Re-Entry

It is finished.

My colleagues in the initiative have (for the most part) all returned to their home countries, families and jobs. We have begun the task of unpacking, giving gifts to loved ones and appreciating the many blessings of our lives. We are putting together advocacy plans even as we take a deep breath and try to get the knots out of our backs from all the stress.

We were told during training that these people we spent so much time with would become good friends. Thanks to social media, goodbye doesn't have to mean what it once did. As long as we continue to stay connected by the tether of electronics we will be able to keep in touch over the miles. For this, I am most grateful.

We did it. I say "we" because the past three months of sabbatical have definitely been a team effort.

My family stood by my decision to live in a conflict zone and accompany people who don't really have a choice in the matter when it comes to security. Yes, there were dangerous moments, which is a burden I'd rather my loved ones not have to carry. On the hard days (and the easy ones) staying connected to family and friends helped me turn from despair towards hope.

I owe my husband Clark a deep debt of gratitude. He supported my decision to live in Israel/Palestine and reminded me that what I was doing was important. I appreciate my mom for listening and letting me authentically be who I am. She let me name my fears and reminded me that I am called to be brave.  My children, Cady and Zack, thrived beyond my wildest expectations - despite the occasional stresses in their lives.

And finally, the church. What can be said about a community that commits to wrapping me in prayer AND feeds my loved ones fresh, delicious homemade dinners a couple of times a week? If food is love, it is crystal clear that we are cared for and I am most grateful.

Sabbatical is supposed to be a time when lay leadership of the church is "handed back the reins", and I hope to find out more soon about how that all went for them. And I hope that the deep joy I have seen from our teens and their advisers on creating Youth Sunday this year without me will be a lasting reminder of their strength and spirituality. You did it, too!

My focus in the next month or so will be to reconnect with our elders, our lay leaders and those in crisis. Relationships are so important, and separation is really hard. Give a hug to someone close to you today. Remember the people of Israel and Palestine who are working towards a just peace and end to conflict. Commit to non-violence today in word and action, Refuse to be enemies.

Dear Holy Land Tourist Lady,

An infant car seat,
saved from the bulldozers

I used to be just like you. Five years ago, with my fanny pack and sensible walking shoes I trudged up the Via Dolorosa in the Old City - imagining what those last moments of Jesus' life might have been like, before the world changed. I remember the comfort of the tour bus, and how our guides were always telling us to drink more water.

I bet you paid a lot of money for this life changing trip. And I understand why... here before you is the Sunday School play set of your childhood dreams! When you close your eyes, and listen very carefully, you can imagine what it might have been like to be here when Jesus walked the earth. Did you wonder, as you passed that hill, if it was one that he walked?

Rubble from the
demolished 2-family home

Listen... your Holy Land adventure will never be complete until you come with me. Travel the dusty, narrow road just a few miles away through Silwan and up a steep hill to the village of Jabal Al Mukabbir you will find a pile of rubble. That pile of stones are no more or less holy than the ones you just saw at the Wailing Wall when you crammed in the little bits of paper prayers your church friends sent with you. Prayers for healing, prayers for comfort, prayers for peace.

This pile of stones was a two story double family house at 3:59 this morning. That's when the soldiers came and woke the ten children under 8 - they are just babies. At 4, it began to be a pile of rubble. That's when the bulldozers revved their engines and caused two sets of young parents to scramble around and try to move their small children and every last little piece of their belongings to safety outside.

The two oldest children, no more than 8,
help load items into a truck

At 6 am is when the relatives and friends began to show up, carrying their condolences and offerings to help. When we arrive a few hours later, they will have determined a system. First, they will offer you a chair in the shade of an impromptu tent. Then they will thank you for coming, and offer you a cold bottle of water. After a few minutes they tell you some of their story, and you will be given a strong cup of Arabic coffee followed by a cool and sweet mint tea.

The grandfather, the patriarch on whose land you stand, will tell you that he had a lawyer and paid the steep fines for building without a permit. "This is the Occupation, what can we do?" he says. He will point to the rubble and tell you that this is the true terrorism, and you will nod your head knowingly because it sure seems random and violent and scary to you.

Destroyed child's bike

Let me tell you, it will definitely feel a little awkward when you look in the eyes of the oldest two children who saw the bulldozers topple their home and you will see they are as strong as grown men. These boys should be in school, but since their bags and books are in the bottom of the rubble they are here to get you a chair and serve you tea instead. One of them is wearing new soccer cleats, because those were the first he could grab before running out of the house. His father says to you "my son is six, he sees his house demolished, of course he will want to start problems when he is 16!" 

Household items the family saved

When you have stayed long enough to pay your respects, you'll return to your safe place thinking that this holy land is broken. And you'll wonder if the world has any idea, and if they do, why isn't someone doing something, anything, to make it stop? And the echo of the grandfather's last words to you as you were leaving become a mantra that you cannot forget: "Thank you for coming, tell the world what you see here!"

REboot

Hello, blog! It's been a while. My last post to the page was in October, 2012 when I wrote about the Puritan practice of the Election Day Sermon (Zzzzz). Well, we're over the finish line of another Presidential election cycle and the country seems as on edge as we've ever been. I've become really thin-skinned about all the ugly public discourse. I've tried to find grace and focus on root issues. But it's hard. A 24-hour news cycle leaves little opportunity for fact-checking, and people seem quick to believe lies and jump on bandwagons, and well, just "other" each other. I'm still full of hope that things will turn for the better, perhaps that makes me naive.

Since my last post, I've moved from one small New England Town to another and now live about 200 feet from the wonderful UCC church full of people that I have grown to dearly love (ten years next week!). As a community, we struggle sometimes over deep wounds and losses. For example, many of us are still frustrated that nothing has been done to change gun violence. Or addiction. Or that the access to mental health resources is so inadequate. We've faced staffing turnover, which has brought challenges.Two ministry colleagues have come and gone, but a third seems to be sticking (she's great!). We face similar financial downturns as many other churches, and it makes it hard to meet the needs of vibrant ministry in this place. Dear, strong, generous members still move away for jobs or retirement or family. But we still try to bring the kingdom of God's love just a little bit closer and haven't given up on meeting the needs of our neighbors. For that, I am very grateful.

On the home front, our eldest has returned home, is in grad school and has come out as a gay woman (proud of her!). My husband has had... hmmm... three (or maybe 4) job changes, I am cautiously optimistic that his latest will stick. Youngest is trying to juggle preparation for Eagle Scout, a job at a coffee shop, school, indoor track and his youth group (PF). And my family has trained to become a foster family, which has nearly taken us three years since first applying. Now that we have our licence, we came close to having a son move in... but that's on hold because he received the Christmas gift of a forever home with his current fosters. I've lost three dear family members, two grandma's and a great uncle who was my grandfather. It feels like my roots are gone some days. Oh, and surprise! I'm headed overseas on sabbatical soon.