Muddied Waters

People buy the most random and mundane shit, especially when they go on holiday. While living in Istanbul somebody asked me to bring them back a snow globe as a souvenir. I don't know what for because there is nothing exciting about a snow globe. Maybe some children are fascinated by them because they have this sense of excitement and wonder at the whirling mess. A picturesque town lined with plastic evergreen cones, people making snow angels in the park, inevitably a reindeer leaps off a rooftop, and then with a good shake the dandruff like substance inside the plastic sphere swirls around until it begins floating lightly downward. They are all the same. I reluctantly bought one for this person and eventually threw it away because I've not seen them since. A silly waste of five lira; I could have gotten a kebab and salty yogurt drink. 

Living in Southern California however we don't have snow globes. If we did we'd probably need to crack them open to use the water which is increasingly in low supply around here. Despite not seeing them, I've been living inside of one lately. One of those particles aimlessly floating around until the next violent stir of the water only to be flung about, swirling and drifting about trapped inside this confinement. This picture has been in my mind for weeks now, induced by downright discontentment and sheer frustration. I've been working for the greater part of my twenties at restaurants that I don't believe in. Whether it be an owner who is high on coke threatening to fire people in his state of hyper-vigilance or watching a pork chop land in the stairwell only to get thrown back on the grill before hitting the table two minutes later. I'm appalled by these places. What is the point? These jobs have allowed me the freedom to travel, to take time off and do things I love, I'll concede that. But as year 29 commences I have got to make better choices for my future. 

The problem is, with a Bachelors in Theater Arts, a year teaching English abroad, interning for a pastor at church, a freshly obtained yoga teacher certification, and an understanding of a few different languages there isn't a job in this entire world that's built for me. I would go back to school if I thought it would actually contribute to me finding a longstanding career I might enjoy. I refuse to go to work for something I don't believe in. Since graduating from university six years ago I have continued to traverse the globe, mostly on mission trips ranging from two weeks to ten months, but in the end I come back home because my familial community is here. Restaurant business is what I know here so that's where I land, and they are all the same. I wish I could make myself the promise that this one is the last one I'll ever work for. That soon I'll quit and never step in the Back of House of again. But when I remember what it's like to work for a lucrative one I'm reminded that money talks--and that's another language I speak. 

Let me set one thing straight. I know my attitude sucks right now. I'm fully aware that I am in a perpetual state of lazy irritability. My hamstring flaring up thwarts me from running and the sprained wrist prevents yoga practice. Not making money at the restaurant means I don't go out, I don't buy art supplies, I don't pay off debt, I don't fix my car, and eventually the shit all hits the fan. As I watch it all come raining down on top of me I can't seem to be convinced to keep doing the same thing anymore, to simply switch business establishments or move in order to try it somewhere else seems like pure insanity. I realize something does have to change though. Just maybe it will only take one drastic shift; then I can make the changes I need to carve out my path for the next decade. Ten years ago I thought by this time I'd be married, maybe have a kid already too. I once lived with a guy who was 55 years old, never been married, he just taught ESL courses during the day and at night would talk about the women he was in love with who were half his age. It was pathetic, lonely, and sad. Perhaps I'm trying to avoid that trajectory, being old and alone, delusional to the reality of my present. Maybe I have been blinded to the reality of the present, believing that this course is somehow sustainable. I'm holding on to the little pieces of hope that tell me that it's all going to be okay, that I'll possibly find my niche. 

On Easter Sunday I knelt by the baptism pool, my knees wet as water seeped through my trousers and I gripped the hand of the high school kid in the water in front of me. I've been mentoring him for the last six months since he gave his life to Christ. The pastor I interned under was kneeling beside me and while I prayed he affirmed the boy's faith as he supported is back with a hand. Tears welled, streaming onto our cheeks and we could not veil our joyous smiles. A declaration of death and life, something so real and beautiful and eternal. It was a sliver of light for me, the breath of air I needed as I struggle to tread water in my own circumstances, a reminder of what really matters. "Is this what drowning feels like or will I finally learn to swim?" I've often wondered to myself. Mostly, I feel as if I'm gasping for breath but this one was given to me full, without merit or solicitation. However, participating in this proclamation of faith liberated me, at least momentarily, from the closed, selfish confines of this bubble of self loathing and despair that I am living in. 

I cannot spend my adult life working a meaningless job, not in a restaurant, not for a company, not for anything I don't believe in. It feels like a form of prostitution, giving myself just make money. It's selling out, ignoring my authentic self--the gifts, talents, desires, and dreams that God has instilled inside me. Four years ago I walked away from it all; sold everything and moved across the world. In giving up material things I found a cathartic release to the expectations of society but I also discovered a deeper desire for emotional connectedness. These recent months have provoked questions of identity, purpose, sexuality, and intimacy as I wonder how to live a life that glorifies God given the particular lot I was dealt. When you strip it all away, when all the stuff is gone, no meaningful job, no love-life, no goals--there's no trajectory for hope. 

Pro Peace

The most difficult thing about having a blog is that every time I come to write something in it I discard the entry, or at best, I shelf it promising myself that I'll come back to it later. Since I regularly practice writing in a journal, something I didn't do a few years ago, I don't feel the need to type out all my thoughts to process them so much anymore. I find great solace in taking the pen to the paper, letting the words fall from my mind onto the page. Of course, in the process of journaling I don't hold myself to quite the standard that I would with electronic writing, where there are distinct paragraphs and spellcheck. With tangible pages the thoughts trickle like a steady stream, and sometimes, like this morning, gushing forth as my hand attempts to match the speed of my reeling mind. But in the past few weeks I've been even more intentional to spend time every morning with this writing routine. My journal can be (if in fact legible) full of spelling errors, swear words, and incongruent thoughts; that's allowed. 

A blog is a different animal; it's caged animal in a zoo, on display for the world to see. Each post representing a different experience making for a very eclectic hodgepodge of writings. As the zookeeper I feel some sort of obligation to keep the it alive, to make sure each of the attractions are exciting and worth viewing by the public. After coming home from Palestine and Israel I have thought immensely about how to describe my experience in a way that satisfies those who have paid the entry fee. Now, some who read this haven't paid with anything but their time, and while that's valuable I recognize there are those who were also financially invested as well as more who were in prayer for us while in the Middle East. So I feel somewhat pressured to fulfill the duty of zookeeper and make this entry a complete exhibit, however, I can't promise that will happen. It is a wild adventure which I don't think can be tamed by a few hundred words online. 

Just talking about the time in the Holy Land with people has been met with various responses. It was powerful and heartbreaking. We spent much of our time meeting with extremely influential people in the area. 

• A rabbi invited us to his home for a shabbat feast with his wife and a locally born university student. 
• A sheikh from the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem met with us for tea sharing his views on Mohammed and Jesus Christ. 
• One of the leading television journalists in Palestine shared with us her story of motherhood, government red-tape, and divorce that only seems fitting for a feature film. 
• Renowned author and former Archbishop of the Melkite Catholic church asked us to be a friend of Israel and a friend of Palestine, because nobody needs more enemies.
• A professor at a Jewish university gave us his perspective on settling in the West Bank after his immigration from the USA. 
• Daniel Seidemann, an activist and top political expert in Jerusalem gave us an in-depth tour of his city.
• As an Arab Christian in Bethlehem a farmer grieved with us the hardship and persecution he faces from the Israeli government. 
• An Israeli immigrant from England who lives within sight of the Gaza Strip regularly drives there to assist disadvantaged Palestinians, who otherwise wouldn't have access to proper medical care, taking them to hospital up north in Tel Aviv.
• Another Arab Christian man told stories us of hope in which his NGO meets with Israelis and Palestinians (some of whom are the leaders of Hamas) to learn about and practice peacemaking together.
• An Israeli mother and a Palestinian father sat side-by-side as leaders of The Parents Circle for bereaved families they grieved the loss of life together.
• We explored the Diyar Consortium in Bethlehem, a center for creativity and wholeness for the citizens in Bethlehem. 

One might begin to get a glimpse of the vast complexities represented by these lives and understand why it is so difficult to simply present it as a single and complete thought. As I try to force it into a succinct story I'm finding it more and more unlikely. With time I hope to continue to expound on each of these people's experiences they shared with us. One thing that I brought home with me is the value of meeting face-to-face. It's quite easy to throw stones from one political ideology to the other without thinking twice. But when we sit next to somebody and remember the humanity of each person it's a lot more difficult to make them an other. As we begin to understand the stories that shape people, our perspective will change and hopefully become more balanced. We shared tea with Muslims, Christians, and Jews, all of whom call the same Holy Land their homeland, all of whom want to live in peace with their neighbors as their people did for centuries before them. 

"People say that I'm a dreamer because I believe peace is possible between us. But I say you're the dreamer if you think we can go on living like this. This conflict is only getting worse and worse. It's not going to be one or the other, we have to learn to live side-by-side. I do believe, no matter what everyone around me says, that peace is possible." -Roni Keidar