Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength. Nehemiah 8:10
It's been almost a year since my last post. In that interim, my life has undergone a gamut of descriptives from broken to bountiful; emotional to contemplative, hilarious to somber; restless to steadfast. Bored has never been a part of this list.
Broken/Bountiful
*The bang of my car last October ended my routine as I knew it and forced me to be okay with no longer having a car at my beckoning. There was no grieving for my Mazda6 as it was being towed away. Grateful was I that my passenger, Maddy, was unharmed ... the collision perfectly impacted the front right bumper of my car, away from Maddy. The driver's efforts to veer right before impact helped ensure least harm to both of us. Uncharacteristically, this accident did not leave me grieving, but watchful of something good that would come out of this. My Trigeminal Neuralgia, though, flared daily for the next 3 weeks. Although it represented only at a 2% incidence rate for the year, my neurologist stated it was evidence of my unconscious preoccupation with the bang.
I directed my focus to developing a packing list for Israel to ensure I prepared well. Google provided me with resourceful tips, and Christy's return from Europe brought recommendations of what and how to pack. I was physically ready to accomplish the only trip on my bucket list.
My eyes spread across the expanse of the Mediterranean Coast as I stood in Jaffa, or Joppa, the port where Jonah escaped to rather than go to Ninevah. Modern-day Tel Aviv was just a corner away, but for now, the beauty of the coast stilled me. The dryer lands that yielded olives and almonds and dates would later provide most of the backdrop for our walking tours. But Jaffa was distinctive because it was my first perspective of Israel. The Lord had provided this chance to fall into His steps. The sense of awe perpetrated every site experience. I took copious notes until someone noted that over his 5 tours of Israel, he had finally learned to listen more to experience more fully what it meant to be a part of the Holy Land. As the bus entered Jerusalem, we spontaneously began singing "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your voice and sing," and I heartened as I saw the city Jesus wept over. At the Western Wall, I watched gathering Jews pray fervently for their Messiah to come. They do not recognize Jesus as their Lord. It is at this very spot, Christians believe, that the Second Coming of Jesus will occur. For now, however, armed soldiers reminded us that this is a land on the precipice of war. I stuck my toe in the Sea of Galilee and then recorded the sound of its waves for posterity; I entered Yad Vashem, afraid to look at the skeletal remains of Jews under the persecution of Hitler; atop St. Peter of Galicantu Church like a weather vane perched a rooster symbolizing Peter's denial of Jesus; the amazing, technologically advanced Masada, the fortress of Christian Zealots who committed suicide rather than be imprisoned by the Romans, was one of my favorite places. The last day was spent within the walled gates of Old Jerusalem, haggling over the price of sandals for Elly and Maddy with a Jewish shopkeeper. Upon departure, our Jewish guide, Jackie, a New York Professor turned Israeli, said, "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem." My Wednesdays are now a time of prayer for just that as I try to educate myself on how to pray for this elusive peace.