It's my birthday

Excerpt from my journal: 11/4/2016

November 4th

It's my birthday, but that's not what has my heart racing.

Today is the day that I leave for my greatest spiritual adventure of my life time. At least, that's what I expect it to be.

Many have asked if I'm excited, and I have answered with an overwhelming... "YES!" That's what I should say, right? So I say it.

But, I don't even know what I am excited for. The words to articulate these emotions escape me.

Is it the unknown? The time by myself? The guilt-free time with the Lord, uninterrupted?

Is it because I have asked the Lord to break my heart for what breaks His and He is doing it?

Is it because I will literally be walking in the footsteps of Jesus?

I know it is all of these things and more.

I will meet peacemakers. Women who embody the characteristics of Jesus himself. They may not even know how much like Jesus they truly are.

I will shed tears... many. Knowing myself, the downpour will happen when I least expect it. What will cause it? Where will I be?

True to my personality, I scheduled a cry session before I left. Will that lessen the escalating emotions, the swings from high to low I'm about to experience?

What will happen when my pent up sobbing meets a physical broken heart?

How will I pick myself up and keep moving?

These are the things I worry about.

I do not worry about my life, my safety. I know the One who holds me.
I  have nothing to fear. I know His plan for me extends far beyond this journey.

Perhaps the answer to what I am most excited about is actually not a question at all. What if it's a request.

"Please don't let me return the same." 

I know there is no turning away from what I have learned. What I have read. 

I know there is no turning away from what I am about to see. 

So There's This Village

You won't recognize the name. In fact, you wouldn't recognize much about this little village. 

With 200 families living here, they are a tight knit community. They celebrate the art of agriculture. In fact, each family in this community is given a plot of land to farm. It's a desirable place to live because of the neighborhood and the love each family has for one another. 

But there is another side to this village. Actually, it's what lies outside the boundaries of this community that may haunt you.

In this village you can stand on the neighborhood street and in every direction you look, you can see a bomb shelter. 

A bus stop with a bombshell shelter next to it for students. If you hear the siren, students waiting to go to school have 15 seconds to make it into the shelter before the rocket hits. 

You can hear the rockets being launched from the other side, and without delay you can hear the attack helicopters taking off from here in the pursuit of retaliation. 

Just a mere two weeks ago, two bullets entered a home here. A TV, entertaining two boys, became a shield. Bullets, ringing through the home, lodged themselves in the TV, leaving the two boys unharmed... this time.

As I stand in this village I see a wall, 20 feet high. Around the corner are soldiers, tucked safely in a concrete room, openings just large enough to spot his eyes, peering out across the valley. 

Over there, across the valley is Gaza. The world's largest open air prison, named by those who live there. "To live there" might sound ambitious. Maybe "to exist there" is better. It seems as though they just exist. 

But from within the walls, there is one who tells another story. She shares a story of hopes, of dreams, of a future. Of course I can't see her, we can't go to her, and she can't come to us, so we speak over the phone.

"We have a right to live and a right to dream."

With no access to jobs, medical care, and little hopes for education, Heba refuses to stop dreaming. What does she dream about? Finishing her education. She has been accepted to attend a university in Israel to study bone disease and cancer in the jaw. A noble and beautiful dream. But today she waits, unable to leave the walls that surround her. She is praying for permission to leave, praying for permission to attend school. I am praying also. And so is Roni. 

Roni is a brave woman, a peace wager, a friend to Heba, and a friend to me. She chooses to live here, in this village. She could live anywhere. Anywhere. But she chooses to stay here, and wage peace. To fight for those whose voices have been silenced. She is committed to share the story of the other narrative, living on the other side of the wall, only 500 yards away. 

Her children are here too, and grandchildren. 

She tells us her story, her eyes meeting mine. 

"What are you willing to give up for peace?"

In this village, where one can justify hatred and violence toward the other... there are those who are waging peace.

Roni's words still ring, fresh in my ears. 

"It is not about one or the other, it is about being side by side no matter what."