Fresh Perspective

A five-minute drive from my home took me to the narrow alley way of Duaa. In between tall buildings and tight spaces, filled with too much humanity and buildings in disrepair, I climb the dark stair well to Duaa’s apartment. Our phone lights were needed to keep us from stumbling up the stairs. I quickly take in electric wires dangling everywhere, the laundry drying in-between buildings and a lone plant struggling to find light. Her warm greetings rang out, even before the humble apartment door opened. We kiss each other on the cheeks. Twice on each side. Duaa is our newest lady to join the Woven Dignity team.  She has 3 children (ten years old to two) and a husband who works for substandard pay as a car mechanic. They fled Syria ten years ago because of the war and have lived from week to week, sometimes day to day, in refugee status ever since. Ten years is a long time to live with the label refugee. Ten years is too long to live with not enough. Ten years is n...

 It’s Valentine’s Day and my husband has flown away to another Middle Eastern country. Strategically, before he left, I asked if we could stop at the flower shop and buy some flowers. See, I had already decided that if for some reason Darron didn’t get me flowers before he left, that I would just go and get my own, but that seemed even more selfish than asking for some. He willingly obliged. What else could he do? (giggle) This is love, 25 years in. It is not perfect. But the love that I have discovered in and through Darron must be proclaimed loudly. Lest you think I am going to speak more about the love in our marriage, that is not going to be the focus. Rather as my husband is supposed to mirror the love of God…it is in this imperfect reflection that I have learned so much more about God.  I will share 5 of the most precious glimpses of God that I have seen.  There are many more, 5 will be enough for this Valentine’s Day… #1. Darron pursues people. He especially p...

 It was a typical visit to my refugee friend’s home. We laughed. We caught up on their latest joys and challenges. We laughed some more. We shared food (an absolute Middle Eastern must). They delighted in the warm used socks I brought them. Then they placed something unusual on the little coffee table covered with a brightly unsewn cloth. It was a shower head and a tap. They proceeded to explain that their current ones had broken completely off and that they could no longer function in their bathroom. They complained that no one would come and help them, even though they offered to pay a handyman. I knew that I was not talented in bathroom fixture installation. My husband was travelling. My mind wandered through a list of possible men that could help…but they were all unavailable. If there is ever a time that I feel powerless as a woman, it is when I don’t know how to fix or deal with a problem that I consider a man’s job. With a husband who travels often, I ...

Yesterday we had the amazing privledge of hanging out with a new family that arrived in Beirut 4 months ago. They sold most everything they had. Packed up a few suitcases of the essentials and moved in complete faith to Lebanon, to learn English and to obey a heart call. No sponsorship. No guarantees of a future job. No house, car, insurance, family, friends, retirement plan or source of income.  Perhaps this would not seem so foolish to man IF they were moving to a “land of opportunity”, but currently, Lebanon does not even come close to that description. And so, we shared a meal with these “giants of faith” outside, in the sunshine. We all know what a giant is, and faith is, but what about a giant of faith?  I think Moses, Joseph, Daniel, Esther, Rahab, David, Elijah, Noah, and Mary would all be described as giants of faith. Perhaps you can name some modern-day ones also.  Ordinary people who act with unordinary courage and obedience (that’s Ruth’s def...

I didn’t want to risk catching whatever could be caught.  Oh, I had my list of excuses.  We were travelling. I had just seen her.  Surely, she was still, ok? But then I received the text that let me know everything was not alright. That the sickness was getting more serious. A cry for help. I passed it off to the pastor, again not wanting to take the risk. He reported back to me his assessment and it eased my mind of some of the guilt or that persistent nudging that has become very familiar these days. Yes, that nudging. A quiet, still, voice in my heart that will not be silenced. It persists. It prods my stubborn mind with thoughts of needs, of specific food items, of random things like Christmas lights, warm socks, and sometimes little gifts of money. I cannot explain it, but I like to think of it as the Holy Spirit assessing other peoples needs and then telling me.  Sometimes the voice is not quiet or still at all.  It is urgent and loud, even roaring....

The last three-and-a-half years I have experienced an anchor that has given me much focus, purpose, and satisfaction. It has helped to hold me through some radical transitions, including moving as US citizens from Indonesia to the Middle East and four boys leaping out of our nest. It also held fast as the disastrous flood ripped through our tropical aviation base in Papua and as we navigate the annual leaves where we experience the high of seeing family and friends and the low of leaving them again. This was not the first anchor of my choice; it did not capture my heart like some other anchors that were on display.  But I have always said, “I think God knows the desires of my heart better than I do.” It turns out that this is true.   This semester has been a culmination of the anchors effect as I taught Human Clinical 1 at MEU (I had an awesome mentor, Dr. Amy) and presented a capstone educational offering about forgiveness in the Middle East. I find the classroom inv...

 TAT A TAT A TAT A TAT A TAT. Not the noise we wanted to hear. There had been warnings the night before that roads would be blocked and there more than likely would be violence. I still find it a mystery how come these things are planned and announced. Which reveals how little I know about the political world, especially in the Middle East. Co-workers sent video links of the shootings that were happening a 15-minute drive away. Several times we could hear bigger explosions. It all seemed a bit surreal. Schools quickly sent children home. For those who have lived through the war, this event stirred up thousands of memories. For me personally, I had to weigh if I was still going to lead a women’s day out in the mountains that was planned for 48 hours later. The risk was that the traumatic event would not settle. That a bus full of women and children could be an easy target. Possibly the roads would close, and we would get stuck or worse…. My Middle East friend and team membe...