Unexpected Blessing

We have just about adjusted to the new way of life dictated by the building of a new Six Span Bridge. Construction requires us to go about 3 miles out of our way and it doubles our travel time to work. The first few days of the change found us trying for short cuts, forgetting to leave the house early enough, and experimenting with different ways to get 'there' from 'here.' Slightly annoying and inconvenient, we comforted ourselves with the knowledge that it is for the common good.

Then I noticed something else. The stretch of road between County Road 17 and County Road 19 is almost completely without traffic. Before construction, it would have been considered one of the main ways from Bristol to Elkhart, I suppose. A good number of vehicles sped along, particularly during what passes for rush hour in this neck of the woods.

Not now. The only traffic would be from a small line of houses along the river and our small subdivision. Just beyond us, Pheasant Ridge residents that once exited south onto our road now head north out of their enclave. A whole mile of road, once too busy to walk, now invites the intrepid Kitty and me to stroll along without a care. We even have a fine view of the river for a bit, just across from a burned down barn surrounded by volunteer daffodils and crocus.

It's all ours for the enjoying, while traffic buzzes along elsewhere. It's temporary, of course. Sooner or later the bridge will be done, a new roadway cut, and cars will again speed along the fresh black asphalt. Nothing lasts forever.

So now it's up to me. Will I be inconvenienced by the perpetual detour and extra time required for travel to and from almost anywhere? Or will I be thankful for what is mine today - sparkling water, spring flowers, a safe path? When I am in the middle of a life that seems detoured, or inconvenient, or just plain not what I want, what will I choose?

Is God's will the detour? Or is God's will the unexpected blessing? Or both?

Or maybe it's this: Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

Jerusalem, Jerusalem

God surprised me. If there is anything that should NOT surprise me, it's that God continues to surprise me. I'm always amazed, however. I just can't see Him coming.

When your plane lands in Israel, you are greeted with, "Welcome home." Home? I did not think it would feel that way. Oh, I expected to love Galilee again, with its tropical breezes, palm trees, and glittering water. It did not disappoint, though it felt much more like Florida than home.

Last time we visited, Jerusalem was a letdown after lovely Galilee. Too many people, too much chaos and traffic and noise to ever be 'home.' I went to Jerusalem expecting to feel like an alien, homesick for familiar comforts. Instead, I fell in love.

The souk (market) in the Old City should have been intimidating. Talk about chaos and noise! Narrow walkways defined by hole-in-the-wall shops. Merchants addressed the tourists, 'Welcome, American lady!' Meat hung unrefrigerated, whole animals skinned with the tail still attached to prove what kind of beast it was (goat, I think). Nike and Adidas sweatshirts hung all over the front of one stall. Just next door, open bins of every kind of candy tempted the passersby, but no one stole even a jelly bean. People jostled to get to wherever they are going. Prices in the souk are not fixed; haggling is expected. Cups of tea or coffee were offered to potential customers. "Looking is free, we love you anyway," we were told when we declined to buy.

The pervasive smell of cumin filled the air. We delighted in one merchant's two-foot-tall pyramid sculpted entirely of herbs and spices. A friendly seller promised 'everything a dollar' because he was soon to move to 'Texas, Houston' where he hoped business would be better.

Apple, one of the waiters at our hotel, greeted us like an old friend as we walked a street over from his shop, then invited us to come and see the beautiful silver-work of his father. When we got there, Apple's jewelry store was guarded only by a wooden bar indicating he was closed. Anyone could have walked in and taken everything. We asked him about his trust. Apple explained sincerely, 'When you are good to people, God is good to you.'

How could you not love a place like that, people like that?

We went every chance we got, buying silver jewelry for loved ones, finding treats like Nestle's chocolate and Kinder eggs, trying the Arabic version of funnel cakes (like ours, only so saturated with sugar that they are hard, like candy, on the outside). Slipping over into the Jewish Quarter to look at beautiful art and eat falafel. Mostly, the joy came in meeting interesting people who wanted very much to be kind, to be acknowledged, to live well in peace. It felt like home.

God surprised me in Jerusalem, showing me glimmers of grace where I expected only anxiety and discomfort. I learned that home is people who care about you, and I found them on the other side of the world.

How could you not love a God like that?

We are in the Holy Land this week for a whirlwind tour of every site we can possibly fit into our trip. It's exhausting and exhilarating, all at once. Galilee's warm sun, palm trees, and rippling water remind us of Florida. Because it is a resort and agricultural area, the pace is slow and the people laid back. Even the holy places there simply feel warm and rich and welcoming. You can see how people might argue with him over a cup of strong black coffee. You can't really imagine Jesus getting crucified in Galilee.

Today, however, we moved on to Judea. A trip to Bethlehem meant going through the Israeli/Palestinian checkpoints several times. The new wall being erected divides the city of Jerusalem (oddly, since the whole country is filled with crumbling ancient walls that didn't really protect people). Houses are crammed in like a creamy white lego city. People of all different stripes, cars, and tourist buses crowd the streets. Hawkers aggressively approach to sell their wares as you leave the holy sites, where churches are built on top of churches to mark certain spots in Christ's life. Palestinian soldiers with guns stand guard as the groups leave the Church, the store, the parking lot. The concierge in the hotel packs a weapon with her business suit.

Here, they might kill you. Here, you are aware that in the great wide world, little has changed since Christ walked the streets of Zion. Violence is still the method of choice for solving problems. Power still corrupts. The meek have not yet inherited the earth.

Sitting on a stone in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, one of my traveling companions wondered aloud, "What do you think Christ would think of all this?"

I don't know. I do know that the places you will find him here might not be the places on your tour itinerary. I saw him outside the church on Zion, where an Israeli mom taught her pre-schooler to count to 3 in English. I saw him in the French nun whose face lit up when Randy spoke French to her. I saw him in the way David, another pastor on our bus, always lags behind to offer an arm to one of the elderly women who has trouble walking.

The Church buildings are interesting and historical. Many still have congregations of laity or religious orders worshiping there. One thing, though, I leave convinced of: The Church of Jesus Christ is his people.