From the Olive Trees: Week 1 in Lebanon
Bonjour du Liban!
Welcome to the first of many posts from my two and half month stay in the beautiful land of Lebanon. I am learning already (as this is now my seventh or eighth attempt at starting this post) that it will be quite the challenge to describe the richness of this place and what I am living here. Each week, I plan to spin a tale or two, that I might give a little taste of this land and these people that are already carving out a place in my heart.
So, here I am at the end of my first week! I feel like I am brimming with stories and details, moments big and small that I want to share. It is a mix of French and Arabic, za’atar and olives, persimmons and grapes, sunsets on the terrace and sunrises sitting in the open windowsill, looking out over the Mediterranean Sea.
In future posts, I will describe our daily life: the rhythm of the Community of the Beatitudes, the people, the language and history, the food…all the details that make up the fabric of this experience.
But for the week, we will begin in Frankfurt and end in olive trees :)
Almost one week ago to the hour, at roughly 3am MST, little Megan stepped off her plane onto the tarmac of the Frankfurt International Airport and boarded a bus that would shuttle her and her fellow passengers to the arrival gate. At that very hour, elsewhere in that great expanse of runways and gates and duty-free shops, a different airplane, bound for Beirut, was jetting off into the sky…without me. Alas! The connecting flight to Lebanon had been missed. To be honest, I was not all that disappointed to find myself with some extra time to stretch my legs and explore a new airport. After asking directions, I made my way to the Lufthansa customer service counter to hopefully catch another plane that same day.
As I stood in line (in front of a French guy and Polish guy who were together lamenting their misfortune at missing their flight to Miami), I recognized a married couple, probably in their late sixties, who had been on my plane from Denver. Striking up a conversation, I learned that they were on their way to Ireland to visit family. The husband, Terry, was an Irish musician who likes to say he was “kidnapped” by his American bride named Sharon who, as it turns out, is a published poet. Needless to say, my artist heart felt right at home with them, and it wasn’t long before we were sharing stories and amusing ourselves at Terry’s dry and laughing Irish wit.
After making our way through customer service, we found ourselves with two meal vouchers and hours of time before our respective flights, a reality which we all very sensibly concluded should result in our treating each other to a round (or two) of good German beer. When in Rome, as they say!
And how can I describe it? We spent a lovely couple of hours just relaxing, sharing stories, getting to know about each other’s lives. I remember thinking (as Terry recounted a rather hilarious moment with his band that culminated in a crowd of angry Irish pub-goers assailing the musicians’ car at one o’clock in the morning) that the unanticipated ten hours of layover was a small price to pay for the unanticipated joy of meeting these people. And, I will add, the joy of a particularly excellent beer.
I share this story not just because it’s fun and somewhat unusual but because it marked a key theme for my experience abroad. As I was sitting with Terry and Sharon, I took a moment in my heart to thank God for the gift of His providence in having this time with them. Immediately I knew that this type of encounter was going to be one of the secret treasures during my time in Lebanon; that in the midst of all of the unanticipated changes, discomforts, and hardships of the coming months, I would find all kinds of unanticipated beauty, fraternity, and deep joy. This encouragement from the Lord to attune my heart to be awake to these hidden treasures was such an encouragement for me. And how to achieve it? Simply by accepting to not clench my fists around what I think I desire, but rather waiting with open hands, ready to see and receive each moment with the knowledge that my deeper desires are being revealed, my deeper joys attended to.
Well, I finally did make it on my flight to Beirut (shoutout to Lufthansa for the best food experience I’ve ever had on an airplane) and arrived in beautiful Lebanon at 3am the next morning. Fr. Joseph picked me up from the airport and we drove the forty minutes from Beirut to the Community house not far from Byblos. Driving along in the dark, I could only make out shadowy glimpses of the trees and hills, and the Mediterranean that I knew lay somewhere to the left. It gave me the sweetest anticipation that felt something like Christmas Eve as I wondered what delight and joy would come when I woke in the morning.
And let me tell you, I wasn’t disappointed!
I could write another entire post about the next six days of my first week in Lebanon, but there is more to come, and I know that words (my words, at least) can only do so much by way of transmitting experience. So, for now, in addition to photos, I will simply share that Lebanon is full of beauty. The people are so warm, so full of joy and love in the midst of the profound trials that the country has faced in the last few decades. Discovering another house of the Community and another part of the world has been inspiring; I am delighted to be speaking so much French and am falling in love with Arabic, especially when it is sung. There is something very deep in me that is unfolding and sinking its roots into rich soil. It is, in short, so very good to be here.
It is olive season now, and the last three and a half days we have spent in the olive trees, dropping handful after handful of olives onto tarps laid out below. All of us in the Community house and many of our neighboring friends have been out from dawn till dusk, working, singing, and savoring the time (so far, we have picked around 2,116 lbs of olives). I couldn’t have asked for a better way to enter into life here than sitting atop an olive tree with friends beside and below me, singing Lauds in French/Arabic and running my fingers through the branches to drop the earthy and fragrant olives fruits, all with a backdrop of terraced land rolling down to the sea.
Throughout these days, I keep having to remind myself that I am here for months, that there is no need to run ahead to the next day or the next moment. That there are joys to savor a ten-hour layover, and that I can be at peace with whatever is still veiled by the quiet darkness of 3am because the beauty that waits for us in the morning is often too deep to be imagined.
Until next week, my friends!
In His peace,
Megan
