A New Year, a New Mind

This wasn’t the first post for 2016 that I was intending to put up; the other one is still in my drafts folder.

I just arrived home after a New Year’s spent visiting with family; on the way home, I finished Francis Chan’s book, Crazy Love.

Coming home, seeing our shriveled Christmas tree, realizing that I must go back to work and wait a whole year before Christmastime again… well, call me a kid but it made me really sad. I had such an amazing Christmas this year; if I were being honest, I’d say it was the best. And the thought of leaving that behind made me a little misty-eyed. I only get to see my whole family (siblings, niece, nephew, uncles, aunts,  cousins, grandma) together once a year (if I’m lucky), and I loved our time together. It is a huge delight to spend time with them and I feel so blessed and privileged to call them Family.

Me being sad about leaving my family time behind… actually makes me super happy. Because not everyone has family that they love to be around, or loves them. Not everybody has family, period. And that makes me very sad. Which is probably why I started bawling as  I thought of my own family.

It is so strange being so happy that something makes you so sad, but that was the state I found myself in.

It’s been a crazy past couple of days– okay, month– okay, semester– Alright. Year. [let’s be honest: I carry the crazy with me all throughout life.] But the last four months I can say have been some of the best and worst months of my life. They’ve been the best because the situations I’ve found myself in and my (lack of) health and various relationships have pushed me to pursue God and become closer to him more than ever before in my life, and the worst because a lot of those situations that brought said closeness with God have been downright hellish.

I’ve had to come to terms with some very unhealthy mental habits of mine, which have brought sickness and anxiety attacks and all sorts of issues to my life. I’ve had to be brutally honest with my family and my friends in ways I’ve never been before… brutally honest about how weak I really am and how much a struggle appearing normal is for me sometimes.

But tonight, I am happy. No, I am joyful. I am joyful like I have rarely experienced in large quantities before this past August. I am joyful because I can feel both my joy and sadness with an alacrity and sharpness that would have been dull and shriveled, even a year ago. There is a cloud that has been over my soul for years, one that has greyed even the most vibrant of colors in my life. This cloud has only begun to shift in the past year, and if the last few months are any indication, the stormy deluge it brings at its passing is fierce but it will only serve to wash away the grime that has encased my soul.

I am so, so grateful that God has finally gotten into my head the beauty of vulnerability. For so long I saw it as a sign of weakness; and it is.

It is in our weaknesses that Christ is strongest, and it is our weaknesses that he uses as an avenue for his glory. His ways are not our ways; his thoughts are not our thoughts.

I’ve experienced unfettered joy in the last two weeks like I haven’t… ever. I’ve been so happy, and enjoying time with my family and relaxation when considering all circumstances I shouldn’t be. I’m amazed at this gift of joy, and love, and family, that seems newly washed and beautiful and satisfying like never before. And my heart aches for those whose Christmas season has been the exact opposite of that.

Even though I am filled with trepidation for returning to work and the myriad uncertainties of the future, I also am so happy, and excited to see God work in ways I’ve never before seen in my life in 2016.

I pray he:

Clarifies my vision for how I can best serve him and bring glory to his name.

Keeps my mind in the present and my heart near his, so I can walk in his Grace daily and share it daily.

Shows me more of his beauty, both through his creation and his heart.

Gives me more of his courage, to do and say and be who he is and who he wants me to be.

Shows me how to love more fully, live more deeply, and walk more closely with him.

Shows me how to fail more gracefully, say no more often (and more tactfully), and how to manage my resources (both time, health, and money) more in alignment with his laws.

 

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In Syria, Wars rage; in Amman, Falafel Fries.

It was hot in the open-door falafel shop near the seventh circle in Amman. As we entered an Irishman looked up from behind the counter, and shock mixed with the mouth-watering scent of frying batter embraced me. He had dark red hair cropped short and fair skin lightly splattered with freckles. The illusion was shattered when he greeted us in Arabic with an accent that was different from the lilting, distinguished city dialect. He wore an emerald-green shirt emblazoned with the word “CALIFORNIA.”

I sneaked a picture of him while he was making the falafel… He looked up right after I took the picture, and he didn’t look real pleased but he basically ignored me.

I expected him to laugh at any moment, and in a staunchly American manner, say “Just kidding, guys! I’m not really Arab. What’s up?” But he didn’t. Instead he stared blankly at us while we fumbled through our Arabic dictionary to find the right words.*  I forced myself to find the right words, combatting the oppressive June humidity and communicated to him that we needed some 40 falafel for the evening meal.

I watched him scoop up the falafel batter into a half-sphere mold, shaping the top of the ball with a spoon in his left hand, trimming the excess dough with six sharp movements. The spoons clacked together with each movement, six clicks forty times over, popping each ball into the sizzling oil. The rich smell of greasy, deep-frying falafel filled the air.

We learned that he was from Syria, and he’d come to Amman two years before to work in his brothers’ falafel shop. We didn’t ask him if it was the war that had forced him to move, mainly because we didn’t have the vocabulary to do so; partly because he didn’t seem open to discussion. He didn’t seem very chatty, beyond our initial conversation. He was reticent, focused on the task at hand. But half of Syria’s population has been displaced in the fighting that has enveloped the country; there really wasn’t much of a question as to why he was there.

Today I learned of the suicide bombing in Syria attributed to the Nusra front: two dozen loyal to Al-Assad were killed in Aleppo. ISIS has also retaken the city of Ayn Issa (which means “eye of Jesus”) in the past few days. I thought of the Syrian falafel maker I met last June; I wonder if he lost any friends or relatives in the latest skirmishes. I wonder if he had anyone left to lose.

You can learn a lot about someone by their actions; more so than by their words. So when I watched the Syrian make the falafel, forming the mounds with as much efficiency as a machine and far more grace than one, I got a glimpse into who this man was, if not what he’d been through.

As the falafel finished cooking, he handed us samples. The falafel was so hot it burned my fingers through the paper wrapping he handed it to me in. Once I got it in my mouth, it melted, a perfect crispy shell crystallized by the hot grease, surrounding a soft center gritty with spices and full of flavor.

We thanked him profusely in our horrible Arabic, and as we left a hint of a smile pushed up on his mouth.

Postscript: I have recently been doing a lot of reading on the conflicts involving ISIS and resistance groups in the Syrian and Iraqi area; this post is the result of that research (and my time in Jordan, of course). One of the reasons why ISIS has been so successful in its advances is the general instability that has plagued the region for years—generations, really. Factions, tribes, and religious sects have been largely unable to unite for a very long time, and ISIS, with their focus and drive, has taken advantage of the splintered infrastructure to gain holds in Syria, Iraq, and even along the Turkish border (not to mention Libya). This is to say nothing of the political strife in Egypt, or further east in Afghanistan and Iran. Pray for the people of Syria, Iraq, and all of those living in the region; pray for relief workers and resistance groups. Most of all, pray that many would be exposed to the peace of the Gospel and come to know Christ.

If you want to help Syrian refugees in need, consider donating to the Nazarene Syrian Relief Fund.

*As this was only my second or third day in Amman, Jordan, I had no idea that red hair and fair skin is actually not a horribly uncommon combination to see in the Levant, esp. (?) for Syrians.