It All Began…  

In June of 1993 my pastor was putting together one of those typical Holy Land tours. My good friend (and choir director) asked if I wanted to go with her. I said ‘sure’, since it was one of the places I had always wanted to visit, not for the religious pilgrimage reasons she was going on, but because I found the history of the area so interesting. In October of that year, I got laid off from my job. I considered canceling the trip thinking I might need the money, but that thought only momentarily crossed my mind. “No, I NEED to go on this trip.”

We departed the first week of January 1994. After a few days in the Galilee we headed for Jerusalem where my eyes were opened to the tremendous inequity, which was not being shown to us as tourists. Our visit to Princess Basma Hospital for Crippled Children (mostly Bedouin) was like a light in a dark room being turned on for me. We had just been shown the famous Chagall stained glass windows at Hadassa Hospital in Israeli West Jerusalem. In contrast, at Princess Basma Hospital on the Mount of Olives there were only 5 rooms, one working toilet, no electricity (it had been shut off by the Israelis) and two men hand-carving wooden prostheses for the children in a dark room with only one small window. It was a very rude awakening. I began to look beyond the holy sites and the fancy restaurants, and began to ask questions of our guide and driver, both Palestinians. They answered quietly and discretely on the side so as not to get the pilgrims “upset” and jeopardize their tips. I was incensed that the 32 books I read about the area prior to coming (so I wouldn’t be a stupid tourist) had in no way prepared me for the reality of what I was seeing. I felt as though I had been brainwashed, in a country where we supposedly have access to information and can be informed about all sides of an issue! I felt cheated, angry, and ashamed.

Standing in the airport with the group waiting to board the plane (after I had been taken out of line again by Security, interrogated, and told that I “fit the profile of a terrorist”) my whole body began to shake. My friend asked if I was feeling OK and I told her, “No! I don’t want to go. I need to stay here!” I did not recognize my own voice. What was I saying? Have I gone totally bonkers? Has jet lag finally caught up with me? It’s time to get back home, find a real job and get my life back in order. But God had a different plan, which I was soon to find out.

After returning to the US I continue to look for another job that would support my family. Every time I went to submit a resume I hesitated. I tried to talk myself out of this gut level feeling of needing to go back; I had a house, three children to look after (although my oldest son was more or less already on his own at 20 yrs. old). I had bills piling up, obligations at my church, having been newly elected to serve as Council on Ministries Chair; one excuse after the other. Suddenly nothing in my life was going “right”. I felt as though I was being pushed into something that was a) not of my choosing, b) not even remotely logical, and c) for which I was completely unqualified. It made no sense what-so-ever.

Months went by. Things only got worse. Every night I would be on my knees yelling at God, arguing with him, trying to reason with him. “Why are you doing this to me? Haven’t I had enough to deal with already? What can I possibly do that would make even a remote bit of difference anyway?” Around and around we went. I felt as if I was suddenly not in control, as if I had lost all sense of direction. For someone who has always prided herself in making her own decisions, right or wrong, I felt I was being bullied into something that was not my choice.

At the beginning of May, after several exhausting months of fighting with God, I finally gave up. Again on my knees one night I told God, “Look, I can’t go on like this. Nothing is working right in my life. You are making my life miserable. No, you are making my life a living hell! I can’t do this any more. If I’m really the one you want, then take me. I’ll go wherever you want. You win. ‘Here I am, Lord’.” I gave up my feeling of having to be in control of my life (and it was a long and brutal struggle), and turned it over to God.

I decided to volunteer for 3 months during the summer hoping to get this out of my system and come back to the U.S. filled with enough righteousness to last the rest of my life. All the while I was thinking “Who will take care of my children? Who will watch my house, mow the lawn, pay the bills. How will I even pay the plane fare?” etc. etc. etc. It had taken me six long years after my divorce to get through college again, find a job and finally get off the Aid to Dependent Children welfare support I had been forced into after my divorce. I had finally “made it” and was now being asked to throw that all away. I felt as though I was on the edge of a cliff with no place to go but down, and no chance to turn around and go back.

I took that first step off the edge of the cliff, I “stepped out in faith” and I did NOT fall. In fact, people suddenly came forward and said, “I’ll watch your children for you, I’ll take care of your house, I’ll pay your house payment, I’ll buy your ticket.” Within a month of giving up control of my life I was on a plane to Tel Aviv, not knowing where I was going, not knowing the language, the culture, or a single person. I had only a letter from a priest who was building a school in the Galilee, who had been contacted by a person in the US, who knew a person who knew someone who knew him or his uncle or someone… inviting volunteers to come and help out with the manual labor. I was both excited and scared. But I knew very clearly that this is where I needed to be and where God wanted me to be (although I still had no idea why or what purpose it could possibly have.)

After I had been there only three days Abuna Chacour (“Abuna” means “our father” in Arabic) and I were on our way to Akko on the coast for a betrothal when he asked if I would stay permanently. Although I knew that this was my heart’s desire, and felt sure this was where God wanted me to be, I felt perhaps I should give him an “out” in case things didn’t go well in the course of the summer. I said, “Well, that’s a really long time. I have a house and 3 children to think about. Besides, you don’t know me and I don’t know you, and we might hate each other by the end of the summer. Ask me then.” (Tact has never been my strong suit!)

I worked as his personal assistant all summer, not realizing that in that culture I would have no place in construction, as was my original intent, my training and experience being in civil engineering and architectural design. On my last day there, having completed my three months of volunteer work, we were once again on our way to Akko for another meeting about a building permit. He suddenly asked, “So, have you thought about my question?” Although it had been three months and several questions later, I knew exactly what he was asking. I first asked, “Why me? You’ve had hundreds of volunteers from all over the world come and help you. Why do you want me to come back? What’s so special about me?”

“Because you treat me like no one has ever treated me before.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“You treat me like I am just a person, like any other person, not like some “vague entity” that people have raised so high up on a pedestal. You fill in the places where I am lacking, like the cogs of two gears. I need someone to be my alter-ego when I can not be here, and you can do that. And besides, I’m not used to getting teased in public!” (That’s another long story…a cultural faux pas BIG-TIME!)

I agreed to return for 5 years, to work as a volunteer (the school could not afford to pay salaries for administrative staff at that point in time, and it would take 5 years for the new college to get off the ground, the high school having been established several years before.) I returned to the U.S. at the beginning of September, got my children settled into school, and put my house on the market, hoping that the money I would make from the sale would be enough to support us while I volunteered in the Galilee. Once again, I began to worry, to think too hard. “This is nuts! Am I crazy? I have two children in school here. I can’t just yank them out of school and drag them half way across the world just because I have this job offer. No, not even a job offer. An offer to volunteer! This is insane thinking. It is not even remotely rational.” Once again I prayed, “Please God, help me to discern if this is really where you want me or just something I want for myself out of selfishness, pride, greed, whatever. Send me some kind of sign to help me to know if I should stay here or get rid of the house and go. Just some kind of small sign would really be helpful about now.” All of a sudden the whole ceiling in my bedroom crashed to the floor all around me. The only section that did not come down in a cloud of drywall and plaster was the section over my bed where I was sitting. “OK, I know I can be pretty stubborn and hard-headed, and perhaps a bit dense at times, but that message came through loud and clear.”

My son did not want to go. He was 16 and just starting his junior year in high school. How could I leave him behind? How could I split him up from his sister with whom he was so close, even though she was 4 years younger? It was a major dilemma for me. Whose will is being done here? How can this be a good thing? I went in to my pastor who very wisely said, “If this is truly where God wants you to be, He won’t let everything else fall apart. He’ll take care of it.” I left my middle son with his father and took my 12 year old daughter with me, still not knowing exactly what I was getting into, what I was REALLY supposed to be doing there.

Because I took that first step off the edge of the cliff, because I walked out in faith, not knowing what that meant, I have been unbelievably rewarded. I have been blessed to work for two of the most gifted and spiritual men I could ever hope to meet, both of whom have been nominated for Nobel Peace Prizes. I have had the privilege of meeting with presidents, prime ministers, ambassadors, and outstanding clergy such as Archbishop Tutu, who is the patron of Sabeel. I have been able to travel and meet so many wonderful and caring people. I have hauled sand and water buckets with kids from privileged families and seen how their lives were changed. I have come to know and love the perseverance, the unwavering hope, and the simple humanity of the Palestinian people who have become misunderstood in their quest to reclaim their basic human rights. I have lived to see my children grow into beautiful and caring adults of whom I am most proud, when many of my friends can only cling to photos of lost loved ones.

I have only one unceasing prayer: that more people would be led to the edge of that cliff and be able to step off. I want for more people, especially those I care about, to know the rewards of giving up control of their lives, of stepping out in faith, of realizing that once you take that first step the other steps get so much easier and the rewards so much greater. If they would just take that first step…