A New Season: Last Weeks in Lebanon

I find myself here, almost suddenly, at a tiny branch of the Denver Public Library where I sit beside a window. There is snow on the ground, and a leafless tree stretches its branchy up to the cold and beautiful blue sky.

It has been a while since I’ve written.

How strange to think that the last time I “opened” this journal was on a quiet morning in a monastery tucked away in the Middle Eastern hills. In the weeks that have flown by since then, we wrapped up our experience and said goodbye to Lebanon, and, making our way back to the States, opened our hearts to returning home. There were several times during these days since returning that I thought about writing - certainly the quiet time at home with family for Christmas could have provided the space. But it was a conscious choice not to write, not to write really until I felt that the words were ripe, and my thoughts, memories, and impressions had woven together into a recognizable image to share.

Overall, when I look back on the last the final weeks in Lebanon and my departure from that beautiful place, I can say that it feels like a new season. These winter months will be a quiet incubation of the seeds planted in my heart, and springtime will reveal a landscape in my life that will be at once familiar and surprising.

Since finding myself at home again, the most frequently asked question that I hear from people is, “So…what’s next?!”

To be honest, I have a hard time responding.

It is not challenging because I haven’t thought about it or that I don’t know what I want, but rather because it feels like the wrong question to be asking myself. To me, something about “what’s next” makes it feel like my three months in Lebanon was just a blip in time, a short pitstop where I hopped off the road of normal life and now it is time to “get back to it”.

On the contrary, Lebanon was real life. It became a moment of my story that has, in some ways, changed the plot line. It wasn’t a pause in normal life, but an extension of it. When God gives a gift, He intends for it to be integrated into our whole life, our whole person; in each gift of the God, He gives the gift of Himself. And when we are able to receive this gift of the Lord Himself, we change in a way that ought to extend to every part of our lives in some way, because our deepest personhood has touched by the one who reveals our fullest identity.

So, coming back from a place and an experience of deep encounter, the question stirring in my heart is not, “what’s next?” but rather, “what is new?” What is new within me that was not there before? Where is there new freedom, healing inside my heart, and how does that change my vision of the world, of my life? How does this “newness” of my person change the way I want to walk into the future?

Because what is “coming next” is not far off or around the corner: it’s already here. It was there the moment I landed in the States and has been revealing itself every moment since. What is coming next is, in some ways, no different than what I was living in Lebanon - it is the present moment, it is the daily attentiveness life and love, seeking the face of God in the people around me. The people, places, challenges, joys, heartbreaks, and work might look different than they did in Lebanon, but they are here, in all their richness, presenting me with my way forward.

And I can truly say that there is a newness in me. My experience in Lebanon, and in particular my experience of God in Lebanon, have made an impression on me in such a way as to mark another turning point in my life. And why? Simply because I am freer now than I was before leaving. Freer to acknowledge and receive myself as I am, my desires, my joys, my hopes. And this, miraculously and wonderfully, allows me to acknowledge and receive others more deeply, in all that they are. Because when we are healed and made free (or at least, feer than before), the space that was taken by fear can then be filled with love.

I think it was love that is the defining word for my experience in Lebanon, particularly the last weeks there. Our group of five women just kept going deeper into the sweetness that comes with communion of heart. We had it amongst us, and also amongst the brothers and sisters of the Community house, and the friends that came around. In many, many ways the best parts of our last two weeks were simply relishing the daily life we had shared for so long with one another; enjoying each other’s company at breakfast, lingering cups of afternoon tea on the terrace, walks in the village, frisbee in the parking lot above the avocado groves, singing songs in the kitchen as we washed dishes or prepared meals for guests. A personal desire, which I asked God to provide, was to have a moment of quality time with each of the brothers and sisters before I left. Some of those conversations were the sweetest of my time there.

One of my favorite moments of the last two weeks was right before we got on the plane. The three Americans left together, and our flight was scheduled to leave Beirut at 3:35…in the morning. Meaning we would need to be at the airport around midnight or 1am. One of the priests, the one who had been our “coordinator” during our time in Lebanon, was going to take us to the airport. This priest, who I can truly say became such a brother and a friend to us, drove us into Beirut at around 9pm. We spent our last hours together having a Lebanese coffee at a late-night cafe selling ice cream and fruit smoothies, and then walking along the boardwalk next to the famous rock formations that were beautifully lit up by the moon as they stood in their perpetual watch, twin sentries in the sea. We laughed, sharing stories and favorite memories from our stay, but also shared more about our personal stories. It was, in my opinion, the best sendoff we could have asked for.

This is not a particularly detailed post about what precisely we did in our last few weeks, nor is it a detailed post about my plans for the future and what has been going on since I’ve been back. I hope you don’t mind. This is, I suppose, I kind of thank you letter. A thank you to the house in Lebanon, to the people who welcomed us, to the girls I shared the experience with, to God…and to you! So many of you are supporters of my work, both financially and spiritually, allowing me to respond to mission whenever and wherever it takes me.

Speaking of mission, I was able to create and share a mini-series of artwork for the Lebanon house, which was a deep joy for both me and them. The series, for my part, ended up being a kind of visual prayer, a way of interceding for that country which is such a witness of beauty and life in the midst of suffering. I share some photos of the work and invite you to take time to sit with them and maybe offer a prayer of your own; a prayer for them, and for you, that the fire of beauty can burn deeply in the midst of whatever you are facing at the moment.

I am sure there will be more artwork, more writing that will continue to grow from this time abroad. But for now, it is good to be home. It is good to be cultivating the earth in this new season. It is good to be walking forward.

In peace,
Megan