When the Road Bends: Weeks 3 and 4 in Lebanon
Today I want to talk about changing expectations. We all have those moments where, in whatever adventure you find yourself, you realize that what you anticipated, expected, or understood about your journey thus far is, well…just plain different. The moments where path takes a new turn, the road bends, and suddenly you find yourself heading in a direction that was unexpected, perplexingly not in accord with what you had previously “figured out”.
Now, you might be wondering why my normal weekly post is, for this edition, two weeks rolled into one. I could sum up the situation quite neatly in two words: gastro-intestinal distress. A little over a week ago, a couple of us foreigners woke up in the night with a gnarly stomach bacteria that didn’t hold any punches. It affected each of us a little bit differently, and one of the ways it affected me is its insistence in sticking around. While the more, shall we say, indelicate symptoms of the bacteria have mostly subsided, I have had a slow recovery to fight the infection and have been experiencing after-effects that can be a real drain of my energy. So, in short, a few things have gotten pushed back.
But why bring up this little anecdote? Because somewhere in this week of sickness, in the mix of sleep, cups of tea, quiet prayer in my room, and slow walks around the garden, what I thought I knew about this time in Lebanon shifted into a deeper understanding. It’s not that I came with lofty goals or specific expectations; it was more like inklings or suppositions of how I thought God might speak to me and guide me in this experience which is so unique and wonderful. But, with the passing of the weeks, I have learned that He is actually doing something quite different, something new.
And He keeps inviting to me ask - to ask for what I desire, ask for what I need, ask for my dreams. And you know what? I think that sometimes, maybe even often, I do not know what those things are. At least, not in the deepest sense of knowing. What do you really want, Megan? Perhaps my “bend in the road” right now is the realization that I do not fully know my own desires; I am not yet free enough in myself to ask for the fullness that God wants to give to me (to each of us, in fact). And I am excited, because I know that in the daily details and experiences, He is teaching me the answer to this question, unfolding my own heart to myself.
In the midst of this quiet and reflective week, the rainy season is beginning in Lebanon. I have had the joy of hearing thunder roll along the coast, watching flashes of lightening light up my room at night, the fresh air from the sea mixing with the smell of rain and blowing through my room. Rain has a particular sweetness for me; I love it for the way it settles me interiorly, while at the same time awakening all my senses.
Just this week, Karmyn and I were peeling guava on the terrace when a storm blew in. It was one of those very normal moments which, for whatever reason, makes a deep impression; the way we stood up in one synchronized, unspoken movement to transfer our work inside, bowls of guava on our hips and the wind blowing our hair all around, grape vines rustling above our heads as we ran out to help Fr. Pierre stow away the chairs and tables from the wind. Later, we relished the sweetness of making hot mugs of tea and watching the rain from the kitchen windows, where bowls of fragrant mint and parsley spilled their sweet scent with gratuity.
That is, perhaps, one of my favorite things about Lebanon - its gratuitous beauty that awakens all the senses. Just in the last two weeks we finished harvesting the earthy-smelling olives, we visited the town of Jbeil and pressed our hands into grooves of ruins that made up the ancient Phoenician city, and where we smelled the salty smell of the harbor where beautiful wooden boats were tied next to ancient stone citadels. We sang praise in Arabic with dozens of Lebanese youth and families, the sounds of the tambourine, flute, and voices creating the most delicious blend of sounds.
More and more beautiful people to meet, and the stories continue to touch me. Testimonies of the blast and how the country came together in an unspoken movement of service, solidarity, and communion. Memories shared by Lebanese youth who, looking forward to dreams of university and possibilities of the future, faced the discouragement and sense of hopelessness that came with the country’s financial collapse. One particular story that has stayed with me is the story of Mary’s Kitchen, a food kitchen that began in the wake of the Beirut Blast and has continued to grow, serving nearly 800 hot meals a day (I will tell the full story later - we will make a visit to Mary’s Kitchen in the coming weeks).
With all of these experiences, I feel my own heart and call to mission continue to be stretched and formed. Time and again I see how the very people that share these stories of hardship are so deeply attuned to beauty and creativity, often noticing how creativity seems to pour naturally out of their hearts as a way to find catharsis, as a way to continue forward in life with a certain vigor, a certain joy, a certain gratitude to be alive. Every day I am able to witness the transformational and healing capacity of beauty and human creativity, particularly in the midst of trauma and trial; it gives me so much to contemplate, it speaks so much to my own questions about this mission of beauty and how God is inviting me (and each one of us) to participate.
Ah! So much to ponder, to savor, to keep…but in the interest of not bogging you down with my more existential wonderings, I shall leave you with another of my weekly lists!
Megan’s List of Lebanon Amusements and Misadventures:
Though I am not really bothered by being in the same space as spiders, other insects, etc., I am nonetheless a little caught off guard when a golf-ball sized arachnid makes its home on my shirt on the clothesline (pictured below) or scurries along the floor of the chapel while we are kneeling for night prayer. As Karymn very aptly said, “the spiders here are of an uncomfortable size.”
We’ve taught a few of the Lebanese youth how to play a card game called Dutch Blitz, a game which, in my opinion, is much more fun when there’s three different languages being spoken.
One of the girls has been learning how to drive in Lebanon with wonderful success…except for the time where a carful of foreigners miiiiight have gotten lost in the side streets of Harissa. At night. But no worries! After a quick phone call and a search-and-rescue mission by Fr. Joseph, everything was set right again.
Jam-making. Prepping fruit for jam, stirring fruit for jam, cleaning jars for jam, locating the special spoons for jam, eating jam. We go through a lot of jam, and everyone has their favorite. The quince jam (with labneh, a drizzle of olive oil, and salt) is my go-to Sunday morning treat.
And this - all of these details and memories and experiences - are precisely the means through which God is speaking into my life, into the world. We are in the midst of a great revealing; my only project right now is simply to remain attentive enough to see it…and perhaps to invite you to do the same in whatever season you are living now.
Until next week, friends!