Already I have learned so much...teen pregnancy is EVERYWHERE I look. The street harassment continues. Sirens roar. Police roam. But here, in this family..I am loved and protected all the way out into the streets.
Quita introduces me to everyone as her sis which gives some people quite a laugh, while others just accept me as family. Marqueese and Tyrek have taken Nick and Scotty's place as protectors and never fail to watch out for me or cuss somebody out who is disrespectful.
Cliff and Sabrina leave me in awe with all they have on their plate and all they continue to do...picking up families on the street to give a ride home, late night football practices, neighborhood drama, and being there for the kids.
I cant believe I get to do this.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Dreams or Dimension?
What is real?
Abilities to taste, touch, hear, see, feel?
Desires to be?
Wishes for me?
I think myself sick
I beg the clock not to tick
What is real?
Spinning deeper into space
Falling further from spoken grace
Creating a plastic, synthetic, silicone mold
That bombards your roots, contradicts what youre told
Wake up from the dream?
No sleep till your seen!
Daydreams at night.
Nightmares at light.
What is real?
Trust who you are-wait-i cant see that far!
Trust who you know-wait-what is friend, what is foe?
Impulse drives action, is it always temporary satisfaction?
Why are you doing this? or why am i here?
Who is this soul starring back in the mirror?
Is it fate or my power?
Is it faith or the hour?
The emotion of this is too much to release, the sound is my source only when will it cease?
What is real?
You?
Me?
Him?
Her?
Tasted?
Touched?
Felt?
Heard?
Real isnt a constant, but rather a word.
What is real?
Abilities to taste, touch, hear, see, feel?
Desires to be?
Wishes for me?
I think myself sick
I beg the clock not to tick
What is real?
Spinning deeper into space
Falling further from spoken grace
Creating a plastic, synthetic, silicone mold
That bombards your roots, contradicts what youre told
Wake up from the dream?
No sleep till your seen!
Daydreams at night.
Nightmares at light.
What is real?
Trust who you are-wait-i cant see that far!
Trust who you know-wait-what is friend, what is foe?
Impulse drives action, is it always temporary satisfaction?
Why are you doing this? or why am i here?
Who is this soul starring back in the mirror?
Is it fate or my power?
Is it faith or the hour?
The emotion of this is too much to release, the sound is my source only when will it cease?
What is real?
You?
Me?
Him?
Her?
Tasted?
Touched?
Felt?
Heard?
Real isnt a constant, but rather a word.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
LOADED LETTERS.
ASSIMILIATION.
DEGREDATION.
FALSE JUSTIFICATION.
TRUE MOTIVATION.
GLOBALIZATION.
CRIPPLING TAXATION.
DEADLY COMPENSATION.
CORRUPT INCARCERATION.
PRETEND EDUCATION.
LATE TRASNPORTATION.
SLEEK GENTRIFICATION.
DRAWING WALLS TO SEPARATION.
BLOWING BONDS TO UNIFICATION.
TASTING NAMES TO STARVATION.
CLIPPING WINGS TO THE DEPENDENT GENERATION.
DEGREDATION.
FALSE JUSTIFICATION.
TRUE MOTIVATION.
GLOBALIZATION.
CRIPPLING TAXATION.
DEADLY COMPENSATION.
CORRUPT INCARCERATION.
PRETEND EDUCATION.
LATE TRASNPORTATION.
SLEEK GENTRIFICATION.
DRAWING WALLS TO SEPARATION.
BLOWING BONDS TO UNIFICATION.
TASTING NAMES TO STARVATION.
CLIPPING WINGS TO THE DEPENDENT GENERATION.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I want to see a shrink.
June 9, 2010
I want to see a shrink.
In fact I NEED to see a shrink.
The shrink in my mind that has shrunk the bind of the book reading my prime, discovering Divine, contrasting time, tasting grime, touching behind what most see as slime. My Empire stakes the sign revealed while oceans across read my sign as a shield for pain and their gain, radical claims and praise for the sane. As if they are lacking what I found while packing and seem to misplace the trace of my face with the spin of a top that tossed my head with the herd, (at a pace completely absurd!) then ran into a fence caught up in somebody else’s missing link. I want to see a shrink.
THE shrink. Of my prior location, exquisite vocation, walled only with imagination, erasing degradation, solidifying liquidation for handfuls of edification. Walk with me. On the frail walls of my imagination to the space that lay created to be without reason, motivation, or sophistication. Only beings allowed to be. I want out of this trap cutting holes in memories rich with longevities for stories to fall down stairwells of future leaders birthed to be tall above nations with walls and people that know nothing about them. Forcing an out of the physical, into the intellectual. Out of my hand into my head. Out of my eyes into their lies. Out of my heart into new dark-nestled in images straining for dimensions beyond apprehensions of grace and love and peace and pink.
I want to see a shrink.
Or perhaps id rather see what the shrink could possibly say to the fact that their title alone goes against everything I already know too well. Perhaps a gardener could help me to grow and let me retell...with a trip to my reflection staring back from your well.
I want to see a shrink.
In fact I NEED to see a shrink.
The shrink in my mind that has shrunk the bind of the book reading my prime, discovering Divine, contrasting time, tasting grime, touching behind what most see as slime. My Empire stakes the sign revealed while oceans across read my sign as a shield for pain and their gain, radical claims and praise for the sane. As if they are lacking what I found while packing and seem to misplace the trace of my face with the spin of a top that tossed my head with the herd, (at a pace completely absurd!) then ran into a fence caught up in somebody else’s missing link. I want to see a shrink.
THE shrink. Of my prior location, exquisite vocation, walled only with imagination, erasing degradation, solidifying liquidation for handfuls of edification. Walk with me. On the frail walls of my imagination to the space that lay created to be without reason, motivation, or sophistication. Only beings allowed to be. I want out of this trap cutting holes in memories rich with longevities for stories to fall down stairwells of future leaders birthed to be tall above nations with walls and people that know nothing about them. Forcing an out of the physical, into the intellectual. Out of my hand into my head. Out of my eyes into their lies. Out of my heart into new dark-nestled in images straining for dimensions beyond apprehensions of grace and love and peace and pink.
I want to see a shrink.
Or perhaps id rather see what the shrink could possibly say to the fact that their title alone goes against everything I already know too well. Perhaps a gardener could help me to grow and let me retell...with a trip to my reflection staring back from your well.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
May 18, 2010
Wealth.
You know that stuff that dress some and starve the rest? Clothe his desire, enhance her breasts? Shape my story but take my breath? Green stuff. that breeds greedy to necessity, personality to annuity, impulse to impurity? That stuff.
Wealth.
It's a "welcome home! From Egypt or that place you were far away without freedom, clean water, bikinis, margaritas and well... money. Im so glad you are back, I bet it feels great"
Actually no. it doesn't. I don't want to roll up to 10,000 dollar remodels, gardeners cutting grass alongside their potential, security guards patrolling the gated compound of a life sized doll house duplicated in a space picture perfect for the camera, gate code in hand, smiling kids in the van, hot daughters walking pretty dogs, oh wait that's a mom, wearing her daughters clothes and her husband tom's..wealth.
You know that stuff that dress some and starve the rest? Clothe his desire, enhance her breasts? Shape my story but take my breath? Green stuff. That breeds greedy to necessity, personality to annuity, impulse to impurity? That stuff.
The weapon in the war, power over poor, wind that shuts the door, blood that paints gore, a reward for the whore, rapper alike driven by bling caught up in the sing-song of a life that waits on nothing but price. Forget who you are, what that means, where he is. Stop searching for "you" trapped in superficial stealth, screw him. Take the wealth.
It's a "welcome home! From Egypt, or that place you were far away without freedom, clean water, bikinis, margaritas, and well.. money. Im so glad youre back, I bet it feels great"
Wealth.
You know the stuff that brings tears with my ice water, criticism to my lips, and pain to my stomach (actually that could be from the parasite) Wealth is the green stuff that keeps me up at night.
Wealth.
You know that stuff that dress some and starve the rest? Clothe his desire, enhance her breasts? Shape my story but take my breath? Green stuff. that breeds greedy to necessity, personality to annuity, impulse to impurity? That stuff.
Wealth.
It's a "welcome home! From Egypt or that place you were far away without freedom, clean water, bikinis, margaritas and well... money. Im so glad you are back, I bet it feels great"
Actually no. it doesn't. I don't want to roll up to 10,000 dollar remodels, gardeners cutting grass alongside their potential, security guards patrolling the gated compound of a life sized doll house duplicated in a space picture perfect for the camera, gate code in hand, smiling kids in the van, hot daughters walking pretty dogs, oh wait that's a mom, wearing her daughters clothes and her husband tom's..wealth.
You know that stuff that dress some and starve the rest? Clothe his desire, enhance her breasts? Shape my story but take my breath? Green stuff. That breeds greedy to necessity, personality to annuity, impulse to impurity? That stuff.
The weapon in the war, power over poor, wind that shuts the door, blood that paints gore, a reward for the whore, rapper alike driven by bling caught up in the sing-song of a life that waits on nothing but price. Forget who you are, what that means, where he is. Stop searching for "you" trapped in superficial stealth, screw him. Take the wealth.
It's a "welcome home! From Egypt, or that place you were far away without freedom, clean water, bikinis, margaritas, and well.. money. Im so glad youre back, I bet it feels great"
Wealth.
You know the stuff that brings tears with my ice water, criticism to my lips, and pain to my stomach (actually that could be from the parasite) Wealth is the green stuff that keeps me up at night.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010
On an axis of pain, gain and attempts to sustain a sphere of life spins into cultural change, dynamic disarrange and exotic exchange.
The reality of real never ceases to appease the doctor and diseased, children and deceased, famine and the feast. A land of real, a land to feel, a land all wish to hold and steal. Its taste will leave you longing, its teeth will leave you bleeding for the day of return or a sun that never burns, ashes without urns, desire with yearn, truth without the learn.
Christians, Muslims, Doubters must meet, which one is you which one is me.
On a road to the truth we stop for nothing but maps, some say theyre traps, disillusioned raps for the weak to hold while the steady stand bold but we know theres more to what lies in store and what to live for, without saying no to the friend or the foe for what could be and should, would be and will, if we just look up and say there is truth in your way, so i see you for you, not the garment you chose or the wealth you abuse, but the heart you hold dear between fingers of fear and pain driven tears- Just. Like. Mine.
Christians, Muslims, Doubters must meet, which one is you which one is me.
On an axis of pain, gain and attempts to sustain a sphere of life spins into cultural change, dynamic disarrange and exotic exchange.
The reality of real never ceases to appease the doctor and diseased, children and deceased, famine and the feast. A land of real, a land to feel, a land all wish to hold and steal. Its taste will leave you longing, its teeth will leave you bleeding for the day of return or a sun that never burns, ashes without urns, desire with yearn, truth without the learn.
Christians, Muslims, Doubters must meet, which one is you which one is me.
On a road to the truth we stop for nothing but maps, some say theyre traps, disillusioned raps for the weak to hold while the steady stand bold but we know theres more to what lies in store and what to live for, without saying no to the friend or the foe for what could be and should, would be and will, if we just look up and say there is truth in your way, so i see you for you, not the garment you chose or the wealth you abuse, but the heart you hold dear between fingers of fear and pain driven tears- Just. Like. Mine.
Christians, Muslims, Doubters must meet, which one is you which one is me.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
May 3, 2010
I have been dropped into a false reality, or so my senses conclude. There is nothing but cleanliness and seclusion, technology and illusion. Pretty people adorned with pretty things living in a pretty place without any sort of contrasting dimensional space. How do I reason with this culture I am told to embrace for its familiarity when I find it difficult to even open my eyes? I can't get myself to open my closet and really see what fills the shelves. I am wearing only clothes out of my suitcase all of which fulfill the modesty standards of the Middle East-definitely not that of sunny California. I can't get myself to listen to conversations of petty pleasures followed by offensive language and enthusiastic comments for immoral behavior on television, all of which i never thought twice about 6 months ago. Where is the community? Where are the men sitting in ahwas talking day in and day out about life and its nature? Where are the women gathered together in the home behind walls of social norms who smile and dance to the beats of Arabia without a veil to stop them? Where is the call to prayer? And the presence of God before everything? I cant seem to hear it from my bedroom anymore. Perhaps the microphone is broken, the Imam is whispering or I am sleeping too soundly in the consciousness of a culture I am supposed to know but cant seem to remember anything about.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
April 27, 2010
I love waking up to the sounds of Agouza and the man pushing his bread cart through the street yelling at the top of his lungs. I love walking out of my flat, saying good morning to the guards and being greeted with kisses and a warm embrace from the beautiful woman on the corner who sells me bread. I love buying fresh melons off of the donkey carts draped with grass and passing men praying in the street next to ahwas full of men smoking shisha and playing dominos or backgammon. I love wandering into my favorite bakery where the owner knows exactly what I am looking for- date bars. I love that they are like 2 cents! I love waiting until evening and going to the nut man who proposes to us girls everytime we go. I love that I am not even fazed by the fact that half the time there are maggots or sand mixed with the nuts (especially the ones he gives us to try and we have to eat and react positively in his presence). I love that I can get a taxi, and always count on a good laugh simply because I try to speak in Arabic and always say things wrong. I love the simply life I have been given to live here in Egypt. I want nothing more than to take this simplicity with me back to America and to spend my days being intentional about hospitality (especially to strangers), choosing people over performance, and seeking God seriously for authority and spiritual strength to exchange the natural instinct of exclusion for a God honoring attitude of embrace.
Maasalaama Misr. I will miss you...but I will be back.
I love waking up to the sounds of Agouza and the man pushing his bread cart through the street yelling at the top of his lungs. I love walking out of my flat, saying good morning to the guards and being greeted with kisses and a warm embrace from the beautiful woman on the corner who sells me bread. I love buying fresh melons off of the donkey carts draped with grass and passing men praying in the street next to ahwas full of men smoking shisha and playing dominos or backgammon. I love wandering into my favorite bakery where the owner knows exactly what I am looking for- date bars. I love that they are like 2 cents! I love waiting until evening and going to the nut man who proposes to us girls everytime we go. I love that I am not even fazed by the fact that half the time there are maggots or sand mixed with the nuts (especially the ones he gives us to try and we have to eat and react positively in his presence). I love that I can get a taxi, and always count on a good laugh simply because I try to speak in Arabic and always say things wrong. I love the simply life I have been given to live here in Egypt. I want nothing more than to take this simplicity with me back to America and to spend my days being intentional about hospitality (especially to strangers), choosing people over performance, and seeking God seriously for authority and spiritual strength to exchange the natural instinct of exclusion for a God honoring attitude of embrace.
Maasalaama Misr. I will miss you...but I will be back.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
4-10-10
THINK.
"If everyone demanded peace instead of another television set, then there'd be peace" -John Lennon
Truth??
I have never seen division. Physical division because of nationality. It is a horrific thing.
Exclusion. A horrific thing indeed.
Embrace. A need we can live to fill.
My thoughts to God after a day spent with Palestinian students, who quickly became dear friends, on the other side of the wall (also known as the West Bank, also known as Palestine, also known as Bethlehem, also known as occupied territory)
God, I hurt. I hurt so deeply, I can't breathe. I can't smile. I can't catch my balance. You love me. I know. But you love them too. How can people be so cruel to one another and then try to justify it? How can we continue to kill each other, exploit them for our benefit, tear families apart, and demonize people into enemies that must be destroyed? How can you stand to see this among your children? I almost cannot bear it. I havent felt like this since Brooklyn. I havent felt this deep of a pain for your heart since i cried out to you on my knees in the prayer room of the Bushwick building with the children in the ghetto. When i was in Bethlehem I felt the people and I felt the problems. I saw their faces. Their pain and their smiles. Politically i can argue both sides of the debate with numbers, facts, and reason but as a human i often succumb to the beats of my heart and the taste of my tears. I refuse to take political stands or join a fight that is not mine out of motivations to justify the divide between what i see and what i know, but i still hurt.
Some days I smile. Some days i cry. Some days i dream for what could be and should simply because we are all people. The complexities make it easy to forget that, but my heart hurts for the people. Some days that is all i know for certain. Today is one of those days.
THINK.
"If everyone demanded peace instead of another television set, then there'd be peace" -John Lennon
Truth??
I have never seen division. Physical division because of nationality. It is a horrific thing.
Exclusion. A horrific thing indeed.
Embrace. A need we can live to fill.
My thoughts to God after a day spent with Palestinian students, who quickly became dear friends, on the other side of the wall (also known as the West Bank, also known as Palestine, also known as Bethlehem, also known as occupied territory)
God, I hurt. I hurt so deeply, I can't breathe. I can't smile. I can't catch my balance. You love me. I know. But you love them too. How can people be so cruel to one another and then try to justify it? How can we continue to kill each other, exploit them for our benefit, tear families apart, and demonize people into enemies that must be destroyed? How can you stand to see this among your children? I almost cannot bear it. I havent felt like this since Brooklyn. I havent felt this deep of a pain for your heart since i cried out to you on my knees in the prayer room of the Bushwick building with the children in the ghetto. When i was in Bethlehem I felt the people and I felt the problems. I saw their faces. Their pain and their smiles. Politically i can argue both sides of the debate with numbers, facts, and reason but as a human i often succumb to the beats of my heart and the taste of my tears. I refuse to take political stands or join a fight that is not mine out of motivations to justify the divide between what i see and what i know, but i still hurt.
Some days I smile. Some days i cry. Some days i dream for what could be and should simply because we are all people. The complexities make it easy to forget that, but my heart hurts for the people. Some days that is all i know for certain. Today is one of those days.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
ISRAEL
Everything is real!
The Bible is coming alive with every breath I take in Jerusalem. It’s real. It’s all real and I am here to live among it during Holy Week. I am walking where Jesus walked. I am touching what He touched. Tomorrow is Good Friday and I am in the land where my Savior was crucified.
I wonder how I got here. Sitting through the suns good morning in a garden of life’s vibrancies in Jerusalem. On Good Friday.
I wonder how I got here. Walking through the hills of history following the footsteps of a Savior bruised and broken on the path to my redemption.
I wonder how I got here. I wonder why God picked me, or perhaps I picked him? To guide me through His gates all the way to His arms of grace.
I wonder how I got here today, but often I wonder why I am still here.
The Reality of Real
The reality of real never ceases to appease the doctor and diseased, children and deceased, famine and the feast. A land of real, a land to feel, a land all wish to hold and steal. Its taste will leave you longing, its teeth will leave you bleeding for the day of return or a sun that never burns. Ashes without urns, desire without the yearn, truth without the learn.
On Good Friday, I don’t know what to feel. The church of the Holy Sepulcher was a display of beautiful religion but I couldn’t help but feel disconnected, out of place and even barricaded from the spiritual experience I anticipated. The gold, jewels, glass, and stone is beyond impressive to human eyes but it did nothing to my heart and soul but stir my hands to take action with my camera. I can’t help but feel contradiction in what Jesus stood for and represented and the building that not stands to honor and worship Him at His tomb. The people of utter devotion and sincere obedience pressed up against me from all sides were the ones I left moved by-not the service. Watching people poor out perfume and oil, kiss stones, lay down jewelry and money, through tears of awe and wails of surrender are visuals I will never forget.
JORDAN
Food poisoning has almost been the death of me the last two days, so besides a revitalizing day at a resort along the Dead Sea outside of Amman, I have nothing to say except do not drink fresh strawberry juice from the sun baked barrel of strawberries on the streets of Syria :( EVER.
RECENT TANGENTS I find myself discussing:
I don’t want to try to fix people, I want to live a life that empowers people to fix themselves.
You can be an evangelist for many things, what do you evangelize? Are you aware of it? How often are you motives central to your own personal desires and dreams rather than the well being of others?
I cannot expect others to live and think the same way that I do simply because they have not had the same experiences as I have had. As basic as the concept may sound it is one I often dismiss into judgment, frustration, and even arrogance.
How much of your life is about you? A humbling question I instantly felt myself squirm over because I know the answer is not what it should be.
We live everyday with baggage of injustice, but we also live everyday with opportunities to be involved.
As Americans it is easy to skim over Christ’s command to love you enemies because more often than not we claim to not have any real enemies. In my experiences I can say that just as holders of a United States passport, you have enemies. You have enemies all over the world. Some stem from western power and affluence, some towards the privilege of knowing English as a first language, some solely because of our invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan, and some out of pure ignorance to the diverse public opinion in North America. Another way to look at the enemy notion is through the understanding that your enemies are who you are most mad at. That surely doesn’t let anyone off the hook as we would like.
SYRIA
We crossed the border at midnight and drove through rain and darkness to Hama where we slept for a few hours before continuing our drive to Damascus. Hama was the ground for a serious massacre led by the government in 00000000 On the way we stopped at the world’s oldest crusader castle still intact, Saint Takla’s monastery, and then an Aramaic speaking village (one of the languages that Jesus spoke). There are only 3 Aramaic speaking villages left in the world, and we visited the only one where Christians are largely represented among the Muslims, the other two are predominately Muslim inhabitants. The bishop who spoke to us there radically changed my life. He first explained the iconography in the monastery and the intricate meaning behind each picture. Then he spoke about the saints, specifically Mary, and how they are used as spiritual guides, because after all if Mary really is Jesus’ mother she must be of significant wisdom. This is not to say that she should be worshipped as an equal to God but I think the bishop put it beautifully when he said that she can do for us exactly what she is doing in all of the iconographies- pointing to Jesus. We all gathered in the church which is in a cave on the mountain overlooking the village and he recited the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic. The prayer was the most beautiful spoken sound I have ever heard and imagine ever will. Words cannot suffice for explaining how touched and emotional I felt from the inner depths of my soul all the way to the outer flesh of my being from the simple prayer I have heard a hundred times.
The Old City of Damascus has a kind of charm that will stamp itself on your heart. Arguably in the run for my favorite city in the world.
TURKEY
Istanbul is a gorgeous city that serves as a bridge between the East and the West in culture, consumerism, and character. It is a fascinating picture of transformation, western influence, economic growth and also significant controversy. I am amazed at the remains of the Ottoman Empire and its roots that have yet to be dug up in dialogue. I am overwhelmed with the history of Ataturk, a single man who successfully stripped his country of eastern culture to introduce western behavior for economic increase. After meeting with journalists, political leaders, human rights activists, religious leaders, and interacting with shopkeepers and students I found my mind blown into a million questions and possibilities for Turkey’s future. Ferry trips along the Bosporus watching palaces and castles pass by, Turkish karaoke; used book stores and decadent food and fashion were daily perks. It was only natural to fall deeply in love with Istanbul, promising to return despite (and maybe in spite of) the complexity of its politics.
Everything is real!
The Bible is coming alive with every breath I take in Jerusalem. It’s real. It’s all real and I am here to live among it during Holy Week. I am walking where Jesus walked. I am touching what He touched. Tomorrow is Good Friday and I am in the land where my Savior was crucified.
I wonder how I got here. Sitting through the suns good morning in a garden of life’s vibrancies in Jerusalem. On Good Friday.
I wonder how I got here. Walking through the hills of history following the footsteps of a Savior bruised and broken on the path to my redemption.
I wonder how I got here. I wonder why God picked me, or perhaps I picked him? To guide me through His gates all the way to His arms of grace.
I wonder how I got here today, but often I wonder why I am still here.
The Reality of Real
The reality of real never ceases to appease the doctor and diseased, children and deceased, famine and the feast. A land of real, a land to feel, a land all wish to hold and steal. Its taste will leave you longing, its teeth will leave you bleeding for the day of return or a sun that never burns. Ashes without urns, desire without the yearn, truth without the learn.
On Good Friday, I don’t know what to feel. The church of the Holy Sepulcher was a display of beautiful religion but I couldn’t help but feel disconnected, out of place and even barricaded from the spiritual experience I anticipated. The gold, jewels, glass, and stone is beyond impressive to human eyes but it did nothing to my heart and soul but stir my hands to take action with my camera. I can’t help but feel contradiction in what Jesus stood for and represented and the building that not stands to honor and worship Him at His tomb. The people of utter devotion and sincere obedience pressed up against me from all sides were the ones I left moved by-not the service. Watching people poor out perfume and oil, kiss stones, lay down jewelry and money, through tears of awe and wails of surrender are visuals I will never forget.
JORDAN
Food poisoning has almost been the death of me the last two days, so besides a revitalizing day at a resort along the Dead Sea outside of Amman, I have nothing to say except do not drink fresh strawberry juice from the sun baked barrel of strawberries on the streets of Syria :( EVER.
RECENT TANGENTS I find myself discussing:
I don’t want to try to fix people, I want to live a life that empowers people to fix themselves.
You can be an evangelist for many things, what do you evangelize? Are you aware of it? How often are you motives central to your own personal desires and dreams rather than the well being of others?
I cannot expect others to live and think the same way that I do simply because they have not had the same experiences as I have had. As basic as the concept may sound it is one I often dismiss into judgment, frustration, and even arrogance.
How much of your life is about you? A humbling question I instantly felt myself squirm over because I know the answer is not what it should be.
We live everyday with baggage of injustice, but we also live everyday with opportunities to be involved.
As Americans it is easy to skim over Christ’s command to love you enemies because more often than not we claim to not have any real enemies. In my experiences I can say that just as holders of a United States passport, you have enemies. You have enemies all over the world. Some stem from western power and affluence, some towards the privilege of knowing English as a first language, some solely because of our invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan, and some out of pure ignorance to the diverse public opinion in North America. Another way to look at the enemy notion is through the understanding that your enemies are who you are most mad at. That surely doesn’t let anyone off the hook as we would like.
SYRIA
We crossed the border at midnight and drove through rain and darkness to Hama where we slept for a few hours before continuing our drive to Damascus. Hama was the ground for a serious massacre led by the government in 00000000 On the way we stopped at the world’s oldest crusader castle still intact, Saint Takla’s monastery, and then an Aramaic speaking village (one of the languages that Jesus spoke). There are only 3 Aramaic speaking villages left in the world, and we visited the only one where Christians are largely represented among the Muslims, the other two are predominately Muslim inhabitants. The bishop who spoke to us there radically changed my life. He first explained the iconography in the monastery and the intricate meaning behind each picture. Then he spoke about the saints, specifically Mary, and how they are used as spiritual guides, because after all if Mary really is Jesus’ mother she must be of significant wisdom. This is not to say that she should be worshipped as an equal to God but I think the bishop put it beautifully when he said that she can do for us exactly what she is doing in all of the iconographies- pointing to Jesus. We all gathered in the church which is in a cave on the mountain overlooking the village and he recited the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic. The prayer was the most beautiful spoken sound I have ever heard and imagine ever will. Words cannot suffice for explaining how touched and emotional I felt from the inner depths of my soul all the way to the outer flesh of my being from the simple prayer I have heard a hundred times.
The Old City of Damascus has a kind of charm that will stamp itself on your heart. Arguably in the run for my favorite city in the world.
TURKEY
Istanbul is a gorgeous city that serves as a bridge between the East and the West in culture, consumerism, and character. It is a fascinating picture of transformation, western influence, economic growth and also significant controversy. I am amazed at the remains of the Ottoman Empire and its roots that have yet to be dug up in dialogue. I am overwhelmed with the history of Ataturk, a single man who successfully stripped his country of eastern culture to introduce western behavior for economic increase. After meeting with journalists, political leaders, human rights activists, religious leaders, and interacting with shopkeepers and students I found my mind blown into a million questions and possibilities for Turkey’s future. Ferry trips along the Bosporus watching palaces and castles pass by, Turkish karaoke; used book stores and decadent food and fashion were daily perks. It was only natural to fall deeply in love with Istanbul, promising to return despite (and maybe in spite of) the complexity of its politics.
Monday, March 8, 2010
3-5-10 [In route to Alexandria]
I am writing a paper on the consequences of an unequal encounter between the Middle East and the West. I am overwhelmed by the oppressive actions and systemic reform that has taken place to create the despairing realities we have today. I am constantly reminded that prosperity comes at the cost of the other. Exploitation takes face for the footsteps of the powerful time and time again, and for that I am always saddened.
I used to think that institutions held the high cards for change. I used to think that if the right players were on the team humanity had a chance at winning.
I was wrong.
The more invested I become in the people and problems of our world the more I realize the importance of relational action on a micro level; person to person. Not system to citizen, or country to community. Such relations routinely resort to violators and victims on a quest for power or even “democracy”. The self interest in every nation has the potential to destroy all that is good. The self interest in every individual has the potential to destroy all that could be good. The selfless interest that God teaches and develops in every individual who seeks it has the potential to transform destruction into construction. A construction site that is laid with love, stacked with sacrifice and built with belief that change will come when we realize it is in ourselves.
“We need Christians to return back to their Christ”
2-28-10
I climbed Mount Sinai.
The journey began at 11:30pm when we left Dahab for Saint Catherine’s. We spent two days in Dahab (on the coast of Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula) staring at Saudi Arabia which is 13 miles away and snorkeling at the Blue Hole in the Red Sea. We drove for 3 hours arriving at the base of Mount Sinai at 2:30am welcomed by temperatures in the low 30's F and an arctic wind that blew strong enough at the top to move me from my place. We climbed the first two hours by the light of the moon amidst severe camel traffic stopping twice for tea/snacks/shelter from the cold in the shacks along the way up the mountain. After 2 hours, we reached the 770 stone steps built by a monk that make up the stairs of penance. We stopped at the top for more tea and blankets before the sunrise at 6:15am. Then we proceeded to sit on the edge of the mountain bundled in blankets, our feet dangling over a distance too vast to describe. We watched a sunrise that brought new meaning to the concept of beauty and God’s artistry for the world while listening to a group of Korean tourists sing worship songs in the background.
On our drive back we stopped in Exodus 15:22 where the 12 wells are that God turned from bitter to sweet in Mara. The sight is directly across from where they think the Red Sea was parted which was a pretty awesome landscape to take in.
I would never have believed someone who told me that at 21 years old I would climb Moses’ footsteps on Mount Sinai, but today I did—I really did.
As I reflect back on my desires for this new year of 2010 I am reminded of my commitment to live simply and love deeply. I realize in the midst of letting God make this desire a reality I am being stripped and detached from the world and lifestyle I know. The last few weeks with sickness, exhaustion, dehydration and overwhelming academic rigor I have found Egypt to be much of a learning experience than an enjoyable one. I have been uncomfortable socially, culturally, and physically but in that struggle I feel my ties to this world breaking into ropes of simplicity. For this I ache, and for that I give praise.
2-26-10
Flooding has come to Cairo!! Along with thunder, lightning and hail. Just as we were about to depart for the all night bus trip to Mount Sinai the storm came and forced a change of plans. Instead of going to Mount Sinai directly we decided to go straight to Dahab after being told the flooding conditions on the roads there are more manageable. Things did not exactly go as planned. We were stopped by police in the middle of the Sinai peninsula saying we couldn’t go any further due to flooding. We were forced to wait, along with about 15 other "tourist" buses and independent travelers (at 3 am mind you). At this point we called and cancelled our reservations for our hostel knowing the bus would take its place for the night. 12 hours later we arrived!
Poverty does not need your pessimism, it needs your passion. How arrogant and selfish is it for me to rest in the overwhelming realities that bore hopeless assurance that the world is too big with too much suffering and unattainable ideologies. When I accept realities of suffering and poverty to be undeniably too vast to tackle I am burying my God graced compassion along with my kingdom focused mentality for truth. I am giving up before I even start. I am discounting all that God equipped me with and all that He can do with my life. Indeed one person cannot change the world, nor do I think they should, but I refuse to place earthly limits on what one person can do fueled by direction from the God of the universe. It is easy to be hopeless. Simply open your eyes, look around, and be informed. Easy is not the answer; if God is optimistic enough to create us surely we can grasp a piece of the same type of hope.
I am writing a paper on the consequences of an unequal encounter between the Middle East and the West. I am overwhelmed by the oppressive actions and systemic reform that has taken place to create the despairing realities we have today. I am constantly reminded that prosperity comes at the cost of the other. Exploitation takes face for the footsteps of the powerful time and time again, and for that I am always saddened.
I used to think that institutions held the high cards for change. I used to think that if the right players were on the team humanity had a chance at winning.
I was wrong.
The more invested I become in the people and problems of our world the more I realize the importance of relational action on a micro level; person to person. Not system to citizen, or country to community. Such relations routinely resort to violators and victims on a quest for power or even “democracy”. The self interest in every nation has the potential to destroy all that is good. The self interest in every individual has the potential to destroy all that could be good. The selfless interest that God teaches and develops in every individual who seeks it has the potential to transform destruction into construction. A construction site that is laid with love, stacked with sacrifice and built with belief that change will come when we realize it is in ourselves.
“We need Christians to return back to their Christ”
2-28-10
I climbed Mount Sinai.
The journey began at 11:30pm when we left Dahab for Saint Catherine’s. We spent two days in Dahab (on the coast of Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula) staring at Saudi Arabia which is 13 miles away and snorkeling at the Blue Hole in the Red Sea. We drove for 3 hours arriving at the base of Mount Sinai at 2:30am welcomed by temperatures in the low 30's F and an arctic wind that blew strong enough at the top to move me from my place. We climbed the first two hours by the light of the moon amidst severe camel traffic stopping twice for tea/snacks/shelter from the cold in the shacks along the way up the mountain. After 2 hours, we reached the 770 stone steps built by a monk that make up the stairs of penance. We stopped at the top for more tea and blankets before the sunrise at 6:15am. Then we proceeded to sit on the edge of the mountain bundled in blankets, our feet dangling over a distance too vast to describe. We watched a sunrise that brought new meaning to the concept of beauty and God’s artistry for the world while listening to a group of Korean tourists sing worship songs in the background.
On our drive back we stopped in Exodus 15:22 where the 12 wells are that God turned from bitter to sweet in Mara. The sight is directly across from where they think the Red Sea was parted which was a pretty awesome landscape to take in.
I would never have believed someone who told me that at 21 years old I would climb Moses’ footsteps on Mount Sinai, but today I did—I really did.
As I reflect back on my desires for this new year of 2010 I am reminded of my commitment to live simply and love deeply. I realize in the midst of letting God make this desire a reality I am being stripped and detached from the world and lifestyle I know. The last few weeks with sickness, exhaustion, dehydration and overwhelming academic rigor I have found Egypt to be much of a learning experience than an enjoyable one. I have been uncomfortable socially, culturally, and physically but in that struggle I feel my ties to this world breaking into ropes of simplicity. For this I ache, and for that I give praise.
2-26-10
Flooding has come to Cairo!! Along with thunder, lightning and hail. Just as we were about to depart for the all night bus trip to Mount Sinai the storm came and forced a change of plans. Instead of going to Mount Sinai directly we decided to go straight to Dahab after being told the flooding conditions on the roads there are more manageable. Things did not exactly go as planned. We were stopped by police in the middle of the Sinai peninsula saying we couldn’t go any further due to flooding. We were forced to wait, along with about 15 other "tourist" buses and independent travelers (at 3 am mind you). At this point we called and cancelled our reservations for our hostel knowing the bus would take its place for the night. 12 hours later we arrived!
Poverty does not need your pessimism, it needs your passion. How arrogant and selfish is it for me to rest in the overwhelming realities that bore hopeless assurance that the world is too big with too much suffering and unattainable ideologies. When I accept realities of suffering and poverty to be undeniably too vast to tackle I am burying my God graced compassion along with my kingdom focused mentality for truth. I am giving up before I even start. I am discounting all that God equipped me with and all that He can do with my life. Indeed one person cannot change the world, nor do I think they should, but I refuse to place earthly limits on what one person can do fueled by direction from the God of the universe. It is easy to be hopeless. Simply open your eyes, look around, and be informed. Easy is not the answer; if God is optimistic enough to create us surely we can grasp a piece of the same type of hope.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
2-12-10
I spent last night dancing around the bonfire with a Siwan band until the wee hours of the morning; liberated from doubt, discomfort and displacement.
I spent the morning at a young man’s house in Siwa sitting on his floor listening to the ins and outs of Siwan culture. We heard about Siwan traditions, strict gender roles, history and the current effects of increasing tourism on a town/village or 9 families and 25,000 people. Once the guys in our group left the Siwan women came out and did homemade henna for us and gave us the chance to ask questions about what it means to be a woman in their culture and engaged at age 8.
I spent the afternoon at Nustar Café eating couscous, eggplant, hummus, and aish (bread). When we finished there was no bill brought out to us, but rather an honor system so to speak where we were encouraged to leave what we thought the total should be. It definitely made us all release our hesitance to tip a few extra pounds. Later I rode my bike around Siwa with another girl, had tea with a shopkeeper, tried on traditional Siwan wedding attire, and bought some bread baskets handmade by the women in Siwa. We all met back up at 5pm and biked into the desert to watch the sunset and swim/FLOAT in Siwa’s great salt lake fed entirely by natural springs. We biked back and stopped at a fresh water spring where we were able to rinse off the white salt that completely covered our bodies as it dried. Despite how good it actually felt to rinse off I can guarantee that if it hadn’t been pitch black outside and I had seen all that I was actually swimming with I wouldn’t even have considered it! We biked back in utter darkness and faith through sand pits, rocks, and self created paths as the desert stars shined for our only light. Our bus driver, who is half Ethiopian and half Egyptian cooked fuul (beans) and aish for dinner outside by the fire when we got back to the “hotel.” We ate at about 10pm and as soon as we finished the band began.
2-13-10
The Desert Rose Hotel proved to be true to its name despite not having any electricity. Ali drove me and 5 others on our desert safari. Words, pictures, and stories cannot even begin to do justice to the natural beauty we witnessed and authentic Siwan culture we touched on the dunes of the Sahara. After we let some air out of the tires we drove about an hour into the desert and finally stopped on the top of a steep dune to sandboard-aka strapping yourself to a snowboard and riding down the dune. The trouble comes with climbing back up! We did sand sledding as well with two people sitting on the board. After sand had entered every unknown and unwanted place we could imagine we piled back into the jeeps and drove to a freezing fresh water pond. We didn’t last very long there but proceeded to drive around the dune to a natural hot spring complete with orange dying sulfur. We drove further and stopped on the top of some dunes to get out and watch the sunset and take pictures. Our drivers made a small fire and made us Siwan tea (from Libya) and passed out fresh dates stuffed with almonds grown in Siwa. Finally, we drove another 30 minutes in the dark of the desert to our “camp.” Our camp consisted of huge colorfully printed canvas tents, open bonfire pits with floor seating around each one, and a “snack shack” to purchase tea pots and cups to make over the fire. Dinner was served to us in our tent on two long wooden tables (always very low to the ground because everyone sits on the floor) set with a feast of rice, chicken, vegetable soup, tomato and cucumber salad followed by tea. After barely surviving arctic temperatures during the night we drove back to the Desert Rose to have breakfast and scrape whatever sand we could from our bodies. We spent 30 minutes in Siwa before our final departure getting snacks for the road (dates!) and last minute souvenirs. Despite the 24 hours we spent on the bus in travel to and from Siwa it was my favorite part of Egypt thus far.
Lets recap:
Untouched Siwan culture, dates!, biking through the desert, floating in natural salty springs, dancing with a Siwan band around a bonfire into the morning, desert safari, sandboarding/sledding, tea, stars, sunsets, SIWA! Arguably the best weekend of my life- oh and I turned 21 somewhere in there :)
I spent last night dancing around the bonfire with a Siwan band until the wee hours of the morning; liberated from doubt, discomfort and displacement.
I spent the morning at a young man’s house in Siwa sitting on his floor listening to the ins and outs of Siwan culture. We heard about Siwan traditions, strict gender roles, history and the current effects of increasing tourism on a town/village or 9 families and 25,000 people. Once the guys in our group left the Siwan women came out and did homemade henna for us and gave us the chance to ask questions about what it means to be a woman in their culture and engaged at age 8.
I spent the afternoon at Nustar Café eating couscous, eggplant, hummus, and aish (bread). When we finished there was no bill brought out to us, but rather an honor system so to speak where we were encouraged to leave what we thought the total should be. It definitely made us all release our hesitance to tip a few extra pounds. Later I rode my bike around Siwa with another girl, had tea with a shopkeeper, tried on traditional Siwan wedding attire, and bought some bread baskets handmade by the women in Siwa. We all met back up at 5pm and biked into the desert to watch the sunset and swim/FLOAT in Siwa’s great salt lake fed entirely by natural springs. We biked back and stopped at a fresh water spring where we were able to rinse off the white salt that completely covered our bodies as it dried. Despite how good it actually felt to rinse off I can guarantee that if it hadn’t been pitch black outside and I had seen all that I was actually swimming with I wouldn’t even have considered it! We biked back in utter darkness and faith through sand pits, rocks, and self created paths as the desert stars shined for our only light. Our bus driver, who is half Ethiopian and half Egyptian cooked fuul (beans) and aish for dinner outside by the fire when we got back to the “hotel.” We ate at about 10pm and as soon as we finished the band began.
2-13-10
The Desert Rose Hotel proved to be true to its name despite not having any electricity. Ali drove me and 5 others on our desert safari. Words, pictures, and stories cannot even begin to do justice to the natural beauty we witnessed and authentic Siwan culture we touched on the dunes of the Sahara. After we let some air out of the tires we drove about an hour into the desert and finally stopped on the top of a steep dune to sandboard-aka strapping yourself to a snowboard and riding down the dune. The trouble comes with climbing back up! We did sand sledding as well with two people sitting on the board. After sand had entered every unknown and unwanted place we could imagine we piled back into the jeeps and drove to a freezing fresh water pond. We didn’t last very long there but proceeded to drive around the dune to a natural hot spring complete with orange dying sulfur. We drove further and stopped on the top of some dunes to get out and watch the sunset and take pictures. Our drivers made a small fire and made us Siwan tea (from Libya) and passed out fresh dates stuffed with almonds grown in Siwa. Finally, we drove another 30 minutes in the dark of the desert to our “camp.” Our camp consisted of huge colorfully printed canvas tents, open bonfire pits with floor seating around each one, and a “snack shack” to purchase tea pots and cups to make over the fire. Dinner was served to us in our tent on two long wooden tables (always very low to the ground because everyone sits on the floor) set with a feast of rice, chicken, vegetable soup, tomato and cucumber salad followed by tea. After barely surviving arctic temperatures during the night we drove back to the Desert Rose to have breakfast and scrape whatever sand we could from our bodies. We spent 30 minutes in Siwa before our final departure getting snacks for the road (dates!) and last minute souvenirs. Despite the 24 hours we spent on the bus in travel to and from Siwa it was my favorite part of Egypt thus far.
Lets recap:
Untouched Siwan culture, dates!, biking through the desert, floating in natural salty springs, dancing with a Siwan band around a bonfire into the morning, desert safari, sandboarding/sledding, tea, stars, sunsets, SIWA! Arguably the best weekend of my life- oh and I turned 21 somewhere in there :)
Sunday, February 14, 2010
February 6, 2010
Starbucks, Egypt!!
Three other girls and I braved the journey in attempts to find the comfort of coffee. A 30 minute taxi ride across Cairo pulled to an uneasy stop and…we found it! As I sit in one of two Starbucks in Egypt I am thankful for the instant security of shallow familiarity.
February 7, 2010
"To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget.- Arundhati Roy
I wonder because I think. I think because I am curious. I am curious because I feel. I feel because I see. I see because I go. I go because I hear. I hear because I listen. I listen because I care. I care because I am.
I am because He says I am. He is because He says He is.
“Then I knew where I should be- not living in comfort, but back in the place where villages and churches were being reunited, where schools and community centers and spirits were being built up, where, amid the terrible noise of violence I could hear the whispers of the Man of Galilee, saying, Behold, I make all things new.” Elias Chacour, Blood Brothers
I have never been persecuted for my faith.
Yesterday I looked into the eyes of a community that is.
The Coptic Christians in Egypt shared their struggles with us through an entire day of interactive interfaith dialogue at a beautiful Christian monastery/retreat center outside of Cairo. I looked into stares of defeat, hearts of hope, spirits of sacrifice, and a body of believers tightly knit together to fight for their rights. Hearing stories of systemic oppression, the pain from recent incidents like Nag Hammadi (where 6 Coptic Christians were killed coming out of Christmas Eve mass), and a technical break down of their doctrinal beliefs left me deep in thought regarding my own faith. We spoke of what freedom of religion looks like in America and what it could or couldn’t look like in Egypt. We spoke of values, sacraments, rituals, faith, and ultimately what it means to be a Christian in this world. The Bishop honored our group with an extensive devotion (2 ½ hours) ending with a time of questions and discussion. In response to the current pain in the Coptic community he highlighted three specific people who represent collective identities that he hopes the Coptic community in Egypt will stand for. Those identities were Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., and Eleanor Roosevelt. Through active pacifism, empowerment, love, and work, justice will come. He said “you must incarnate what you believe. Work as peacemakers, I think that is what we are made for.” The Bishop stressed the importance of making a stand and not being afraid to talk. He said fear is the most dangerous thing to man and asked a man in the crowd “Can you read my mind?” The man responded by saying “If you talk I can read your mind.”
As a member of the international community of Christians I asked the Cops what they needed from us knowing that the answer is not with politically charged plane flights to Egypt with plans to protest. Their response was prayer, and to “be our witnesses all over the world. Tell people we are here, and tell them of our struggle.” This seems to be a common response. A young girl went on to say “If your dad is the President and something bad happens you don’t run and tell the police, you go to your dad. God is our father; we must run to him, not to America or the UN or anyone else. God can make the impossible possible.”
The worst disease in the world is hate, and the cure for hate is love. When you say a pray for those you love, say a prayer for humanity.
Starbucks, Egypt!!
Three other girls and I braved the journey in attempts to find the comfort of coffee. A 30 minute taxi ride across Cairo pulled to an uneasy stop and…we found it! As I sit in one of two Starbucks in Egypt I am thankful for the instant security of shallow familiarity.
February 7, 2010
"To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget.- Arundhati Roy
I wonder because I think. I think because I am curious. I am curious because I feel. I feel because I see. I see because I go. I go because I hear. I hear because I listen. I listen because I care. I care because I am.
I am because He says I am. He is because He says He is.
“Then I knew where I should be- not living in comfort, but back in the place where villages and churches were being reunited, where schools and community centers and spirits were being built up, where, amid the terrible noise of violence I could hear the whispers of the Man of Galilee, saying, Behold, I make all things new.” Elias Chacour, Blood Brothers
I have never been persecuted for my faith.
Yesterday I looked into the eyes of a community that is.
The Coptic Christians in Egypt shared their struggles with us through an entire day of interactive interfaith dialogue at a beautiful Christian monastery/retreat center outside of Cairo. I looked into stares of defeat, hearts of hope, spirits of sacrifice, and a body of believers tightly knit together to fight for their rights. Hearing stories of systemic oppression, the pain from recent incidents like Nag Hammadi (where 6 Coptic Christians were killed coming out of Christmas Eve mass), and a technical break down of their doctrinal beliefs left me deep in thought regarding my own faith. We spoke of what freedom of religion looks like in America and what it could or couldn’t look like in Egypt. We spoke of values, sacraments, rituals, faith, and ultimately what it means to be a Christian in this world. The Bishop honored our group with an extensive devotion (2 ½ hours) ending with a time of questions and discussion. In response to the current pain in the Coptic community he highlighted three specific people who represent collective identities that he hopes the Coptic community in Egypt will stand for. Those identities were Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., and Eleanor Roosevelt. Through active pacifism, empowerment, love, and work, justice will come. He said “you must incarnate what you believe. Work as peacemakers, I think that is what we are made for.” The Bishop stressed the importance of making a stand and not being afraid to talk. He said fear is the most dangerous thing to man and asked a man in the crowd “Can you read my mind?” The man responded by saying “If you talk I can read your mind.”
As a member of the international community of Christians I asked the Cops what they needed from us knowing that the answer is not with politically charged plane flights to Egypt with plans to protest. Their response was prayer, and to “be our witnesses all over the world. Tell people we are here, and tell them of our struggle.” This seems to be a common response. A young girl went on to say “If your dad is the President and something bad happens you don’t run and tell the police, you go to your dad. God is our father; we must run to him, not to America or the UN or anyone else. God can make the impossible possible.”
The worst disease in the world is hate, and the cure for hate is love. When you say a pray for those you love, say a prayer for humanity.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
February 2, 2010
I went to prison today.
It was a victory in itself to make it through the final frisk and massive metal doors that shut out my intentions last week. After traveling to the prison via mini bus for 30 minutes, waiting outside in the women’s line for an hour to go through the first security check/aggressive pat down, waiting an hour and a half in the waiting room sipping tea and practicing Arabic with wide eyed children until our prisoners’ names were called, moving to the metal doors and guards that monitor ultimate entrance for 30 more minutes until our names were called once more and then passing through another security check/pat down I was taken to the visitors cage where the prisoners awaited. Some men wear white signifying less severe crimes (commonly immigration) the rest wear blue. Blue means life in prison. Michael wears white. Michael is a 22 year old Sudanese prisoner who will soon meet his one year anniversary on February 20th while still awaiting a court date. He is from Southern Sudan and fled to Libya where he stayed for 6 years because of the war and violence in his village. He is in prison because he beat up a man very badly and “broke almost every bone in his body.” Michael loves hip hop, (especially Kanye West and Jay Z), football (soccer), and recently found God in prison. He is eager to return to Sudan after he is released to reunite with his older brother and family he hasn’t been in contact with for years. In talking with the Sudanese prisoners I couldn’t help but be reminded of my friends at Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles that are also ex-convicts and realize how the same issues transcend countries, culture and context. Some prisoners just need a visit to be reminded that there is hope. Today I was empowered by men who are slaves to a system they didn’t create but came to know through poor judgment, false information, and sacrificial opportunities.
There is a Sudanese man who has been sentenced to life in prison and has taken the initiative to start weekly bible studies, accountability, prayer, food sharing, and hope for the younger guys who come in feeling defeated. He gave me the privilege of hearing his story from drug dealing in Sudan to daily gratitude in prison and made me promise to “tell the outside world that their brothers are across the world in prison loving Christ just as they do.” He thanked me countless times for visiting and said he knew we loved Christ because Christ’s love is what told us to come visit them. Lastly he said “I don’t like prison, but I have joy. God loved me enough to take me away from drug dealing and into prison so I could be close to Him, for that I am thankful.”
February 3, 2010
U.S. Foreign Policy
Scott Hibbard spoke to us this afternoon about U.S. foreign policy paying specific attention to the Middle East. He is currently in Egypt teaching International Relations and Foreign Policy at American University Cairo while on a short term Fulbright scholarship. He lives in Chicago and teaches at DePaul University after receiving his PHD from John Hopkins in Washington, DC, working at the U.S. Institute of Peace in DC and completing the religion ethics human rights program there. For nearly 2 hours Scott spoke to us about America’s real interest in the Middle East and shared inside information about the current state of the region. He spoke on US ideals, actions and motives while formulating an open ended discussion for questions about the future concerning countries like Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and of course Israel. Despite common talk of the relations between the US and Middle East, Scott highlighted the role of religion in politics especially dealing with Iraq and the tensions between the Sunnis, Shiites and Kurds who occupy the country with individual aspirations for ultimate control. I clung to Scott’s every word while struggling to find a balance between ethics and politics concerning the east and the west. Although I am absolutely fascinated and intrigued by both past and present political actions I feel myself holding tightly to the micro capabilities performed through relationship, community, and solidarity. I am quick to sign myself up for Capitol Hill (as I spoke with Scott about after) yet not equally as quick to sign away my God guided ethics. We shall see how it all plays out. I can guarantee that Capitol Hill will see my face :)
Interesting notes:
EVERYTHING runs on oil.
“We want Democracy, but are afraid of what it will bring”
Theoretically we are all about democracy, but when push comes to shove what are the ultimate interests?
The nature of America’s current Obama administration: “to promote incremental reform through liberalization rather than democratization.”
“There is no compromise without sacrificing the essence of who you are”
“Currently there is no exit strategy” (Iraq and Afghanistan)
Everything is related to everything else (!!)
One country’s freedom is at the expense of the others (Israeli/Palestinian conflict)
How can we use religion as a common ground in politics instead of a breeding ground for division?
2/3 of the world’s oil is from 5 countries: Iran, Iraq, UAE, Kuwait, and Saudi Arabia
China’s negative presence in Africa, (specifically Sudan). Oil money feeds the dirty hands in the Darfur conflict.
I went to prison today.
It was a victory in itself to make it through the final frisk and massive metal doors that shut out my intentions last week. After traveling to the prison via mini bus for 30 minutes, waiting outside in the women’s line for an hour to go through the first security check/aggressive pat down, waiting an hour and a half in the waiting room sipping tea and practicing Arabic with wide eyed children until our prisoners’ names were called, moving to the metal doors and guards that monitor ultimate entrance for 30 more minutes until our names were called once more and then passing through another security check/pat down I was taken to the visitors cage where the prisoners awaited. Some men wear white signifying less severe crimes (commonly immigration) the rest wear blue. Blue means life in prison. Michael wears white. Michael is a 22 year old Sudanese prisoner who will soon meet his one year anniversary on February 20th while still awaiting a court date. He is from Southern Sudan and fled to Libya where he stayed for 6 years because of the war and violence in his village. He is in prison because he beat up a man very badly and “broke almost every bone in his body.” Michael loves hip hop, (especially Kanye West and Jay Z), football (soccer), and recently found God in prison. He is eager to return to Sudan after he is released to reunite with his older brother and family he hasn’t been in contact with for years. In talking with the Sudanese prisoners I couldn’t help but be reminded of my friends at Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles that are also ex-convicts and realize how the same issues transcend countries, culture and context. Some prisoners just need a visit to be reminded that there is hope. Today I was empowered by men who are slaves to a system they didn’t create but came to know through poor judgment, false information, and sacrificial opportunities.
There is a Sudanese man who has been sentenced to life in prison and has taken the initiative to start weekly bible studies, accountability, prayer, food sharing, and hope for the younger guys who come in feeling defeated. He gave me the privilege of hearing his story from drug dealing in Sudan to daily gratitude in prison and made me promise to “tell the outside world that their brothers are across the world in prison loving Christ just as they do.” He thanked me countless times for visiting and said he knew we loved Christ because Christ’s love is what told us to come visit them. Lastly he said “I don’t like prison, but I have joy. God loved me enough to take me away from drug dealing and into prison so I could be close to Him, for that I am thankful.”
February 3, 2010
U.S. Foreign Policy
Scott Hibbard spoke to us this afternoon about U.S. foreign policy paying specific attention to the Middle East. He is currently in Egypt teaching International Relations and Foreign Policy at American University Cairo while on a short term Fulbright scholarship. He lives in Chicago and teaches at DePaul University after receiving his PHD from John Hopkins in Washington, DC, working at the U.S. Institute of Peace in DC and completing the religion ethics human rights program there. For nearly 2 hours Scott spoke to us about America’s real interest in the Middle East and shared inside information about the current state of the region. He spoke on US ideals, actions and motives while formulating an open ended discussion for questions about the future concerning countries like Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and of course Israel. Despite common talk of the relations between the US and Middle East, Scott highlighted the role of religion in politics especially dealing with Iraq and the tensions between the Sunnis, Shiites and Kurds who occupy the country with individual aspirations for ultimate control. I clung to Scott’s every word while struggling to find a balance between ethics and politics concerning the east and the west. Although I am absolutely fascinated and intrigued by both past and present political actions I feel myself holding tightly to the micro capabilities performed through relationship, community, and solidarity. I am quick to sign myself up for Capitol Hill (as I spoke with Scott about after) yet not equally as quick to sign away my God guided ethics. We shall see how it all plays out. I can guarantee that Capitol Hill will see my face :)
Interesting notes:
EVERYTHING runs on oil.
“We want Democracy, but are afraid of what it will bring”
Theoretically we are all about democracy, but when push comes to shove what are the ultimate interests?
The nature of America’s current Obama administration: “to promote incremental reform through liberalization rather than democratization.”
“There is no compromise without sacrificing the essence of who you are”
“Currently there is no exit strategy” (Iraq and Afghanistan)
Everything is related to everything else (!!)
One country’s freedom is at the expense of the others (Israeli/Palestinian conflict)
How can we use religion as a common ground in politics instead of a breeding ground for division?
2/3 of the world’s oil is from 5 countries: Iran, Iraq, UAE, Kuwait, and Saudi Arabia
China’s negative presence in Africa, (specifically Sudan). Oil money feeds the dirty hands in the Darfur conflict.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Welcome to Egypt!
January 12, 2010 6:16am San Francisco airport
So I guess I am really going to Egypt. It is not a figment of my imagination, an overly fed fantasy of my mind, or a topic in conversation. It is becoming my reality, stitch by stitch, step by step, prayer by prayer Egypt is my own, and will be.
Anxiety is the present pulse to my heart. Fear is chasing my heels but not quick enough to take hold. Despite the deep emotion that decorates my ever thought and breath I am ready. If you ask me, I am ready. Ready for change, ready for challenge, ready for knowledge, ready to experience, but most of all ready to walk with Jesus in a land He knows all too well.
I wish I was this reliant on Jesus in the comfort of my day to day life in the westernized, Christian, safe bubble I know.
Why does this simple action of obedience and education feel like a sacrifice to me? I know nothing of sacrifice compared to the ones before me and the ones around this world living in loneliness, fear, and purposeless living. The very least I can do is listen when God tells me to go. The very least I can do is love the ones close to me, and love the ones who are not just the same.
This is my temporary home; it’s not where I belong. I’m not afraid because I know this is my temporary home, and just a stop to where I am going. The least I can do is stop where and when God tells me.
Let the lessons in love begin, and my journey of faith be shattered to a new depth of understanding.
January 21, 2010 Agouza, Cairo
I am living in a city where pollution clouds the air, women ride a separate train car, and Islam is the truth. As a white American female who claims to follow Jesus I am the obvious minority. I belong to the minority in Egypt and the greater Middle East who suffer persecution, ridicule, and almost utter systemic neglect for their version of Christian faith. The call to prayer is background music (5 times a day) to my routine here in Cairo and I have already found myself not even noticing it. However, like now, as I sit on the balcony of my 6th floor apartment in the “upper middle class” neighborhood of Agouza I am overwhelmed and stirred to emotion when feeling the unity of an entire city, which represents an entire country, and region of my world that worships as one body unashamedly. After completing a full week in Cairo, observing, tasting, and touching the city I am beginning to catch my breath. It has been a whirlwind of feeling physically, culturally, historically and religiously illiterate. It has been eye opening, frustrating, and inspiring to experience something so different from anything I have ever known for myself.
As a woman I am learning to be submissive and take a back seat to what goes on here. I am beginning to see why the women dress and act so modestly and spend most of their time in their home. The majority of interaction I have as a white American woman with men involves cat calls, creative noises and dirty or sometimes absurdly flattering comments in Arabic. ALL THE TIME. Regardless of what you think you look like or represent they are seeing the girls on my program and me as desperate housewives that have luckily moved to their neighborhood and country. Harassing girls is a sport and fun way for the many young unemployed Egyptian guys to pass the time. I have had the chance to spend an evening with a 31 year old woman from Yemen, who I met at the mosque service I attended last Friday. Her name is Jihan Jihad, and she is living in Cairo to get her Masters degree in Business Administration. I sat next to her on the floor of the separate building where the women go to worship, (the men worship openly outside on the side of the road in an area 4 times the size). She curiously asked where I was from, why I was there and then proceeded to give me her phone number if I wanted to get together and talk or have tea. It turns out that Jihan’s father is a Sheikh in Yemen, (similar to a Senator) and her family consists of a doctor, lawyer, and many respectable positions in the oil industry including herself as a secretary. She is very intelligent and knows more about Christianity than I do (which has been proven typical in my time here). As a Muslim she respects religion as the most important thing in life and sees it as a difference between people but not a division. Her views on politics, religion and cultural behavior are more liberal than I had expected which she attributes to her high level of education. We walked across a bridge over the Nile discussing politics, relationships and what she sees as acceptable behavior. Later we sat in a garden downtown and spoke of our families back home and our dreams for the future.
Garbage City.
The saying “one man’s trash is another ones treasure” is the backbone for an entire Egyptian community. Coptic Christians occupy Garbage City, which was created when the government forced all of the people (Christians) who collect and sort trash for a living to move to a designated area. The Christians are the only ones who collect trash because Muslims are forbidden to eat or raise pigs which eat the unusable trash. Garbage city can visually be described as a slum full of disease, filth, malnutrition, and a place for the poor, but it is also a community of hard working believers and many many beautiful children. The biggest Coptic Christian church is in Garbage City which holds 8,000 people and is made out of a cave. There is a Mother Teresa orphanage called Sisters of Charity in the middle of Garbage City where we spent two days helping the overworked staff care for the 30 toddlers, 20 babies, and 20 elderly women who live there. The Sisters have taken a vow of poverty to live in solidarity with the people they serve. Meaning they refuse to use a washing machine or dryer for laundry, so they do all of the laundry and cooking by hand. I took care of babies covered with sickness and sores, and loved every minute of my ministry of touch except having to leave. We had the opportunity to visit a nonprofit organization in Garbage city that teaches and employs women in the community to make purses, rugs, placemats and handmade paper products to sell and make a living. It turns out that one of the line of bags have been recently sold to major designer Marc Jacobs to be sold in stores in the United States! I bought one of them for 6 dollars, which will soon be over 100 dollars after profit mark up.
My first taxi driver asked me where I was from and when we responded with “Amriika” his response was “America, kill” as he made a cutting motion across his throat. As you can imagine my initial reaction was a state of panic and fear, thinking I was about to be murdered by my driver for being an American. I continued to look at him as he smiled and repeated the phrase and motion again. I responded with “Amriika salaam” (America peace) but he shook his head and said “America no salaam. Bush kill, Obama peace.” Our conversation continued as my friends and I asked him more about his opinions of America and love for Obama. We left the taxi with a smiling new friend, and a glimpse of an extremely valid perspective.
I am overwhelmed with the depth, intelligence, and dedication the individuals I am on this program with contain. Already many have claimed special places in my heart for who they are, who they inspire me to be and the way we dream for the future and analyze our world’s realities every day. These are the leaders of our world, future presidents, pastors, peacekeepers, human rights lawyers, international business “missionaries,” professors, orphanage owners, Peace Corps volunteers, doctors, photographers and politicians. I am blessed to be surrounded by devotion, dedication, passion and honesty.
January 22, 2010
We had a “Women’s Night” with 3 Muslim women all of different ages and social classes as our panel. I was inspired by their dedication to modesty, their faith, and their roles in society. I could go on and on about what we discussed but the one thing that really stuck with me was when one of the girls who is Nubian, was asked to speak on her identity ranking the most important or influential to the least out of Muslim, Arab, Nubian, Egyptian. She responded with “Muslim because that is how God chose to be close to me. Then Nubian because that is my heart, and my heart feels for my Nubian people. Then Egyptian because that is my mind—then Arab.” Definitely something to think about.
Please pray for my academic discipline to do well in my studies. The coursework is more difficult than anything I have ever been exposed to, especially the Arabic language study. I start my internship at a men’s prison in Zamalek next Tuesday to spend one on one time with mostly Nigerian men who have been formally or informally convicted on some sort of drug charges for a very extensive sentence. Pray that I will hear their stories with a soft heart and be openly exposed to a foreign justice system I know little about. Continue to pray for safety, health and strong relationships among the students I am here with who are constantly having their beliefs and worldview shattered. Pray that bitterness would not take root, but instead hope and truth would be sought with love and respect.
I appreciate you all.
Salaam.
So I guess I am really going to Egypt. It is not a figment of my imagination, an overly fed fantasy of my mind, or a topic in conversation. It is becoming my reality, stitch by stitch, step by step, prayer by prayer Egypt is my own, and will be.
Anxiety is the present pulse to my heart. Fear is chasing my heels but not quick enough to take hold. Despite the deep emotion that decorates my ever thought and breath I am ready. If you ask me, I am ready. Ready for change, ready for challenge, ready for knowledge, ready to experience, but most of all ready to walk with Jesus in a land He knows all too well.
I wish I was this reliant on Jesus in the comfort of my day to day life in the westernized, Christian, safe bubble I know.
Why does this simple action of obedience and education feel like a sacrifice to me? I know nothing of sacrifice compared to the ones before me and the ones around this world living in loneliness, fear, and purposeless living. The very least I can do is listen when God tells me to go. The very least I can do is love the ones close to me, and love the ones who are not just the same.
This is my temporary home; it’s not where I belong. I’m not afraid because I know this is my temporary home, and just a stop to where I am going. The least I can do is stop where and when God tells me.
Let the lessons in love begin, and my journey of faith be shattered to a new depth of understanding.
January 21, 2010 Agouza, Cairo
I am living in a city where pollution clouds the air, women ride a separate train car, and Islam is the truth. As a white American female who claims to follow Jesus I am the obvious minority. I belong to the minority in Egypt and the greater Middle East who suffer persecution, ridicule, and almost utter systemic neglect for their version of Christian faith. The call to prayer is background music (5 times a day) to my routine here in Cairo and I have already found myself not even noticing it. However, like now, as I sit on the balcony of my 6th floor apartment in the “upper middle class” neighborhood of Agouza I am overwhelmed and stirred to emotion when feeling the unity of an entire city, which represents an entire country, and region of my world that worships as one body unashamedly. After completing a full week in Cairo, observing, tasting, and touching the city I am beginning to catch my breath. It has been a whirlwind of feeling physically, culturally, historically and religiously illiterate. It has been eye opening, frustrating, and inspiring to experience something so different from anything I have ever known for myself.
As a woman I am learning to be submissive and take a back seat to what goes on here. I am beginning to see why the women dress and act so modestly and spend most of their time in their home. The majority of interaction I have as a white American woman with men involves cat calls, creative noises and dirty or sometimes absurdly flattering comments in Arabic. ALL THE TIME. Regardless of what you think you look like or represent they are seeing the girls on my program and me as desperate housewives that have luckily moved to their neighborhood and country. Harassing girls is a sport and fun way for the many young unemployed Egyptian guys to pass the time. I have had the chance to spend an evening with a 31 year old woman from Yemen, who I met at the mosque service I attended last Friday. Her name is Jihan Jihad, and she is living in Cairo to get her Masters degree in Business Administration. I sat next to her on the floor of the separate building where the women go to worship, (the men worship openly outside on the side of the road in an area 4 times the size). She curiously asked where I was from, why I was there and then proceeded to give me her phone number if I wanted to get together and talk or have tea. It turns out that Jihan’s father is a Sheikh in Yemen, (similar to a Senator) and her family consists of a doctor, lawyer, and many respectable positions in the oil industry including herself as a secretary. She is very intelligent and knows more about Christianity than I do (which has been proven typical in my time here). As a Muslim she respects religion as the most important thing in life and sees it as a difference between people but not a division. Her views on politics, religion and cultural behavior are more liberal than I had expected which she attributes to her high level of education. We walked across a bridge over the Nile discussing politics, relationships and what she sees as acceptable behavior. Later we sat in a garden downtown and spoke of our families back home and our dreams for the future.
Garbage City.
The saying “one man’s trash is another ones treasure” is the backbone for an entire Egyptian community. Coptic Christians occupy Garbage City, which was created when the government forced all of the people (Christians) who collect and sort trash for a living to move to a designated area. The Christians are the only ones who collect trash because Muslims are forbidden to eat or raise pigs which eat the unusable trash. Garbage city can visually be described as a slum full of disease, filth, malnutrition, and a place for the poor, but it is also a community of hard working believers and many many beautiful children. The biggest Coptic Christian church is in Garbage City which holds 8,000 people and is made out of a cave. There is a Mother Teresa orphanage called Sisters of Charity in the middle of Garbage City where we spent two days helping the overworked staff care for the 30 toddlers, 20 babies, and 20 elderly women who live there. The Sisters have taken a vow of poverty to live in solidarity with the people they serve. Meaning they refuse to use a washing machine or dryer for laundry, so they do all of the laundry and cooking by hand. I took care of babies covered with sickness and sores, and loved every minute of my ministry of touch except having to leave. We had the opportunity to visit a nonprofit organization in Garbage city that teaches and employs women in the community to make purses, rugs, placemats and handmade paper products to sell and make a living. It turns out that one of the line of bags have been recently sold to major designer Marc Jacobs to be sold in stores in the United States! I bought one of them for 6 dollars, which will soon be over 100 dollars after profit mark up.
My first taxi driver asked me where I was from and when we responded with “Amriika” his response was “America, kill” as he made a cutting motion across his throat. As you can imagine my initial reaction was a state of panic and fear, thinking I was about to be murdered by my driver for being an American. I continued to look at him as he smiled and repeated the phrase and motion again. I responded with “Amriika salaam” (America peace) but he shook his head and said “America no salaam. Bush kill, Obama peace.” Our conversation continued as my friends and I asked him more about his opinions of America and love for Obama. We left the taxi with a smiling new friend, and a glimpse of an extremely valid perspective.
I am overwhelmed with the depth, intelligence, and dedication the individuals I am on this program with contain. Already many have claimed special places in my heart for who they are, who they inspire me to be and the way we dream for the future and analyze our world’s realities every day. These are the leaders of our world, future presidents, pastors, peacekeepers, human rights lawyers, international business “missionaries,” professors, orphanage owners, Peace Corps volunteers, doctors, photographers and politicians. I am blessed to be surrounded by devotion, dedication, passion and honesty.
January 22, 2010
We had a “Women’s Night” with 3 Muslim women all of different ages and social classes as our panel. I was inspired by their dedication to modesty, their faith, and their roles in society. I could go on and on about what we discussed but the one thing that really stuck with me was when one of the girls who is Nubian, was asked to speak on her identity ranking the most important or influential to the least out of Muslim, Arab, Nubian, Egyptian. She responded with “Muslim because that is how God chose to be close to me. Then Nubian because that is my heart, and my heart feels for my Nubian people. Then Egyptian because that is my mind—then Arab.” Definitely something to think about.
Please pray for my academic discipline to do well in my studies. The coursework is more difficult than anything I have ever been exposed to, especially the Arabic language study. I start my internship at a men’s prison in Zamalek next Tuesday to spend one on one time with mostly Nigerian men who have been formally or informally convicted on some sort of drug charges for a very extensive sentence. Pray that I will hear their stories with a soft heart and be openly exposed to a foreign justice system I know little about. Continue to pray for safety, health and strong relationships among the students I am here with who are constantly having their beliefs and worldview shattered. Pray that bitterness would not take root, but instead hope and truth would be sought with love and respect.
I appreciate you all.
Salaam.
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