Like a Child

We're having a "business vacation" in San Francisco currently--here for the annual ASOR meetings (American Schools of Oriental Research...aka, the conference for archaeology geeks).  It's always a fun event (it's only the third one I've been able to attend) because we get to reconnect with a bunch of friends from so many different stages of life and from so many different places.  In that sense, it's almost like a reunion of memories past.  And it's a gold mine for professional networking for Owen, as well.

We just rolled into town last night and settled into our budget hotel, and today the kids and I went on a mission to explore our immediate neighborhood by foot.  Jack is adorable: I had told him excitedly, "Today we get to go explore the neighborhood!"  He matched my enthusiasm with wide-eyed wonder, "Mr. Roger's neighborhood?!"  (I think he's only seen the show once, ever.)  I felt terrible letting him down, but then again, there were trolleys!  I reminisced about our Amman days as I puffed up 45 degree inclines with one child strapped to me and the other pushed in front, and it felt good to exert myself again in the warm sunshine.

Around dinnertime, we drove downtown to meet up with Owen and some friends, and of course had trouble finding reasonable parking.  I was determined to find free street parking!  I was just about to give up, when I happened across an empty street boasting a plethora of free parking spaces!  I was so excited that I didn't realize until I'd parked why this section of street was not terribly popular: the entirety of it was heavily populated by shady-looking homeless people and (I'm quite certain) drug dealers.  It was very shady.  I only felt slightly better that there was a Youth With A Mission located there...albeit behind iron gates and bars.  I was so committed to my free parking plan, however, that we stayed.

Safita is such a lovely, sweet, happy, friendly child, always bursting with smiles and eager to interact with other people.  I am told constantly by people that she is the friendliest baby they've ever seen.  So as I toted my kids down Sketchy Street, my Little Miss Sunshine was nearly leaping out of my arms trying to say hello to every single vagabond we passed.  She didn't notice their tattered clothes, the dark circles under their eyes, their greasy hair...It took a good deal of effort to hold on to her!

And it was another one of those frequent backwards moments where my child taught me a lesson.  Oh, to be like a child and not be so quick to pre-judge people or qualify who should be deserving of our kindness.  Safita reminded me that people are more than the situations they find themselves in, they are more than the mistakes they've made, and they all deserve kindness and good will.  I am inspired to have more "x-ray" vision like a child: to see past the outer baggage into the valuable soul of each person I meet.

A Day in the Life

This afternoon the kids and I played sidekick to Owen on his survey project at Tall Safut.  He was walking around the site taking GPS points, from which he will reconstruct the top plans and etcetera...Safita helped him with this task, and was a fantastic assistant. 

Jack wandered around making stone pizzas and dirt soup in any spare bottle cap he could find.  I was in charge of the glorious (but important) job of cleaning weeds off the tops of excavated walls for pictures that will be taken in the next few days.  Unfortunately, I didn't accomplish very much due to frequent requests to taste the aforementioned pizza and soup, amidst tending to other needs of the small ones.  They really did splendidly, though; we were quite impressed with them.  Safita, adorably, was practically giddy over daddy. 

The sunset and dusk from atop Safut were amazingly spectacular!  The site overlooks the Bekaa Valley, so we watched the villages of the valley slowly sparkle to life while the sky burned beautiful deep tones of red, orange, to deep pink, to heathery purple.  At one point, we were serenaded by a surround-sound of the call to prayer, broadcast from numerous minarets all around the site and down through the valley.  It was kind of majestic, with sunset, and the wind, and the twinkling lights, and the echo of the valley.  Jack got excited about the "scary green prayer" and had fun counting all the minarets he could spot.  There were at least 10 in close proximity, and countless more throughout the valley.  Sadly, we forgot our good camera and only had the point-and-shoot, so the pictures just don't do it justice. 

The young man who farms the plot of land at the foot of the tell came up after a while to keep us company, and before we left brought us a bounty of his crop--I'm not sure what the name of it is, but it's some sort of cross between cucumber, zucchini, and summer squash.  It's tasty.  We ate it with our falafel dinner, which Jack requested on the way home.  (We're so proud when our 2-year-old son requests falafel or shawerma for dinner!  He also loved the cucumber/zucchini thingies and ate them heartily.) 

The Importance of Place

We are a nomadic family…living perpetually in a temporary state…not by choice, but rather by necessity, moving on with each new change of season.  Described like that, I guess we all are nomads, of sorts.  Life is fluid and changing, and we change with it, whether we want to or not.  As seasons change, so do life-sustaining sources, and we must forge ahead or be left wanting.  We all are nomads, especially as we believe that this world is not our ultimate home and we are only passing through.

This contemplation makes me think of the ancient Israelites passing through Transjordan: Why did 2 ½ tribes (Rueben, Gad, and the half tribe of Manasseh) choose to settle there along the journey and not continue to the Promised Land?  Was it strategic, to conquer more land?  Or were they tired of the nomadic life, and the land looked good for settling?  Numbers 32 seems to indicate the latter.  Did they miss out on God’s planned blessing by not continuing?

The logistics of our nomadic journey at the current stage look something like this: We lived in Buchanan, MI for 3 ½ years while Owen worked on the classwork and legwork of his dissertation (PhD in Ancient Near Eastern Archaeology & Anthropology).  We currently live in Amman, Jordan for 6 months while he continues to research, survey, and write under a fellowship with ACOR (American Center for Oriental Research).  When we leave here, we will live under the generosity of my family for an indefinite, temporary period of time while Owen finalizes his dissertation and defends (hurray!) and applies for jobs (double hurray!)…And then we wait…Trusting that God’s plan for us does indeed include a job for Owen.  At the point in which a job is procured, we will move to wherever in the world God happens to lead us.  In the field of archaeology, jobs are scarce, and first jobs often are not final positions but rather stepping stones—perhaps it’s the same in many professions.  As such, we anticipate a long future of uprooting and moving and re-settling. 

I am a roots-loving girl.  Roots are important for stability and nourishment.  I want my roots planted firmly in one location, and from there to spread deep and wide.  A good, solid, unchanging home seems quintessential to appreciating the rest of the world without feeling lost in it.  (I speak of my own experience; I know many solid, cultured people who had to move a lot in their youth.)  I feel so blessed that my parents were able to give this gift to me, and I still grieve that I will never be able to give this to my own children, geographically speaking.  I kind of love the tendency here in the Middle East for children to never leave home…once married with their own families, they simply add on to the family home rather than moving away.  The nomadic life is diametrically opposed to my inner make-up and preference in living.  There is something deeply comforting—vital, even—about having a place to belong, and where do you belong more than on the same plots of land your ancestors have habituated and toiled over for generations?  Memories radiate from every rock and tree and crevice of those places, from the very soil.  One would zealously do anything to not lose it or have it changed, because the land itself becomes like a part of your very self; it can be ripped away only as easily as your very soul.  It brings a deeper understanding of the tension in the Middle East, does it not?