Today I spilled milk all over the inside of my mother-in-law's fridge. I was horribly embarrassed. And what clever quip did she use as a reply?
"Well, you know what they say about spilled milk!"
Yes, that's right, I was crying over spilled milk. Not quite as meaningful as my recently discovered Kurdish idiom, but finding a use for an American one gave me some comfort of home. Apart from some brief Facebook interchanges, my main connection with home is an hour long skype chat with my family on Sundays. It's only an hour because it starts at 9:00 pm my time, and 2:00 pm their time. And this past Sunday, after only being gone a month, I had to have a conversation we'd all been dreading and praying against.
"I know you don't want to hear this, Dad, but it really can't be ignored. This Wednesday the UN is voting whether or not to make Palestine an official state member."
My Dad just walked me down the aisle a couple months ago, then hugged me good-bye as I left for my flight to the Middle East. Now as I saw him through my webcam, telling him about the UN vote, his solemn face cringed and nodded in understanding. My heart ached as I lacked a way to comfort my extremely protective but always supportive father.
As we talked about all the potential outcomes, (will Americans become the bad guys if the UN passes the vote, but Obama vetoes it?) the only small consolation I could offer my father was the same statement I keep hearing repeated in Jerusalem: we're in the eye of the storm. As a resident of Jerusalem, I am standing in the center of a tornado, a small bubble of protection while the raging storm swirls all around me. At least, this is what people are saying. Does this mean I have nothing to worry about? No. I can only pray that God's sovereignty in bringing me here will shield me with the same loving protection it always has. Does this mean nothing can happen in Jerusalem? No. But with holy sites for Muslims, Jews, and Christians alike in one location, it is difficult for one to hurt the other without suffering casualties. Palestinians have claimed statehood for years, but had nothing to back it up. Now, if the Arabs living in the very city are denied the respectable, official statehood at their fingertips by being allowed membership into the United Nations, what will they do?
Today is Wednesday. But God is always sovereign. I don't know what will happen. But I strive to live with the same grace and love, regardless. Please pray for us whether the winds thunder and rage, or whether my Lord says to those winds, "peace, be still."
"Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadow with blackness,
No shelter or help is nigh;
Carest Thou not that we perish?
How canst Thou lie asleep,
When each moment so madly is threatening
A grave in the angry deep?
The winds and the waves shall obey Thy will,
Peace, be still!
Whether the wrath of the storm tossed sea,
Or demons or men, or whatever it be
No waters can swallow the ship where lies
The Master of ocean, and earth, and skies;
They all shall sweetly obey Thy will,
Peace, be still! Peace, be still!
They all shall sweetly obey Thy will,
Peace, peace, be still!"
That's always been you're favorite hymn, Dad. Don't forget it, especially now. I love you.
-Madelyn Miles
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
A Tired Love
Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center. I'm spending it in the Middle East. And as the day approaches I am mentally and emotionally bombarded with living examples of love and hatred.
The church service we may decide to attend regularly meets on Saturday morning--the Shabbat. There are many reasons for this, and I understand many people back home have a hard time coping with the idea. But that's not why I'm writing. I'm writing because we had a potluck outside on the front lawn after the service was over. As we ate and talked, an Orthodox Jewish man (alone) walked down the sidewalk outside our gate, and shouted at us as he walked "Shabbat is only for the Jews! Shabbat is only for the Jews!" Our huge crowd sat in silence as he passed, looked around at each other, then slowly continued to eat and talk without responding to him. An act of hatred to speak. An act of love not to speak.
At first I was inwardly rattled by this. I've faced religious intolerance before, but never an open statement of hatred like this. Not that the man said anything incredibly horrible--it was more the principle of the action than the words themselves. Throughout the day I mulled this event over in my mind and kept coming back to the same thing:
A tired love.
I've learned a Kurdish idiom since I arrived here. One mother who recently went back home to Iraq with her healthy daughter said before she left, " You never shorted us on anything. You were tired for us." It's taken me some time to come to a full understanding of the meaning, because it's multi-faceted. But to be tired for someone, essentially means to love someone so fully it comes out repeatedly in your actions, to the point of wearing you out. Serving and loving to the point of being tired.
The essence of Shevet Achim (the organization I'm working with) is not heart surgeries for children. The essence of Shevet Achim is not being "professional do-gooders." The essence of Shevet Achim is not discipleship. The essence of Shevet Achim is loving your neighbor. The Samaritan man was hated and persecuted by the Jews. He had every right to hate and abandon the dying, mugged Jewish man on the side of the road. But he loved his neighbor in the face of hatred. A man massacres a group of Amish children before committing suicide and the Amish parents attend his funeral. Love in the face of hatred. A tired love. A tired love is the only kind of love that can overcome hatred. A random act of courtesy will not.
Jesus loved in a tired way.
Do we?
-Madelyn Miles
The church service we may decide to attend regularly meets on Saturday morning--the Shabbat. There are many reasons for this, and I understand many people back home have a hard time coping with the idea. But that's not why I'm writing. I'm writing because we had a potluck outside on the front lawn after the service was over. As we ate and talked, an Orthodox Jewish man (alone) walked down the sidewalk outside our gate, and shouted at us as he walked "Shabbat is only for the Jews! Shabbat is only for the Jews!" Our huge crowd sat in silence as he passed, looked around at each other, then slowly continued to eat and talk without responding to him. An act of hatred to speak. An act of love not to speak.
At first I was inwardly rattled by this. I've faced religious intolerance before, but never an open statement of hatred like this. Not that the man said anything incredibly horrible--it was more the principle of the action than the words themselves. Throughout the day I mulled this event over in my mind and kept coming back to the same thing:
A tired love.
I've learned a Kurdish idiom since I arrived here. One mother who recently went back home to Iraq with her healthy daughter said before she left, " You never shorted us on anything. You were tired for us." It's taken me some time to come to a full understanding of the meaning, because it's multi-faceted. But to be tired for someone, essentially means to love someone so fully it comes out repeatedly in your actions, to the point of wearing you out. Serving and loving to the point of being tired.
The essence of Shevet Achim (the organization I'm working with) is not heart surgeries for children. The essence of Shevet Achim is not being "professional do-gooders." The essence of Shevet Achim is not discipleship. The essence of Shevet Achim is loving your neighbor. The Samaritan man was hated and persecuted by the Jews. He had every right to hate and abandon the dying, mugged Jewish man on the side of the road. But he loved his neighbor in the face of hatred. A man massacres a group of Amish children before committing suicide and the Amish parents attend his funeral. Love in the face of hatred. A tired love. A tired love is the only kind of love that can overcome hatred. A random act of courtesy will not.
Jesus loved in a tired way.
Do we?
-Madelyn Miles
Thursday, September 8, 2011
The City that (Almost) Never Sleeps
Living in Jerusalem is like living in downtown New York City.
Even walking to our flat that is less than 100 meters away from the Shevet building, I pass by tons of people from all sorts of cultures, and cross a busy and often rule-less intersection/roundabout area. I've done it enough times already that I feel I've conquered my corner of the city, but there is always so much more beyond. You could say it is a city that never sleeps...
Except the most incredible phenomenon occurs once every week. The city stops, the city sleeps, the city is quiet and empty. Every Shabat, especially in the morning on Saturday, all Jewish stores are closed, and as I looked out the balcony from my in-law's flat, I stared down a normally bustling cobblestone road, and heard nothing but a breeze.
Can you imagine a city like NYC coming to a screeching halt and emptying for an entire day?
In addition to marketing and website duties, I'm taking on a pretty significant role in Public Relations at Shevet. A huge tour of old secular Jewish people came by the office yesterday--apparently the tour guide is an old friend of Shevet's and often brings his crowds here since our building is one of the first built outside the Old City, and has quite a rich history. Not to mention, he believes in our cause and enjoys sharing it with those on tour.
So I came out to a crowd of senior citizens, all fanning themselves, grumbling and muttering in Hebrew, at one point I thought I heard a bodily function or two sound off. And I greeted them. The tour guide interpreted for me, but I gathered that many of them knew English. I prayed the whole time, "Lord give me the words to say. Speak through me." And as I stood in front of them, the words came. And before I knew it, the old folks were all quite caught up in what I was saying. And as we took them to the upstairs to see where the Kurdish families stay, many pulled me aside and grilled me with questions. I answered them all, and as they were leaving, I heard over and over again how thankful they were for our mission of peace and reconciliation.
And today, I must admit I was a bit star struck. Shevet sometimes partners with or receives referrals from a much larger, but similar, organization called Save A Child's Heart. I went with two Shevet companions to Tel Aviv to meet with some important PR workers from SACH, and was relieved that they were interested to meet me, and not concerned in the least with my young age. But I looked into a small group of people with them, and thought I recognized a man. I turned back to the woman we were speaking to, just in time to hear her say "and today we have with us Idan Raichel..." Hold the phone and eat my hat! I looked at my companion, Donna, and I said, "Really?! Idan Raichel!" Unfortunately, they were leaving and I wasn't able to meet him. But he did wave hello to us and smile. For those of you who don't know The Idan Raichel Project, please look it up. Their music is fantastic.
And today my husband returns from Amman, Jordan, bringing with him three new children with their mothers to stay with us. Please pray for us and them, as we try to make them feel loved, welcomed, and safe.
-Madelyn Miles
Even walking to our flat that is less than 100 meters away from the Shevet building, I pass by tons of people from all sorts of cultures, and cross a busy and often rule-less intersection/roundabout area. I've done it enough times already that I feel I've conquered my corner of the city, but there is always so much more beyond. You could say it is a city that never sleeps...
Except the most incredible phenomenon occurs once every week. The city stops, the city sleeps, the city is quiet and empty. Every Shabat, especially in the morning on Saturday, all Jewish stores are closed, and as I looked out the balcony from my in-law's flat, I stared down a normally bustling cobblestone road, and heard nothing but a breeze.
Can you imagine a city like NYC coming to a screeching halt and emptying for an entire day?
In addition to marketing and website duties, I'm taking on a pretty significant role in Public Relations at Shevet. A huge tour of old secular Jewish people came by the office yesterday--apparently the tour guide is an old friend of Shevet's and often brings his crowds here since our building is one of the first built outside the Old City, and has quite a rich history. Not to mention, he believes in our cause and enjoys sharing it with those on tour.
So I came out to a crowd of senior citizens, all fanning themselves, grumbling and muttering in Hebrew, at one point I thought I heard a bodily function or two sound off. And I greeted them. The tour guide interpreted for me, but I gathered that many of them knew English. I prayed the whole time, "Lord give me the words to say. Speak through me." And as I stood in front of them, the words came. And before I knew it, the old folks were all quite caught up in what I was saying. And as we took them to the upstairs to see where the Kurdish families stay, many pulled me aside and grilled me with questions. I answered them all, and as they were leaving, I heard over and over again how thankful they were for our mission of peace and reconciliation.
And today, I must admit I was a bit star struck. Shevet sometimes partners with or receives referrals from a much larger, but similar, organization called Save A Child's Heart. I went with two Shevet companions to Tel Aviv to meet with some important PR workers from SACH, and was relieved that they were interested to meet me, and not concerned in the least with my young age. But I looked into a small group of people with them, and thought I recognized a man. I turned back to the woman we were speaking to, just in time to hear her say "and today we have with us Idan Raichel..." Hold the phone and eat my hat! I looked at my companion, Donna, and I said, "Really?! Idan Raichel!" Unfortunately, they were leaving and I wasn't able to meet him. But he did wave hello to us and smile. For those of you who don't know The Idan Raichel Project, please look it up. Their music is fantastic.
And today my husband returns from Amman, Jordan, bringing with him three new children with their mothers to stay with us. Please pray for us and them, as we try to make them feel loved, welcomed, and safe.
-Madelyn Miles
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