Gaza.

Alright, so, I've spent the last hour or so telling you about a trip to Jordan and Christmas in Bethlehem in my past posts, but I feel now that I need to update you on the situation in Gaza. While I am not located in Gaza, and you should have no fear for my immediate danger, there are, as of this moment, over 270 people dead and 900 people injured from Israeli air strikes. Let's compound the fact that Gaza has essentially been cut off from resources for months or even years now. They have very little medical supplies, food, water, etc, etc, etc. It breaks my heart. These aren't savages. These are human beings.

What does this mean for Bethlehem? We've already had two protest marches. Yesterday's march ended at the checkpoint, where stones were thrown at IDF soldiers and tires were set on fire. Bethlehem, and the rest of the West Bank, has announced a strike. This means that basically all businesses were closed yesterday, and will be closed for the next two days. A Palestinian car hit a police officer on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem yesterday. There was a large riot there today. Kids were throwing rocks again, which ended with the IDF police showing up and eventually arresting some of the kids.

I don't know really what to even say. My blog is to be used as a ministry tool, not a political tool. I don't even know what the opinions of my readers are. I don't want to say that I am pro one side or the other, because both are at fault. It may sound cliche, but I'm pro-human rights. I am anti-death and suffering of people. I am pro-finding a good solution for the maximum number of people possible. The strikes on Gaza though, scare me. It saddens me. There were fighter planes flying over Bethlehem. It's a no fly zone here, so that means the planes had to be Israeli. I've never seen this at home. Now, I'm not trying to scare anyone, especially my mom, but I've never lived through this and I'm here to inform many of you that haven't as well.

I don't really have much more to say here, except please pray for the people of Gaza, Palestine, Israel, and everywhere else. Everyone's suffering. It's war. I watched RENT last night as a stress-breaker and there's a line in the movie that actually says, "The opposite of war isn't peace. It's creation." I'm attaching some links of articles with a different understanding with the situation here.

I'll leave you with one thought: Nearly 300 dead and over 900 injured Palestinians. 1 dead Israeli. Which side deserves self-defense again?

Pray for those around us.
http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2008/12/200812279451509662.html
http://www.maannews.net/en/index.php?opr=ShowDetails&ID=34306
http://jmm.aaa.net.au/articles/2760.htm (This is actually from Dr. Mitri Raheb, the pastor at Christmas Lutheran Church. He wrote this in regards to life under curfew during the second Intifada.)
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/3707556/Vicar-bans-Christmas-carol-O-Little-Town-of-Bethlehem.html
http://www.maannews.net/en/index.php?opr=ShowDetails&ID=34170
http://www.maannews.net/en/index.php?opr=ShowDetails&ID=34268

Christmas in Bethlehem

Christmas in Bethlehem.

You've all been waiting for this blog post since the moment you heard I was traveling to the Holy Land for a year.  I would also venture to say that a number of you thought of me when you sang "O Little Town of Bethlehem" in church on Christmas Eve.  It probably brought tears to my mom's eyes, for sure, and probably a few others.  It was an amazing Christmas.  Unfortunately, the words to "O Little Town of Bethlehem" are not entirely accurate.  Bethlehem is no longer some quiet, peaceful, little town.  It's currently separated by a wall and experiencing a suffering economy, due to these changes.  Bethlehem is one of the most fortunate places in the West Bank, as far as accessibility, but it's still difficult here.  There has been a movement to actually ban singing this Christmas carol in some churches because of its inaccuracy.  Some manger scenes have included a wall between the shepherds and baby Jesus.  Let's be honest, if the sheperds were from Jerusalem, they wouldn't have made it to Jesus' birth, unless they had the right permit.  I know this is sad and depressing, but I want you to be aware of it.  I had an awesome Christmas, but remember those key details to life here.  I will do my best to remain optimistic.  I will be following this post with a post about the situation in Gaza, to keep the two as separate as possible.

Christmas in Bethlehem was phenomenal!  First of all, I was really blessed to live with two girls who support my need for decorations.  Thus, we have a fake fireplace, stockings hung, some Christmas lights, some pine branches, and even part of a tree!  I say part, because it was someone's trimming job...it's concave on the top.  I have also been blessed to be a part of an amazing international community that celebrated lots.  We had a big Christmas cookie decorating party at our house last weekend.  We also had two different nights of potluck-ing and Christmas carol singing at some of the others' homes.

As for Christmas itself, we celebrated Christmas Eve by spending the majority of the day in Manger Square.  There was a large parade, comprised of the various scout groups in the area.  They played Christmas carols on bagpipes and drums and marched through town.  It was awesome!  I ran into a teacher from my school, whose three kids are all in classes I work with.  I ran into a lot of other students and people from church.  It was nice to realize that I know people here and that I'm just a random tourist.  We actually watched the parade with that family, and his youngest daughter, Mae, insisted on having me hold her.  He asked her if she loved me and if I was her best friend in Arabic.  She excitedly responded yes.  She's actually not been to school for nearly two months now, because her grandmother passed away.  It's tough, because she should be in school, but she adamantly refuses to go.  She was really excited to see me, though, so that was a nice feeling.

We continued to watch the parade, where we saw the Latin Patriarchs from Jerusalem come through in their hot pinks hats.  They were coming to Nativity Church, probably for the Midnight Mass later that evening.  We spent the day in Manger Square, then headed in to get seats in Christmas Lutheran Church for the service.  We claimed seats at 3:45, for the 5pm service, because they were only offering seating for 75 people in the sanctuary.  It's a small church anyway, but they needed room for two choirs, several church elders, and some foreign dignitaries.  The service was a live broadcast, but I'm not really sure where it ended up.  We sang the hymns in our own respective languages, the hymns being traditional Christmas hymns.  It was crazy to hear "Hark the Herald" in Arabic, German, and English, simultaneously.  It was also crazy to think that I was spending Christmas in Bethlehem.  I did feel bad about the service though, because we hearded a group of our young international friends in, but there were definitely not many of the actual members of Christmas Lutheran Church there.  Granted, I'm sure some of that comes with the territory.  For instance, people of St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City are probably used to masses with tourists who get their souvenir coin on the way out the door.  I would not expect this from my experience with Zion Lutheran Church in Indiana, Pennsylvania, so it confuses me.

After a delightful Christmas Eve service, we headed off to Beit Sahour for dinner at a restaurant called the Tent.  It's designed to look like a Bedouin tent, with a low, drooping fabric ceiling and tapestry-covered benches.  The food was great, but the entertainment was better.  At one point, they lowered the lights, and starting blasting the Arabic version of "Jingle Bells."  In sprinted not one, but TWO Santa Clauses, launching gift packages at the tables in the back corner.  My group of friends started to yell, of course, so they came over and threw presents at us.  We ended with Santa hats, toy racecars, balloon animals, noise-makers, etc.  It was great.  I could have asked for a better Santa visit than that!  We headed back for more Manger Square time, but things had pretty much died down.  The lights were beautiful there though!  Check out the pictures at some point.

Christmas Day was church in Jerusalem, followed by a brunch at the pastor's house.  It was nice to be around lots of people and relax.  We were able to eat and laugh and remember that Christmas was about a gift.  A gift from God: Christ.  We have been given the gift of being able to experience Christmas in this place.  I've had the gift of a supportive family, despite how hard it is to say goodbye to me, loving friends, who will forever hear the stories of "One time, when I was in Bethlehem...", and people who are here and home to welcome me into a community.  I'll be completely honest, I wasn't homesick at all, minus one moment, this Christmas.  The moment I felt homesick, was when my sister told me that my brother made a derogatory statement, paused, and said that he missed me, because I would have yelled at him for that.  I know that may be insignificant to you, but the fact that it was yet another "little moment" where I was missed and where I miss them, was intense.  

Random side note, my favorite part of Christmas here?  Over 50% of the kindergarteners on Tuesday were wearing Santa Claus costumes, complete with fake beards.  Hysterical.  Alright, I'll be posting plenty of Christmas pictures, as soon as I can.

Merry Christmas!!!

Jordan

I started this blog awhile ago about our YAGM retreat in Jordan, but I never got around to finishing it, or blogging about it.  So here's Jordan.

We left our apartment in Bethlehem at 6am on Sunday morning, which was rough, but we saw a BEAUTIFUL sunrise over Bethlehem and Beit Sahour.  We drove to the Allenby/Al-Karameh/King Hussein Bridge (Israeli/Palestinian/Jordanian names), which stands as the only exit point for West Bank Palestinians into Jordan.  We had to get a taxi to cross over the "actual border", which dropped us at this bus station thing, where we went through customs.  Then, we took a bus from that terminal to another bus station thing, where we then got cabs to head to Amman.  It was a pain.  I think my favorite part was driving through the first "checkpoint," where the soldiers held mirrors on long poles (like dentists' mirrors) and scanned the bottom of every car for bombs...nice.  One soldier also poked his head in the window and very nonchalantly asked if we had any weapons.  I've been asked that a lot at checkpoints.  I wonder how useful that is, because if I seriously did have weapons that I was sneaking into another country, I wouldn't suddenly tell them.  "Why, yes, I do have loads of weapons.  I was planning on opening an attack on your country.  Is that cool with you?"  Anyway.  

It was a long trip and slightly irritating, but getting to Amman was awesome.  It's crazy to think what things stood out there, because I've become used to life with or without them.  

For instance:
Amman vs. Bethlehem

Minimal garbage......absurd amounts of garbage in the streets

Police officers that pull drivers over for speeding, etc.......police officers that do...?

Lots of construction vehicles/new buildings.......a bulldozer here or there

Massive billboards.......signs on the sides of buildings

Wide streets.......narrow streets

KFC, Pizza Hut, Starbucks, Hardee's, etc........no chain brands.  It's impossible to have chains in the West Bank

Feeling free and relaxed......feeling this insane tension that permeates through everyone

Etc, etc, etc.

Let me explain too, that this was Amman and not all of Jordan.  Some things were in all of Jordan, but mainly Amman.  The biggest difference for us though, was feeling like we were out of an occupied country.  People were much more relaxed.  It was crazy.

We spent the day in Amman, where we saw some Roman ruins, a Roman ampitheatre, King Abdullah Mosque, and some other cool sites.  We went to church at the Good Sheperd Lutheran Church, which is the only Lutheran church in Jordan.  It was cool to worship with a new congregation that we have no immediate connection to their members, but still in the synod.  Paster Samer also asked for a volunteer to read one of the lessons in English.  We all looked at each other for awhile, then I volunteered to read it.  It was cool.  I haven't read in church like that for probably six months or so, in an Arabic church, nonetheless.  We had burbarah after the service.  It's a Palestinian dish that is made for St. Barbara's Day.  Here's a blurb about it: "According to tradition, Burbara (Barbara in English) was the daughter of the pagan Dioscurus. On discovering that she became a Christian, her father tried to kill her, but she was miraculously transported out of his reach. Dioscurus denounced her to the authorities. Despite being tortured, she refused to denounce her faith. Her father killed her and was immediately struck by lightning and reduced to ashes. As a result of her father's fate, St. Barbara's prayers are especially sought as protection against thunderstorms and fire, and by an extension of this idea she became the patron saint of gunners, miners and firefighters. Palestinians Christians mark the occasion with a Burbara pudding made from shelled wheat. The Orthodox churches celebrated on 17 December St. Barbara's Day. The Protestant and Catholic churches celebrated it on 4 December. Some people believe this is in remembrance of a time she was locked up in a storeroom and only had these ingredients available to eat."  http://www.palestine-family.net/index.php?nav=6-23&cid=10&did=1028&pageflip=4  This website has some more Palestinian traditions and recipes, if you're interested.  

On Monday, we got up and spent the day at Petra.  It's this BEAUTIFUL ancient city that was basically carved into the sides of rock cliffs.  We got there by 10am and stayed until 5pm, walking all day, including an 850 step hike up to the monastery at the top.  It was insane.  I'll post pictures later.  That's the best way to describe it.

On Tuesday, we got up early and drove to Wadi Rum.  We spent the next two days camping out in the desert with Bedouin.  It was, AMAZING!  Our guide picked us up and we jeeped into the actual village of Wadi Rum.  We had some tea, then we started our camel trek into the desert.  It was so surreal.  My camel was actually the slow, angry one, so I was in the back...by like, 20 feet, for the majority of the trip.  I was able to watch the other girls on their camels though, riding into the sun on camelback, in this amazing site.  Again, I'll post pictures.  We were on camels for awhile, then we switched to jeep-trekking.  It was awesome.  The desert there is flat with massive mountains, so it made for some awesome views.  We hiked into a canyon that day and hiked a lot on Wednesday.  We hiked up this MASSIVE sand dune.  It was phenomenal!  The hike was so hard that we layed on top of the sand dune for awhile.  My one roommate hugged the dune.  We could see so much from the view.  

We spent the next few days there and returned home on Thursday.  It was an amazing trip and I loved it!!  

My pictures are not loading well on this page lately, so here are the pictures I've posted on Facebook.  I have tons more of the scenery shots, but here are some.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2012374&l=fb5c4&id=175200680

Blonde hair and Advent decorations...

I don't think anything that profound has happened since I last blogged. I guess I'm feeling like I've somehow found a comfortable place, as far as work goes. I'm hoping to tweak my schedule though, to focus in more on being with specific students. Right now, I help the middle school English teacher on Mondays and Wednesdays. This is great, but it means that I end up with only like, one period a week with some students and that she never knows how to truly use me. I'm thinking I'm going to switch and be present for all of the classes with one or two grades, but then spend the rest of my time in kindergarten. I hope this improves how I'm being used in the classroom and build stronger relationships with specific students.

I have found that this one little girl on the bus, named Lydia, has taken a fancy to my hair. I don't think I mentioned it before, but she's four years old and is in the middle kindergarten class. I usually wear my hair up—not as high as I normally do at home though—and so the kids don't really see it down. I wore it down the one day and she came back and petted my hair for the twenty minutes of our bus ride together. She came back the other day and we somehow started playing this weird game of passing an invisible object from her hand to mine. It was really sweet! It's really nice to be consistently recognized by some kids, because I feel like about half of the kids I interact with have Alzheimer's. It's seriously like being in 50 First Dates with them sometimes! I just mean by this, that some kids totally run up to me and hug me or kiss me or greet me or whatever. Then, there are plenty of other kids, who I've specifically played with and had conversations with, and I say hello or good morning to them, and they just look at me like a deer in the headlights. I'm so confused by it. I've pretty much focused on it being amusing though, much like one of my favorite Adam Sandler movies.

I think it's important to talk here about the beginning of Advent for me. I think it's strange being in a place where there's no major anticipation for holidays. Now, let me clarify: there's no anticipation for MY holidays. I recognize that I'm saying this as an American, who had no Halloween celebration and an awesome Thanksgiving celebration, but only with internationals. Meaning, I went to work on Thanksgiving and it was a totally normal day for everyone I was around; whereas, in the States, there's a buzz or a vibe with that day. So, Advent started on Sunday, which is way more important than usual for me, because it's the preamble to Christmas. I'm living in the Christmas capital of the world, so Advent's a big deal. I helped decorate the Church of the Redeemer, which is the Lutheran Church in the Old City of Jerusalem (my post office, if you've written me). There are three congregations there: Arabic, German, and English-speaking. The Arabic and German congregations both worship in the main church, while the English-speaking congregation worships in the chapel. The Arabic and English congregations worship simultaneously, while the German worships after the Arabic. It was really cool to help decorate the church. The pastor there, Mark Holman, and his wife, Marcia, have been an AMAZING blessing to me and other volunteers while we've been here. Kendra, one of the girls in my group, was asked to help with the Advent Planning Committee for the church. I volunteered to help her decorate on Friday, because I knew she was going in. We ended created a really cool (I'm somewhat biased) backdrop for the first Advent service. It was neat to be able to create church decorations and feel like we could do whatever we wanted with them. It really created a sense of pride in our worship space, which I hadn't felt before there. I think I've felt pride in Zion, my home church, because I've been there so long, but also because I've spent many a Sunday acolyting, reading, or just waiting for my mom after church and hanging out there with my siblings, debating on where we can convince her to take us out to eat. So, why do I care about some cloth or pine branches? I think because not only does it "dress" the church to prepare for Christmas, but it reminds me to get ready. I feel like half of the holidays are in the anticipation of what is to come. That is, Thanksgiving was lacking, despite the AMAZING time I had celebrating the actual feasts (yes, I had two). It was obviously lacking in the sense that my family wasn't there, but it was also lacking in the prep work. I didn't see paper turkeys hanging on people's doors. There were no fall leaves or snow, which I guess was pretty standard for turkey day at home. There wasn't the hustle and bustle of buying vegetables and bread and a lifetime supply of butter and milk, which I usually help my mom with. I know that my writing here isn't very good, so I apologize in advance. What I'm getting at, and maybe it's cheesy, but Advent is that time to prepare yourself for Christmas. I don't just mean buying presents, but I mean feeling like Christ's birth is right around the corner. I like that anticipation. I like reminding myself that I am a Christian and I am trying to prepare myself for Christ's birth, or our memorial of it.  

Advent is one of the easiest ways to mark Christmas is coming. My home church uses the three blue candles and then one pink candle for the last Sunday. I love when the pink candle is lit, because we've built up that anticipation with the blue candles. I know it's coming. I know that Christmas, Christ's Mass, that is, is near. I love it! I'm living in Bethlehem, which if I'm going to miss Christmas with my family, I better "Go big or go home." I'm pretty sure I can't go home, and Bethlehem is the epitome of "going big" for Christmas. I guess in all of this rambling, I encourage you to look at your church or home or family or whomever, and look for that anticipation…the excitement for something great to come. It's sad, but strangely inspiring to spend holidays away from home. I miss my family and friends, which I'm sure is obvious through my last blog. I'm glad though for trying something new. Spending the holidays away from home, means that I get to pick and choose how I want to celebrate. This isn't saying that I WANT to throw out family traditions, because BELIEVE me, I don't! It's cool though to think that I get to go to church on Christmas Eve in Bethlehem, where I will have spent the day watching Palestinian scouts march in the Christmas parade, playing Christmas carols on bagpipes. I'll get to wake up and eat hummus and pita, if I want. Breaking out of the normal for me, has made me feel things more intensely. I don't have many examples to site here, but I consider Thanksgiving. The night we spent with all of the internationals had a warm glow in the room, candlelight, and just this amazing happy vibe flowing through the room. I don't think I've ever felt that warm and cozy on Thanksgiving at home. There are completely different feelings there, for sure. The sense of newness reminded me that when I go home, that will be "new" too. Feel the anticipation in yourself and look for meaning in what you're doing.

Let's pray!

Dear God, 
Thank you for new friends here. Thank you for the patience that you've given me to handle "newness" in lots of ways. I pray that you be with Paul and Anne still, and with those others who are struggling. God, help me and those around me, physically and in spirit, feel the anticipation of Christmas. Prepare us to be ready for Christ's birth a new way. Watch over my family and friends and give us, all of us, energy when we feel weak and tired. I ask all of this in your Son's most precious and holy name, Amen.

Much love,
Meredith

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  It was really weird to be in school today and have no one even notice that it was Thanksgiving.  Like, no turkey crafts...no mention of anything.  Weird.  

Oh, it was also pretty special to walk home today and be stopped at the main intersection of Bethlehem by loads of police with guns and forced to step inside a building.  Yeah, great.  I totally loved my limited knowledge of Arabic this afternoon...not.  The teacher I work with insisted on driving me to the main intersection, which is fine, because I was super-tired.  I got out of her car, crossed the street, and started to walk down the street to get to my house.  I was stopped by one soldier/police officer/camo-man with a large gun.  I asked why in Arabic and I didn't get a coherent response.  I insisted that I lived here and I wasn't a tourist.  I told him what street I lived on, because it's the main road to Beit Sahour.  Welp, he sent me on, where I was stopped about five feet later by another soldier/police officer/camo-man with a gun to be forced into the gated yard of a building.  Every building has a gate on the street here.  It's standard.  He buzzed on the gate and it was opened to allow me and two Palestinians in.  Let me also tell you that there is not a single car on this main road between Hebron and Jerusalem (except, not, because they built a WALL in the middle of the road, so it doesn't go to Jerusalem anymore), besides police cars, Hummers, Land Rovers, whatever.  There were uniformed men (I'm tired of typing the three possibilities) with guns on the roofs and about every ten feet...literally.  Nobody was allowed to walk on the street.  Everybody was behind doors or several feet from the road down driveways or whatever.  I kept asking why and finally the people I was with tried to answer.  This is where the lack of Arabic came in.  I finally just said, "Que-es willa mish que-es?"  Which is "Good or not good?"  They said, "Que-es, que-es."  So, I calmed down.  Oh, let me also mention, that they've been launching rockets into Gaza since the election, flying tons of F-16s over Bethlehem, hosting hoards of uniformed men on every street corner, and my teacher told me that there could be some riots starting between Hamas and Fatah followers.  Those are the two main political groups in the West Bank.  Unfortunately, there have been riots in Gaza recently over political issues (go figure...discourse in Gaza??  Never.)  In addition to all of this, they closed one of the checkpoints for "26 November 2008 / Noon, Clashes were reported between Palestinians and IDF at Qalandia CP, south of Ramallah. Stones and Molotov Cocktails were hurled at IDF during the incident. IDF opened fire at demonstrators. One Palestinian was reported to be injured."  Alright, so all this being said, I was a little tense.  Now, before any of the rest of you panic, I was ushered out of that space and up a different street.  I stood with a group of people watching the same intersection (instead of going home...yes).  The hoorah?  Apparently, the Italian Prime Minister visited Bethlehem yesterday and today.  It was a huge relief, but still somewhat scary.

So, Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.  :)

Much love,
Meredith

Hebron tunnels discovered--bought my sandals in Hebron

Palestinian Terrorists?  Yup, maybe you should take down that Wall.

Trucks banned from entering Gaza

Beyond words.

THINK...THINK...THINK...THINK!!!  Read and listen to the news with a critical mind.  

Where is God in all of this mayhem?

Alright, so, it comes again that I finally post a blog. First of all, I apologize to all of you for being MIA in the blog world lately. I know, through talking to my mom and some of my friends, that you’re all excited to hear about my adventures and worry when I don’t blog often enough. I really, REALLY want to blog more often. It’s hard though, because I’ve really gotten into “life.”  

My roommates and I typically get home at our respective times and process our days. It’s a really nice way to highlight the positives of our days and unpack the negatives. Over the last several weeks, I’ve found myself saying that my day was good, a lot. I feel like there are still successes and positives in each day, but I’ve finally evened out in a way. Each day is no longer a challenge. Granted, it’s still a challenge getting up early enough to get on the school bus at 7:05am (in all fairness, I actually set my alarm for 6:20am, but don’t get out of bed until 6:45, and then I walk out the door at 7:00, so I snooze longer than it takes me to get ready). I’m telling you this, in my normal, rambling form, to say that life here is good. I don’t come home every day totally stoked about every single thing that happened, but I feel really comfortable. I’m in a routine (mostly), and I live in Bethlehem. I’m not a tourist. I get really irritated by tourists actually. I’ve become one of the snooty long-term volunteers here.  

In saying all of this, I’m going to give you more general thoughts, reflections, experiences, etc. Global Mission in Chicago wants to know what my “ministry” is like, so I think I’m going to do more of a recap, then reflect on it. I’ll try to add more specific stories and little things in it near the end. That’s my plan for this post. Alright, here we go.

I am serving at Dar Al-Kalima School, where I spend two days a week assisting the middle school English teacher. I basically help where I can, whether it’s through giving dictations, leading group discussions, or circling the room during individual or partner work. I spend two days a week helping the 5-year-old kindergarten class. I serve as a teacher’s aide, and I usually lead a “station” during their morning rotation. This was painting for awhile, but I’ve gotten to help with worksheets lately, which means I haven’t had to rinse paint out of my clothes or off my shoes for a few weeks. I help teach swimming lessons every day. This has been one of the most difficult things to do, as far as lacking Arabic, so I focus more on playing with the kids in the pool during their free time. I help where I can, as far as assisting them float, streamline, etc. I also help with the after-school “storytelling” club, which is more like an English enrichment program for 4th and 5th graders. There are no consistent tasks during that club, so it’s really random. We played musical chairs (with me singing…?) two weeks ago and I read Jack and the Beanstalk to them last week.  

Alright, so, my ministry? I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. I get up and go to school each day with no intention of being a Christian or in teaching people what it means to be in community. I’m serious. I do go to school every day though and I hope I give some positive one-on-one interaction to kids. I’ve found that I PLAY with kids a lot more than most of the teachers do. Now, this is for plenty of reasons. Most of these teachers have several of their own children at home, so they’re tired. It is probably also an authority thing. If a teacher expects absolute authority in the classroom, which, to be honest, never happens in a Palestinian classroom, then he or she probably shouldn’t play hide-and-seek at recess. I think it also comes from my personality. I’m 22 years old, but I’m not ready to “grow up” and be serious. I’m the class clown. I’m the fidgety person. I like playing games and I like playing with kids. I try to make myself available to just “be” with the kids. Side story: I stand in the courtyard every morning near the main door. I station myself here, so I don’t infringe on the teachers’ conversations, but I am also open and available to talk or to play. Usually kids from the classes I observe or from swimming lessons stop and say hello. I feel like I’m still a novelty sometimes though. I’ve been here almost three months, and I’m still stared at by a lot of kids. It’s really peculiar. It’s also amusing, because I’ve had several kids, and people in the community for that matter, ask me if I’m German. While I’m 5’11”, blonde, blue-eyed, and clearly not Palestinian, it always amuses me when people say, “Gutenmorgen” to me. Yes, it does happen. Another side story within this side story: the one morning, we had a substitute bus driver and he said “Gutenmorgen” and I said, “Saba’il her,” which is “Good morning” in Arabic. He looked confused and all the teachers in the front chuckled. I then heard them explaining to him that I was actually American and not German. Good times. Initial side story: I had two kids come up today and ask me to play hide and seek with them this morning. I’ve never met them before and I don’t have any formal interaction in classes with them. The question actually came after the boy showed me that he had stolen bread dough from a bakery near his home and was eating raw bread dough. It was amusing. I also actually washed my hair Sunday night of last week (I don’t shower that often here with being in the pool every day and with the water shortage in the West Bank…and because I’m lazy). This meant that when I got on the bus in the morning, one of the three-year-old kindergarteners, named Lydia, smiled brightly and said, “Chara hilu!”, which means “Pretty hair!” She actually wandered back to where I was sitting (the kids walk all over when the bus is movie…it’s scary). She repeated “pretty hair” and was just looking at me with fascination. I finally leaned over the aisle (she was in the seat across from me), and she reached up her tiny hands and started petting my hair. She played with it for the twenty minutes it took to get to school.  

Now, this is where I repeat that I don’t necessarily feel like I’m doing “ministry.” I do feel like perhaps ministry could be a much further point from this initial interaction. Meaning, letting a three-year-old pet my hair is not serving God; however, letting a three-year-old pet my hair will, hopefully, encourage her to see me, as an American, Christian woman, as someone who is nice and gentle and fun. I don’t know that this itself is being Christlike, but I think it’s about planting these seeds. It’s about allowing children to touch hair or ask questions or just be curious about what it means for me to be an American, or for me to be Christian, or what it’s like to play in the snow, or why I’m not married (still remains to be a question asked at LEAST once a week).  

The hardest part of feeling this distant ministry, as perhaps I should call it, is feeling the obvious connection to God. I walk home from school every day, partially for fresh air and exercise and partially to just FEEL the community around me. I love eating pita here, but sometimes I stop in this one bakery on my way home to buy bread or whatever chocolate cookies or sweets I see, simply to talk to the Muslim, non-English speaking man, in my broken Arabic. It usually means we smile at each other a lot and he offers me Arabic coffee at the end of my purchase. I love it here. I really do!  

I’m realizing how disconnected all of this is and I apologize. I know it’s all over, but I figure I’ve been harassed for the near month since I blogged last, so this should appease everyone.  As far as more work stuff, I spent the morning today writing a Christmas play. Writing a Christmas play, yes. Am I qualified to write a play, you might ask? Well, no, I don’t think so. It’s part of the life here. The English teacher I work with was asked to come up with a five-minute Christmas “sketch.” She immediately turned to me and asked me to write it. I gave her my deer-in-the-headlights look, which is pretty typical for all of the crazy things they ask me to do, and asked what was meant by a sketch, what the play was for, and who would act in it…all appropriate questions to ask someone that wants you to write a play. Well, a sketch is a brief Christmas play, I guess. I still don’t know who’s acting in it—she’s going to assign parts once I’ve written it. I think it’s being presented…uh…around Christmas time. I came up with an idea to make it modern and she agreed, but then I realized I don’t really have the free time to write a play, so I suggested that we have the kids write it. It would improve their English skills and make the play something they actually wanted to do. I also suggested having the “storytelling” kids write it. We agreed on that. Then, she decided the storytelling kids weren’t strong enough for that, so we’d work with the older kids. Then, she came in on Monday and told me she had an idea for the play. It’s a reporter who’s asking random people what the “true” meaning of Christmas is. She suggested the idea and the characters and I wrote the lines. It wasn’t too bad to write, but I’m concerned that my tiny attempts at humor might not be understood. Then again, she insisted we have drunk man character, stumble through and not know anything about Christmas. It will be fun to work on a play though, with costumes and props. I really do love acting and such, so this is fun. Well, it’s fun in my hopeful vision of how a play written by an American will come across to Palestinian students with limited English. Yesss.

I’ve had a hard week and a half or so. There are six YAGMs in the Jerusalem/West Bank Program. I live with two other girls in Bethlehem, two girls live in Al Doha, near Beit Jala, and one guy lives in East Jerusalem. My roommates, Nikki and Marta, and Paul, the obvious guy of the group, and I went to Tiberias two weekends ago. It was a really good weekend. We were actually hoping to go to both Tiberias and Nazareth, but we had the unfortunate experience of spending three hours in the Gilo checkpoint. So, the Gilo checkpoint is the Bethlehem checkpoint and has the walking section—not all checkpoints have the walking option, just driving. My roommates and I usually walk through this, then catch the 124 bus into Jerusalem. The other girls, Chelsea and Kendra, take the 21 bus from their house, which actually goes through the checkpoint into Jerusalem. We, Marta, Nikki, and I, walked through the checkpoint that Friday morning to get on our bus and into Jerusalem, where we ended up catching an Israeli bus to Tiberias. We were stuck there three hours. It wasn’t that there were that many people to spend three hours in line, it was that it was a Friday, which means it’s the Muslim holy day, which means a lot of people want to go to Mosque in Jerusalem. So, the obvious response on the Israeli end, is to play games. Now, this is where my bias comes in. Yes, they play games. How? Well, let’s see…when when you only have one booth at a time accepting people through the line, but you have two soldiers on the catwalks above. There are catwalks or walkways above the booths and metal detectors. They’re really quite convenient. Soldiers are able to comfortably stand there, point their automatic weapons at Palestinians in an open space high above them, and scream in Hebrew. Yes, that’s how I spent my morning. Imagine standing in a room where men are holding machine guns and screaming in Hebrew like you’re some sort of disrespectful sheep. It’s absurd. They played games by closing one line and opening another, just to watch people scramble to and from the lines. The split men and women into separate lines, only to herd them back together. I say herd, because that’s what it is. It’s treating people like animals. In fact, I’ve heard of people standing in checkpoints, and starting to moo, just to irritate the soldiers. When we started our initial waiting period outside of the first passport/permit check booth, I really wanted to copy the stories I’ve heard before and start mooing. I figured that since Bishop Younan didn’t want us to do any sort of proactive advocacy work (to keep Israelis from trusting people from the church not to totally defy them), that mooing would not be appreciated. So, we were standing in the checkpoint, and this woman from Poland approached us. We had been talking to three French girls. The Polish woman used to be a tour guide here and was with her boyfriend and mother. She encouraged all of us to come with her and we’d share a cab or take the 21 bus (the one that goes through the checkpoint, but isn’t open to the majority of Palestinians—not totally sure why). We followed her, where she went and talked to the soldiers at the drive-through part of the checkpoint. I guess they told her that they were about to let everyone through and that we should just wait, so we went back. Nothing had changed. People were still being herded and nobody had really moved through the lines. When we came in, the soldiers were yelling more at the people waiting. The Polish woman started arguing with the one soldier on the catwalk in Hebrew. I don’t know what was said, but she walked away crying. Granted, I had only just met her, but she did not strike me as a weak or overly emotional type of person. Several Palestinians suggested we take the 21 bus after awhile. I got out of line and just stood and watched what was happening. I wish I could have taken pictures, but it probably would have gotten my camera taken away, personal harassment from the soldiers, or any other number of things. Plus, I was basically immobile. I started watching the soldiers. They were standing on the catwalk, screaming in Hebrew, at all of these Palestinian people, with a few internationals. The people were primarily above the age of 45 or 50 years old. Most were much older. There was a blind man in the group. A few small children. A few mothers with babies. The soldiers were screaming at them and holding machine guns. When I say machine guns, I mean machine guns. I leaned against a wall and started to cry. I was watching this scene like out of a war movie or a documentary. The soldiers were screaming and the Palestinians were screaming back. This wasn’t some sort of revolution…this was going to Jerusalem from Bethlehem…a trek probably rode in less than a day by Jesus on a donkey. Jerusalem is like, 8km from Bethlehem. I lost it. I watched human rights being defiled. I watched lives being invaded and hurt and so forth. I wish I could pass that emotion and pain onto each of you reading this to understand what that site was like. One of my roommates came over and asked if I wanted to leave to get the bus. Leave? To get the bus? So, I can use my golden-ticket passport to get out of here and go to Jerusalem, and onto Tiberias, which is in Israel, for a weekend vacation, while I know that there is this group of people standing at this checkpoint, and likely other groups standing or sitting at other checkpoints all over the West Bank? No. I didn’t. I refused. I think my roommates might have been irritated at first. I told them that I couldn’t go. They could go without me and that I’d skip Tiberias if that’s what it meant, but that I couldn’t walk away from this and from those people. I was crying at this point. I wasn’t crying for myself, because I had the option to go onto Jerusalem and Tiberias. I have those rights!!! I’m American and I can do anything I want with no questions. I was ushered through the checkpoint the other night. Yes, the soldiers called me and my roommates out of a line, and let us walk right through the special soldier door without even showing our passports. You’re going to ask me to walk away from beautiful people that are standing here, in pain, because they’re being occupied by a country that considers them dogs? No. I stayed. I was crying and leaning against the wall, giving the fiercest angry look at the soldiers I could muster. I didn’t want to give them a reason to shoot me, but I would have taken it. I wanted them to see the look of disgust that I had. The look of pure anger. A little, old, Muslim woman came over to me, and smiled. I apologized an Arabic and I told her that I thought the soldiers were wrong. She kept smiling and started digging around in her purse. She produced a hard candy with a wrapper. I couldn’t really identify it, and I usually remember checking our Halloween candy for needles when we were kids, at moments like this with candy from unknown sources. I didn’t though. I just unwrapped it and ate it. It was some sort of peppermint. It was soothing.  

Here I was, the silly, golden-ticket American, crying, and the woman that probably goes through this on a daily or weekly basis gave ME the candy to comfort me. That’s absurd. That’s love. That’s where God is. God is not just through me, teaching children at the school to swim or speak English. God is here, in Palestine, present in the people, guiding them…and me…with hope for the future. It’s never about me. I’m not ministering, I’m getting ministered, and I don’t think that’s the word, but you know what I’m saying. It’s hope, faith, and love, and the greatest of these is love. It’s true. It really, really is.

On a slightly lighter note, we eventually got through, with everyone else, and made our way to Jerusalem. We got to the Israeli bus station later than we intended, and since it was a Friday, which is when Jewish Shabbat starts, we missed the last bus going to Nazareth. We had hostel reservations in Nazareth, but we cancelled them. We bought tickets to Tiberias and went. No plans. No reservations. Nothing. It ended up being a really, really good weekend though. It was Paul, Nikki, Marta, and I, and we were able to relax, since Shabbat meant it was basically a ghost town until Sunday morning. Tiberias is in Northern Israel, on the Sea of Galilee. We took a boat cruise on the Sea of Galilee, which is actually called a lake there, and is the size of a lake. We walked along the coast of the “lake” for awhile, stumbled upon some ancient Roman ruins of a marketplace and bathhouse, and went to the natural hot springs. My guidebook said the hot springs were supposed to be open until 8, so when we got there at 3:45pm, we thought we had plenty of time. The guy at the front desk told us that they actually closed at 4. We argued with him gently that our guidebook told us otherwise. He told us that he’d let us go in for the 15 minutes…for free. It normally cost 70 sheckels, I think, which is like, $20. Not super expensive, but we still got in for free. The hot springs are actually now a tourist-y thing, so they’re swimming pools with the natural hot spring water in them. It’s weird, because the water is greenish brown and hot, but in a nicely tiled swimming pool. It was the temperature of a hot tub and totally out of the ground. It was awesome. We had a good weekend in Tiberias. Lots of relaxing and some site-seeing.

We got back Sunday night, in time for our Arabic class, which we decided to have in Jerusalem that week. Paul checked his email and found out that his sister, Anne, was not doing well. Anne is 19 years old and has had cancer since she was 12. She has had several remission/recurrence periods, and went into her worse recurrence yet that weekend. Paul found out Sunday night and flew out early Wednesday morning. It was hard. Paul has been 1/6th of the team of YAGMs, that I agreed to come spend a year of my life with. As much as I will try to tell you all of the stories and experiences that I have had in Palestine when I come home, it won’t be the same as someone who has been here and experienced. So, it hurts that we lost Paul, our teammate and our friend. Please pray for Paul and Anne and their family!!  

I think Paul’s leaving also brought a deeper issue with me. I realized not only how selfish I am for being halfway across the world, but how totally and utterly helpless. Yes, if something major happens, I can come home and be with my family. I would do it in a heartbeat. What happens with smaller stuff? Stuff that still is painful and stressful, but that I can’t justify flying halfway across the world for? Bad days? Break-ups? Fights? The list goes on and on and I can’t do anything about it. Not to mention that I also feel completely disconnected from the United States, my family, and my friends. Was there a tornado last week in the States? One of the Palestinian kids told me there was. Maybe they were kidding or it was lost in translation, but shouldn’t I know that? Shouldn’t I know that one of my friends was in the hospital sick and had to have her appendix out? Yes, I should know all these things, but it’s difficult. People at home don’t want to worry me and also forget I’m here. I’m super busy here and I don’t always make an effort to find out what’s going on. This is not to blame anyone, but it’s to say how difficult it was and is to see Paul experience the pain of his family, and to experience glimpses of that now. I am a control person, as any of you close to me know. I like being able to account for the exact dimensions of how things happen. I live in Palestine. I can’t hug you when you’re hurting and you can’t hug me when I’m hurting, and that stinks…a lot.

I think this is the majority of what is going on in my life here. I’ve appreciated the recent influx of mail, so thank you all! I LOVE mail and I LOVE packages, so feel free to write me or send me fun stuff. I miss good cheese a lot from home and I’m feeling like I’m fighting off the urge to be homesick for Thanksgiving tomorrow.  

Holidays are hard here, because what I experience as a holiday is totally different than what they experience here. Granted, I’ve only “missed” Halloween thus far, but you know how Christmas decorations went up around Halloween? Well, we had no Halloween, there’s no significant recognition of Thanksgiving (side story in the next paragraph), and they’re just now putting out some Christmas garland. I do have to say though, that there were a couple of those blow-up Santas/Christmas paraphernalia yard decorations in front of the one shop. Half of the joy of those holidays in the past for me has come in the anticipation of what is to come. We don’t have snow here. I walked home from school yesterday and had to take my cardigan off, because I was too hot. I wore a t-shirt and pants and I was comfortable. As for Thanksgiving, one of the pastors here actually went to Southern Seminary in the States and he knows how important that holiday is for us. He’s making a turkey, Palestinian style, and having us each bring our favorite Thanksgiving Day dishes to share. I’m pumped. Granted, I still have school tomorrow, and it’s not Thanksgiving with the Harbers, but it will still be fun…in a different way. Believe me, I would love to have Thanksgiving at home right now. I can smell that warm oven smell in my house in Marion Center. I would love to make veggie pizza for my family, even though I don’t even like veggie pizza anymore. I’d love to sit around in our pajamas all day, eat around 4, only to pack it up, and pull it back out for leftovers a few hours later. I’d love to listen to the argument about how “Merry and Amanda helped me cook, so you can do the dishes, Chip!”…at which point my sister volunteers to clear the table, which she beautifully set, and ultimately ends up doing the “nice” dishes to help Chip out, which ends up being half the dishes. Chip and I would probably end up wrestling on the floor, since we haven’t seen each other in awhile and that’s what we do when we’re in the same house…and Lady would get excited and jump around…and I could go on and on, but I might cry. I guess it’s not really important for all of you reading to know what my family traditions are, but it’s important for me. It’s part of my ministry to understand who I am and where I come from, but to also know where I’ll go home to. When the days get rough, I picture hugging my mom and watching “America’s Next Top Model” with Amanda, and arguing over refried beans and cheese with Chip. That’s my family…and that’s me. I love you guys!  

I wish you and all those you love an AMAZING Thanksgiving. Please, say a prayer for Paul and Anne, and please just love each other. I know I say that a lot, but it’s really important. You never know how much you’ll miss simple, seemingly unimportant things like refried beans or arguing over washing dishes, until you don’t have them.  

**Pictures should be coming…someday…when I get time.

This post was 7 pages in Word.  I hope you're all happy.  :)

All of my love and blessings,
Meredith 

Here are some lyrics for a song that I’d like to dedicate to my mommy:
I'm just too far from where you are, I wanna come home. And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life. It's like I just stepped outside, when everything was going right. And I know just why you could not come along with me. This was not your dream, but you always believed in me...

So yeah, thanks for letting me go around the world not spend Thanksgiving Day with you, Mumsy, Amanda, and Chip. It wasn’t your dream, but you always, ALWAYS believed in me, and I thank each of you for that. :)

I'm alive...

Hey all...I've been crazy busy lately and doing lots of stuff, hence the lack of blogging action.  I went to Hebron one day, Jericho another, and to see High School Musical 3 in a theater in West Jerusalem another day (Hebrew subtitles...weird).  I'll do my best to blog seriously this week, but this is just a check-in so you know I'm alive.  Oh, and more pictures will come soon too, in'shalla.

I'm alive.

Love,
Meredith

Yallah binat!

I forgot to tell an EPIC story in my last couple blogs and I wanted to post some randomness about my last few days.  

First, my totally epic adventure that I forgot to blog about.  Alright, so, my daily schedule includes spending about a little over an hour teaching or helping teach swim lessons to all grades.  Some days are better than others, depending on behaviors, attitudes, language barriers, and just moods, to be honest.  Plus, I've been asked to stay until all the girls are dressed, so we know they're going home with clothes on.  Apparently, there was a first grade boy that couldn't find his pants one day, so he just went home without them.  Since then, I've been asked to either watch the boys or the girls.  Typically, the other teachers and parents flock to the boys, so I stick to the girls, thankfully.  This does mean a lot of yelling, "Binat...yallah!", which basically means "Come on, girls!"  They usually giggle a lot at me when they hear me yelling, but they usually hurry up.  I'm giving you this long introduction, filled with random extraneous details, as my family would all testify is the annoying sign of a Meredith-story, because it should explain that by the time I've spent an entire day with middle school English classes or kindergarten kids, followed by swim lessons, followed by herding my "binat" out of the locker room, I'm pretty beat.  I usually go and check in at the office after swimming to see if they need any emails, documents, etc, done in English, and then I head home.  Phew!  Finally, it's time for my epic story.  

Mom, don't be worried.  So, I came in the locker room after swimming several days ago, changed out of my swimsuit, herded my "binat", and started to get my stuff together.  My bookbag and other belongings usually stay in one of the lockers.  I reached for my bookbag and I thought I saw something move.  I'm not usually one to get squeamish over bugs or creepy crawly things, but something sent of my danger signals here.  I pulled my bookbag out and looked inside.  I couldn't see anything, but I was sure something was in there.  I was the only one left in the locker room, so I started taking out my stuff.  I saw what I had seen initially!  It was this creepy centipede thing that was probably five to six inches long, and brownish.  It crawled into the seam of my bag.  I shook my bookbag onto the floor, hoping to dislodge this creepy thing from my bag, but it refused to come out.  I couldn't even see it in there at this point!  One of the cleaning ladies came in and looked annoyed at me, because I had dumped my bag on the floor.  I used my limited Arabic to try and explain what was going on.  Naela had about the same English as I had Arabic, which isn't much.  I should also explain that our very kind and extremely intelligent Arabic teacher has yet to teach us how to say, "Help me...there's a creepy centipede in my bag."  This resulted in a lot of sign language.  She really didn't understand.  I relied on my Pictionary skills at this point, and pulled out some paper and a pen.  I started drawing this creepy centipede, and before I could even finish, she started squealing and jumping around!  She looked terrified!!  Again, I'm not afraid of bugs, but this reaction was not your normal anti-spider reaction.  She kept asking me "Wen???  Wen???", which means 'where.'  I showed her how big it was with my fingers and explained that I didn't know where it went.  I continued to shake my bag, while she looked in all the corners of the locker room.  Finally, when I flipped my bag inside out, I saw that the creepy centipede was in the bottom.  She squealed some more, and we carried it out of the locker room, where we ran into the man I used to teach swim lessons with (he quit recently...I'm not sure why).  His name is Nour, and he looked at us with this, "What do you crazy women want?" expression.  We showed him what was in my bag, and HE looked panicked!  He carefully took my bag outside and dumped it on the ground.  Creepy centipede fell out, and the guy stomped on it.  He smeared it into the sidewalk too.  He has very limited English too, so he was talking with the cleaning lady in Arabic, and they were both panicking and seemed very upset.  It was one of those moments, where I knew the gist of what they were saying without the language, based on the body language.  I did, however, feel like I was missing a few key points; such as, what the heck was this thing?!  I asked them both what it was in Arabic, and he said, "Number 44."  I looked confused, so he said, "Barath."  He used some sign language, but grabbed one of the other guys to translate for me.  When Nour told Musa, in Arabic, what had just happened, Musa looked upset and started scratching himself.  Naela and Nour were also doing scratching themselves.  I touched Musa's arm and asked him to translate in English.  He yelled for Mary, who also works in the Wellness Center, and has excellent English.  He translated, along with Nour and Naela interjecting their panicked sentences.  Mary jumped up on the desk and had the SAME shocked look on her face.  This has been about 15 minutes and four people that have had the same reaction to this centipede, and not a single one of them has told me what the heck was going on.  Finally, I asked Mary if she could tell me what it was in English.  She also told me that it was a "Number 44" or a "Barath."  She also told me that had it bitten me, it's poison would have caused me to die within 20 minutes.  She asked me at this point if I had been bitten, and I assured her no.  I was given the advice to throw away my bookbag.  I'd like to say that I listened, but I've had that bookbag since like, 9th grade, and I couldn't bring myself to do it.  I'm still itching when I talk about it, and it happened almost two weeks ago.  So, yes, this was my epic adventure.  I almost died.  I only read about scorpions before coming here and I haven't seen any of those yet.  I'd like to tell you that I looked up exactly what it was online, but I saw enough random pictures of poisonous giant centipedes to last me a lifetime!  One of my friends works at an Environmental Education Center here, so I'll get the scoop and update later.  It was epic though.

It also rained yesterday; as in, it poured.  It sprinkled a little today.  I think this means we're starting the rainy season.  It's only slightly rained twice in the whole time I've been here, before yesterday that is.  It will be interesting to see more rain!

I've been sick all week, so I don't really have any amazing adventures to tell.  I did spend most of yesterday at the one pastor's house, learning how to make Palestinian salads with his wife.  Salads are pretty prominent here, as far as food goes.  It's not the lettuce salad I'm used to, but this is stuff like tabouli, baba ganouj, etc.  I wish I could tell you the names of everything I learned how to make, but I'll just have to show you what they are when I come home.  It was really nice to spend time with his family.  They have a month-old baby that doesn't hurt either! :)  It's nice to feel welcomed by different families into their home.  Another random note, I found out that meat is considered a special thing you give to visitors.  Even the poorest family will work to give visitors meat.  I can't say that I've seen that specifically, but I know we've been served meat everywhere, and meat is very expensive here!

After the day with the family, I came home and did my normal email check.  I check my emails, blog for comments (PS...the comments are slacking, everybody!  :)  Kidding!), and yes, I check Facebook.  It was really strange, because I'm half-way around the world, and in a matter of 30 seconds, I found out that one of my college roommates gave birth to her first child and also that one of my coworkers from camp lost his grandfather.  It was this really surreal feeling to be so far away, but yet to know that one life passed away as another began.  I don't want it to seem that I'm implying one replaces another, by ANY means.  It was just a strange sensation to be celebrating the birth of one and mourning the loss of another, from a very long plane ride away.  I guess I would just like to take a moment here to then say that I'm praying for all of you.  Those celebrating newborn Caius James and those mourning Vernon Adams Sr.  Peace.  Salaam.  

With that being said, I wish peace upon all of you.  Hug someone you love today.  In fact, hug them everyday.  
Much love,
Meredith

Squishy Brown and Purple Humbling

Alright, so, I think after about two months of living here and being pretty busy with life, I'm realizing that my blog posts are going to be longer and further apart in frequency.  Sorry if that distresses any of you...mom.

It has been a crazy week!  Things are going well though.  I ended up going into Jerusalem last Saturday to help with the olive harvest.  It was really cool!  We spent several hours in the "orchard" I guess you could call it.  We collected 17 bags of olives and 21 bags equals a ton, so we picked a lot of olives!  They took them to the press Monday, so the turn around time is very fast.  When you make olive oil though, it needs a few weeks to just sit and procure.  Please consider buying some olive oil though.  Also, if you would like to have a longer-term impact on Palestinian healthcare, consider buying an olive tree for $1000.  It would be planted on the Mount of Olives, and be picked every year to produce olive oil, which would then be sold to pay for healthcare for Palestinians.  Remember: without this and other Lutheran World Federation funding, people would not get any medica

l care!

Sunday was the Palestinian Thanksgiving, or so Christmas Lutheran Church said.  Beit Sahour Lutheran Church celebrated Thanksgiving the week before and the week after (yesterday), so I'm not really sure when Thanksgiving was.  Regardless, we celebrated Thanksgiving last week in Bethlehem.  It was really cute, because all the Sunday School kids brought fruit and vegetables to the altar during the processional, and they were all wearing traditional Palestinian dress.  They did some sort of small play/speech, and sang, "Jesus, Prince of Peace", in Arabic.  It was awesome!  

I had some interesting interactions after church.  There was the man who came up to me in a very shady fashion and asked where I was from.  When I said the United States, he pulled out a wad of money and asked if I wanted to exchange money.  I was really offended!  I told him no and that "This is a church!" in my most disgusted voice!  He was like, "Yeah, I know, but church is over."  No, my friend, church is not over.  We're standing and greeting each other after service.  You are two feet from the door!  The church open space is still within the gate of the church and a story above street level.  So, to come into this space, it is very intentional and should not a place for money changers to come.  I was so mad!  

I was talking to the one woman who works at Dar Al-Kalima after church.  She is so sweet and has been very welcomingto me at the school.  She pointed to her feet to tell me that she was wearing her "walking shoes."  I asked her why.  She told me it was because she thought she was going to walk to church.  That's simple enough.  I asked her why though, and she said, "We thought we were going to have to walk, because soldiers have been bombing a house in our neighborhood since 5am.  We didn't know if we were going to be allowed out.  I went outside and asked a soldier if we could go to church and if we could drive, because my father-in-law is in a wheelchair.  He seemed hesitant, but that he was allowing us because of my father-in-law.  I think they were trying to take a man to prison."  I was dumbfounded.  Here's this woman that spent the morning listening to "bombing," which I think is translated better as shooting, but she still came to church.  It was important to her.  It's also normal for people here.  Like, that wouldn't stick out as something peculiar.  A few people mentioned it at school on Monday, but it was very low-key; it was normal.  It's sad really.  It's sad that soldiers attacking a house in your neighborhood on a Sunday morning is normal.  

After church, we headed to Taybeh.  I believe it's the only Christian town in Palestine and it's the home of the only beer brewed in the Middle East--Taybeh.  Now, I'm not a good Lutheran, because I really don't like beer, but I do support this as an economy.  We went to Taybeh on Sunday, because it was their massive Oktoberfest.  I ate a lot of falafel, drank one Taybeh to support the cause, and was able to see a few different Palestinian performers.  It was a good day.  I definitely felt like a tourist, since Oktoberfest is really geared towards internationals.  It was still neat to be a part of though.

On Tuesday, we went to see a photography exhibition at the Aida Refugee Camp.  It was beautiful!  I'm hoping to include some of the pictures of their pictures in my photos.  It was really cool to see how much hope the young photographers have in their world, despite the occupation and suffereing.

We then had dinner at the home of a young man we met in the market.  This may sound suspicious, but when you're invited to dinner at a guy's house here, it means he wants his whole family to meet and interact with you.  It's a whole-family affair, not a date.  We had dinner with Yusef, who is actually in college at a school in Atlanta, Georgia.  His family was phenomenal!  They were all very eager to meet us and entertain us.  His two sisters, Razanne (19) and Daana (17), were extremely interested in speaking with us in English.  His brothers were nice.  His mom fed us absurd amounts of food.  We walked into their kitchen to find three plates.  There was a small chicken on each plate, along with a massive amount of rice with peanuts and seasonings.  The family had already eaten, so the food was primarily for us.  Fortunately, Yusef, Daana, and one of their brothers sat down and helped us with the pile.  We finished what we could, all the while having more offered to us.  We moved to the living room, where Yusef's mom brought out the fruit.  I've found that fresh fruit comes after the hot meal.  She gave each of us 1/2 an apple, 1/2 a BIG orange, a pear, and a bunch of grapes to start with.  She refilled our plate if we let it get too low.  We then had Arabic coffee and nargila.  One of the kids brought us a bowl of pomegranate seeds.  Then we had tea with mint and date cookies.  I was ready to explode.  It was so, so, SO good though!  We parted sadly, but very stuffed and tired.

I'm basically the "paint master" in the kindergarten now.  On Thursday, the kindergarten teacher asked that I have the students paint their feet and print their left feet in one color and their right feet in another color onto paper.  The teacher recommended that I cover the entire bathroom floor in newspaper and go to it.  Alright, I have to admit, this is where my elementary background came into play, as did my obsessively clean side.  I set up this system of papering the back corner.  I sat in a chair on the edge, and blockaded my paper area with the drying rack for the prints.  I had one child at a time enter the space.  I helped each one take of their shoes and socks and rolling their pants up.  We walked over to the paint buckets.  The buckets the teacher gave me were these massive, six-inch deep buckets, used for cleaning floors.  So, I helped each kid put their right foot into the bucket of specially mixed purple paint (she asked me to mix different colors...purple was one they didn't have), print onto the paper, switch to the other bucket, put their left foot in the brown paint (it was the one she chose for the left foot), print onto the different left foot paper, and basically carry them to the rinse bucket.  I sat in my chair and rinsed off each kid's feet in the bucket.  It was really very humbling to wash each child's feet.  It reminded me of all the "foot-washings" I've participated in church or at camp.  It was really cool though.  In spite of my crazy fears of paint-covered walls and floors, I was able to create this intimate relationship between each kid and me.  We laughed together when I tickled their feet.  We made crazy faces when they felt how squishy the paint was.  It was just a truly awesome experience.  I loved it.

Thursday continued to get better.  The swimming lesson kids are improving.  The kindergarteners have the most visible improvements.  The one little girl would not smile, splash, or do anything other than let her mother hand her to me to hold in the water.  She was completely indifferent to being in the pool.  She now walks by herself in the shallow end, with a big smile on her face.  She splashes and jumps and has FUN!!!  She is so confident that I have to still watch her and stop her from wandering into the deep end.  The other highlight of my day on Thursday, was to take this little boy from screaming hysterically to walking around on his own.  His mother literally brings him screaming and crying onto deck every week.  I work with him every week, mainly just holding him and letting him scream.  I figure if I can get him used to the water, then that's an accomplishment.  He did his normal screaming and hyperventilating routine when she brought him onto deck this week.  I don't really know how I did it, but somehow the boy was also walking in the shallow end and jumping in (with help) by the end of class.  He was shakier than the little girl, but for both being 3 or 4 years old and having a complete turn around in behavior, I was rather pleased with the day.

There was a lot of other stuff that happened this week, but I can't really remember at this point.  I had to come home early from school yesterday and I missed today, because I'm actually sick.  It stinks.  I had the interesting experience of going to the medical clinic in Beit Sahour though.  It cost 15 sheckels to see the doctor, which is like, $5, and another 150 sheckels for medicine, which is like, $50, which is more than I wanted to pay.  My roommate Nikki is also sick and hers was only 45 sheckels for medicine, so who knows.  

Oh!  I also found out, for all of you interested in the olive oil, there's a way you can do more!  If you contact the same email address in my previous blog, you can send $1000 to actually BUY an olive tree on the Mount of Olives!!  It would be an awesome church project and would mean years and years of helping Palestinians get medical care.

Alright, I think that's all I really have to blog about for now.  The weather is still pretty warm here.  Chilly at night, but like a comfortable late spring/early summer day at home.  Arabic lessons are going well.  The kids are crazy as usual. :)  I'm having a lot of fun!

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!
Dear God, 
Thank you for these past few weeks.  Thank you for showing me how to be humble, even to five year-olds.  Thank you for encouraging me to see the positives in situations and to develop deeper relationships with people.  Please be with all who cry out to you, whether in their suffering or in witnessing others' suffering.  Please watch over Cinnamon and Lois.  God, I ask all of these things in your son's most precious and holy name,
Amen.

Teach them not to drown.

Hello all!  A lot has been going on over the past several days, so it's been too crazy to blog.  

First, let me tell a few random stories that will connect later.  

I have had an interesting week or so with communication.  I help the kindergarteners with painting a lot, which is hard, since I don't know what the Arabic words for any colors or shapes are.  I could tell the one little boy wanted one of the dishes of paint, so I asked him which one he wanted.  He immediately looked down at his painting smock and pointed to the color he wanted.  He was so easy for him to think on his feet like that!  It was really cool to immediately understand what he wanted too.  I still felt bad that I don't know what the colors are in Arabic, but he communicated well with me.  

I was also invited to a presentation last night, hosted by an NGO in Beit Jala.  I randomly met a woman who volunteers with them, through young people visiting here from New Zealand.  The woman invited me to hear the speaker, because I'm looking to get involved with another organization while I'm here.  I'd like to find something in addition to the school, to create more relationships and get a different picture of what's going on here.  This woman was extremely nice excited to see my interest.  The presentation was about a block from our flat, so I walked up to listen.  I walked in and saw the small crowd forming.  I asked the man at the door if it was the right place for the presentation.  He said yes, and then skeptically asked me if I understood Arabic.  Apparently, the presentation was in Arabic.  Oops.  It was interesting to me that the woman neglected to ask me if I understood Arabic and that I neglected to ask if the presentation was in English.  I stayed for a bit, because she was kindly translating for me.  It was difficult to really get the message of what was being said though, so I left.  She was still very excited to see me and welcomed me to visit her, where she'd take me to a variety of NGOs to see what I was interested in becoming a part of.  

I was having a rough time with my school placement, because I was feeling like I wasn't really wanted there.  Let me explain.  I think people wanted me there in the sense of "doing" stuff, but I've spent the last six months or so, preparing to be doing a ministry of presence, and not "doing."  I found myself typing worksheets, laminating, stringing packing peanuts, etc, etc.  It's a lot of "doing," but not this profound feeling of accomplishing great feats.  I was even getting frustrated with swim lessons, because I wasn't communicating well with the kids.  We literally have less than ten words that we can communicate with, due to my Arabic and their English.  It was just becoming harder and harder to brush it off as okay.  I was talking to one of the other internationals here about it though, and he said, "Your role might not be to make swimmers out of the kids. It might be just to teach them how not to drown."  I just sort of took that as advice and moved on.  I really didn't think about it much.  Of course I want to make swimmers out of the kids!  They don't drown by being swimmers!  It seemed to just be a Hallmark-esque answer to this conundrum of feeling completely useless to this community, other than for cutting paper.

 I started thinking about this more yesterday though.  I was with kindergarten and the teacher has unofficially dubbed me the painting supervisor.  This means that pretty much the majority of my time with her class is spent coralling the children from painting each other, the floor, the sink, or me.  I picture myself herding cats while I do it.  Let me interrupt my more important story to tell you that kindergarteners are adorable, but insane.  The teacher fills the soap dispensers in their bathrooms almost daily, and I caught a child dumping his water bottle into the soap dispenser, creating a large collection of bubbly goodness.  He just looked at me with that innocent child face that says, "I don't understand why you're looking at me.  I didn't do anything wrong.  Are you going to keep standing there?"  It was insane.  Back to the painting though.  I was suppose to have the kids paint these shapes with specific colors and print their paper with a red circle, blue square, orange rectangle, and yellow triangle.  I did my best to avoid chaos.  I demonstrated what the teacher wanted by showing them how to paint the shape, then printing it on a page.  The first group understood and did it exactly as I expected it was to be done.  The second group did not do quite the same.  One little boy, the one who used to just run out of the room and is continually disobeying everyone, kept sticking the "wrong" brushes in the other paints.  He had this chaotic brownish greenish paper disaster that wasn't anything like I expected.  He wasn't the only one though.  The kids were painting these shapes all different colors and just painting the paper.  When you combine my desire to follow the rules (as in, what the teacher said she wanted done), my slight obsession with keeping colors neat and separate, and not being able to explain in Arabic what the expectations were, I was a little upset.  

I started to look at the kids though, and I realized that they were kids.  They weren't supposed to color or paint or do anything "perfectly" to our expectation.  It was perfect that they were being creative!  The boy's brownish greenish chaotic paper disaster was seriously beautiful.  I would have framed it as an abstract piece of art.  It wasn't printing with blocks, but it was kindergarten creativity.  This also clicked for me the idea of "teaching them not to drown."  I won't ever be able to save Palestine.  I won't be able to take down the Wall, reunite families, create respect from the Israelis, or any other huge, progressive change.  I can't and I won't.  It's not my job to do that.  It is my job, however, to keep them from "drowning."  I can, as one person, help children be creative.  I can help them laugh and run around and just be happy.  I can talk to different people and listen to their concerns for the future.  I can sit and have tea with Majdi, this amazing shopkeeper, and let him introduce me to every American, assuming that I know them already (because we're both from America).  I can't change the world, but I can maybe stop them from drowning.  

Some random stories...
I'm really loving this one kindergartener who runs and leaps into my arms everytime she sees me.  I'm also really loving that while I have expected to be warmly greeted by the Christian community here, I have been received by a lot of Muslim parents more than Christians.  I didn't feel very welcome at church (meaning, nobody really talked to me, even though I work with a lot of them), but I walked outside and was stopped on the street by one of the Muslim mothers from the school.  Her daughter is in the kindergarten class I volunteer and swim with.  She is actually from Brooklyn, New York, and is Spanish, so she has this interesting New Yorker/Spanish accent when she speaks English, wearing her hijab.  It's really cool though.  She made a point to tell me how much she appreciates me working with her daughter, even though she's "crazy."  It was a really nice comparison to feel that unwelcomed at one point, but immediately welcomed by someone else.  

The sixth grade English class wrote their favorite "sentences" for an assignment the other night.  When they presented, I heard a variety of well-known quotes.  This was like, "If speech is silver, then silence is golden," and so forth.  My favorite quotes were both by boys, in sixth grade remember.  They were, "I want to love you, but you already know" and "Every night, in my dreams, I see you, I feel you..."  If you remember, I had a seventh grade boy sing that song a few weeks ago.  He did it to be funny, obviously.  This boy was serious about his quote and nobody in the class laughed at him.  I think there must be some sort of underground Titanic following here. 

Another interesting concept here is the shame-based society.  I know I've talked about this before, but it's the idea that people are more ashamed if other people know they did something wrong, rather than the guilt-based society Americans live in.  The shame thing is especially interesting in the school setting.  Three students were talking during morning devotions and one teacher made a point to basically call them out in front of everyone.  He talked about how they did something wrong and so forth (I'm guessing...this was in Arabic).  I was thinking though, that if a teacher did that in the States, he would make on the 6 o'clock news.  It's how life is here.  It's a social norm.  

Well, I think that's about all that has been going on recently.  I might be going to help with the olive harvest on the Mount of Olives tomorrow.  Olives are a huge crop here, as most of you know from the infamous olive oil.  The Lutheran World Federation has something like, 800 trees on the Mount of Olives.  The olives picked are compressed into oil and sold all over the world to fund the Augusta Victoria Hospital.  This is your opportunity to help people from your seat at home.  This hospital is one I've already talked about.  The olive oil then provides a lot of funding for the hospital.  I'm asking that you consider purchasing a bottle of oil (or a few) to support this cause.  It will benefit so, so many people.  There are children that receive kidney dialysis here and travel to and from their homes every other day...every week.  It hosts some of the only treatment facilities for Palestinians.  Literally, it has the only radiation bed for Palestinians.  When we toured the hospital, I learned that the Israeli treatment of cancer means 80% of people get curative treatments and 20% get symptom treatment (basically, for pain, but not for eliminating cancer).  Palestinians are the reverse.  80% get pain treatment, and only 20% get curative.  That means, that very few Palestinians with cancer hope to even see a day of their lives without cancer.  This is extremely upsetting.  "AVH provides many specialized services that are not easily accessible or that are unavailable in other hospitals in the occupied Palestinian Territories. These specialties include ear, nose and throat surgery; adult and pediatric nephrology; radiation oncology; allergy and immunology; pediatric neurology; and certain gastrointestinal procedures. The Cancer Center at AVH will be the first facility in the occupied Palestinian Territories to offer Radiation Oncology, and the only Radiation Oncology facility for East Jerusalem and the West Bank. No other medical facility in the occupied Palestinian Territories offers pediatric dialysis."  This information, and more, can be found on their website.

I'm asking that you consider purchasing some olive oil.  You'll provide medical care to Palestinians.  This also funds the LWF buses that travel daily to pick people up from all over the West Bank and Gaza (I think).  Plus, I'll be actually picking the olives to be pressed into the oil and you'll get to have a bottle of olive oil to brag to your friends about.  Not that you really needed these other reasons, but I'm really trying to sell this.  Think about.  Here is the website with the email address for ordering.  It would make an awesome church-wide project or an individual purchase for Christmas presents.  Also, the olive oil is put into bottles made in Hebron, which is a considered a high-risk city in the West Bank known for it's AMAZING glassworks.  You really can't lose!!!!

Alright, I'm done with my soapbox.  Check it out though, if you're interested.

I've added a photo album on the top of my blog, so check for pictures there.  I'll probably still post pictures in specific blogs, but this will be the bulk of random scenery shots many of you are looking for.

I haven't prayed through this blog for awhile, and I'm sorry for that.  I've had a hard time seeing that "easy" faith in God while I'm here, despite the fact that it's the Holy Land.  It's just tough.  I do want to pray with you now though.

Heavenly Father,
Thank you again for bringing me to this place.  Thank you for blessing me richly with friends and family, both at home and here, who love and support me.  Thank you for creating me as a wealthy American who went somewhere and wants to help.  Please be with Hilde, Cinnamon, Lois, and many others who are in pain and need you to be with them.  Please also be with those struggling with their faith and facing defeat in every corner of life.  Please be with me to understand how to keep others from drowning, rather than teaching them how to swim.  Please remind us to love each other.  It's the only way we'll survive this world.  All this I praise and ask for in your Son's most precious and holy name, Amen.

That's all for now.  Keep asking me questions!  Much love! :)

-Meredith

Stalking and sightseeing

Fair warning, this is going to be a very long blog post.

We have the week off for Eid, which is the four days or so of feasting, which follows Ramadan. I worked Monday, then had a very long night. I went to yoga, then we changed clothes and headed out to eat. We treated ourselves to a nicer meal out, because we've been cooking for ourselves solidly for the last three weeks. Anyway, we ate dinner and relaxed at this restaurant, where we met the owner. He was really nice and had actually lived in Orlando, Florida for a few years.

We then walked up into the old market, which was crazy busy with people buying things for their Eid celebrations. It's really interesting, because since we clearly stick out as three American (or at least foreign) women, we're remembered before we've even met someone. This means that pretty much every shopkeeper we buy something off of remembers us and knows us by name. This is really cool! We stopped to buy a floor squeegee (not sure how to officially spell that), because all floors are tiled here, and they dump water on the floors, then squeegee it into floor drains. Our squeegee broke, hence buying a new one. We ended up walking out with a window squeegee though, because we couldn't explain what we wanted. The shopkeeper's son remembered us and ended up walking around the market with us, which was really cool.

We walked home, as usual, and were actually followed for a bit by two guys our age who were making that whispering sound you use to call cats with, and we're not really sure what that means. We stopped in a supermarket to let them pass before heading down a darker street. We walked down to the top of our street, and somehow had a guy walking behind us, and then with us. He was dressed in all black and was wearing a black scarf. We kept talking and walking, not really worrying about him, but he continued to walk with us. He didn't talk to us, he was just walking with us. I suggested that we go visit George, who is the owner of our favorite market down the road. It was late and we were all tired, but we had visually agreed that we shouldn't show this guy where we lived exactly. So, we continued to slow down and we walked past our house. We had slowed enough that he was about twenty feet in front of us. He took this as a cue to stop and wait for us to catch up. When we got to him, he started walking with us again. I wasn't scared, but I wasn't completely comfortable with his actions. We walked onto George's porch and told him what happened. He told us to sit down with his parents and eat some of the lemon icecream he had just made. It was sweet too, because he made a point to say, "I'm inviting you for icecream. That means I'm giving it to you and I'm not selling it to you." He also insisted on giving us a ride home when we were ready. This was an amazing gift! The strange guy had turned and walked down the street a little ways. He was actually sitting and watching us from the porch for awhile. He eventually walked away, fortunately! We sat for a long time with George and his family, then he took us home.

It was a really awesome feeling to know that people were that concerned for our safety. I had told George that we could walk home, because we hadn't seen the guy for awhile, but he and his mom both insisted that he drive us. It was really, really sweet. It was nice to feel safe and loved by locals. :)

Tuesday was spent hanging out with the daughter of one of the kindergarten teachers that Nikki works with. She's our age and the four of us just spent the day together. We watched TV and then headed next door for her to do her aunt's hair. We went with her to a Henna party that night, which is part of the Palestinian wedding tradition. Now, I'll do my best to explain the wedding procedures, but I may mess it up. There are like, four days of wedding parties before the ceremony. The first day is the bride's immediate family goes to the groom's house and they have a party. Then, there is the Henna party, which is not what our idea of Henna is. It's a party for all of the female relatives, where the groom's family mixes the Henna, which is a mixture of herbs, water, and Chai tea without sugar. It's greenish in color and is placed in a dish, with flowers to decorate. There is a smaller group of women singing and dancing in a circle, typically wearing traditional Palestinian dresses. They bring out like, wedding favors (candy in little bags) and dance with those in the circle. They dance with the Henna. Then, they dance with the gold, liquor, and whatever else the groom's family bought for the bride. The bride comes in at this point and she sits on a high chair on a table, so she's looking over everyone. This particular bride was wearing a traditional Palestinian wedding dress. They can wear traditional dresses or "engagement" dresses, which look very much like the poofy prom gowns we wear in the States. The bride is presented the Henna in the dish, and is tradition to put her finger in it. I'm not sure the significance. The groom's sisters then adorn the bride with the gold they brought and give her a lit candle. The dancing and singing continued for awhile. It ended and is typically followed by another party, which is then opened to the men of the families. After the actual wedding ceremony, there is another party at the groom's house, where the bride brings over her clothes and the families...look at her clothes??!! I'm not really sure the significance of all of this and I apologize for giving you really vague generic information, but this was just the first experience I had with the wedding.

On Wednesday, we got up and went to Herodian. We've already visisted the basic outside of it, so I think I told you about it. We visited again to actually tour the facilities. It was really beautiful though.

We visited some of the sites in Bethlehem too. We went to the Church of the Nativity, which was built on the spot historians believe Christ was born. There's a star on the floor in the church marking the spot. I'm not really sure how accurate it is, but it was beautiful. We went to the Church of the Milk Grotto as well. This is the spot that apparently Mary was breast-feeding Jesus and some of her milk dropped to the floor and turn the rock white. It's also said to have been the place where Mary and Joseph hid with Jesus during the Slaughter of the Innocents. It's a beautiful spot! We also stopped at this olivewood carving shop. The artists invited us in to see their work and to go onto the roof--it's one of the highest points in Bethlehem! Their work is gorgeous!

Alright, I'm going to try to post some pictures, but it will depend on the Internet speed. I hope all is well with all of you!

Shway Shway...

So, "shway shway" (I have no idea how to spell the semi-official phonetic spelling, seeing as nobody has an official spelling), means "little by little" in Arabic.  I've heard it used as kindergarteners were filing into the computer lab or when I try to explain I have "shway shway Arabie."  

My puprose for saying shway shway now though, is to explain that while the amount of learning I've done already is insane, I'm still learning and making relationships little by little.  There's this slightly older man who sits on the steps of the cafe where I catch my bus every morning.  We've really only exchanged "Marahaba."  Today, I said, "Sab'il her" (ignore the spelling), which means "Good morning!"  He responded back and smiled.  I told my rooommates last night that I'd like to get to the point, where I can walk up the hill every morning, and talk to him before I get on the bus.  He's there every day.  Some days he has friends there, but other days he's alone.  

Later today, I got off the bus after school and started walking down our steep hill.  I was about halfway down and someone honked behind me.  I just moved to the side, thinking that it was someone who wanted to alert me that they were there.  Well, someone did, but this someone was my porch friend!  He drove by with his family and had a BIG smile on his face as he waved!  Now, I know it sounds minor, but it definitely reminded me that building relationships here is "shway shway."  

Other random tidbits...
I saw the kindergarten kids following each other around on the planter box thing in the courtyard.  It's cute, because that's what they were doing with me yesterday.  :)  

I was working in the principal's office this morning and ended up helping her write a grant proposal for $17,000.  It was kinda crazy to go from a pencil-sharpening blister to writing a grant proposal.  Mommy would be proud.  No, really.  She writes a lot of grant proposals for her job.  Anyway, while I was looking out the window, I saw the kindergarteners running around in their purple smocks.  I will most certainly post pictures when I get a chance, but I want to take pictures of kids I know, rather than some 'poor Palestinian children.'  Regardless, they run around in these adorable purple smocks, that kinda look like dresses.  They have long sleeves, little collars, buttons up the back, and patches with the school logo on the chest.  I watched them running around...so, so, so cute!  Then, out of nowhere, I see this other little child in his purple smock, chasing the other kids....with a Spiderman mask on.  This was like, full-on, head totally covered, Spiderman mask.  I nearly peed myself.  I wish I could have had my camera for that moment.  It was a-mazing.  

Alright, it's short, but we're off to Jerusalem for the night to play some volleyball with the international crew.

Much love,
Meredith