet. It’s clean. We have rare, cool air. Faces are friendly (I can actually look into faces here, where outside, I must keep my head down and walk behind the men). Perry and John have made friends and play a nightly game of Frisbee with the monks. And sometimes, a game of Maestro (a game they taught the boys) with the children who gather here several times a week. And yes, monks play Frisbee in their robes. There are sweet little smiley faced men who prepare breakfast every morning. Pita, laughing cow cheese (how random, it’s everywhere), a boiled egg, butter (that has become Wendy’s favorite), fig jam, and honey. Then there’s the little man who guards the front door, I call him my pocket friend. He has a huge smile. Is only shoulder height on me. And I’d love to take him with me where ever we go.
Tomorrow will be a new day. A new adventure. I’m doing my best to finish my last paper for this summer semester. I hate it had to come with me. But I didn’t have much of a choice. Continue to pray that we hear from God clearly. Pray protection. Pray peace for the children. For Wendy and Blu. Pray when they go to bed, that they sleep and wake restored. Pray endurance. Pray for a home, in a safe place at a fair price, and sooner rather than later. Pray protection over their relationships. Pray for more relationship in new connections. Pray for healing, John may have to find a doctor tomorrow as he’s still barely hearing out of his right ear. Pray for restoration for Tammy, Perry, John and I. I’m fighting migraines as hard as I can…stress, no sleep, paper writing, and the heat make for a nasty combination. It is so clear that God is building some strong foundation for them as we’ve been here this last week. Tested and tried. That’s what I keep thinking. Can you imagine the impact they’re going to have? I cannot wait to hear and see the ripple effect from just their obedience in moving. How much more are they going to see as they continue to move forward and blaze new trails?

We have stories to tell. We can’t wait to share them. We miss all of your faces. I miss my girls in a way that makes my heart sick. We’ll be home soon enough, though.