Don't Call Me Shirley

            I just giggled from happiness. WBU is quiet and cold. My roommates and friends have all gone home leaving me with a few glorious days alone. Surrounded by a fuzzy blanket, pillows, and books I am having an absolutely superb evening. This Christmas break has big plans and I am excited to spend it with the people I love. But for the moment, this is perfect.

        I have scribbled out several blog ideas over the past few weeks, but I always run into a problem: I think a lot of things about a lot of things. I suppose I could fill volumes with the things I have to say. Some of them would be riveting and clever; others would have the entertainment equivalent of oatmeal. Lately, my mind zips around from theology to dessert recipes to the mood phenomena of college students during December and perhaps ending with my wild anticipation of the new Channing Tatum movie. I’ve been dying to snatch a wise man from someone’s yard (they weren’t there, look it up), I finished the second Hunger Games book today, and I showed my Spanish final who’s boss.

            As this is my adventure blog, I suppose it is appropriate to talk about my latest quest. Next stop: Macedonia. I planned to take this mission trip last year, but the Israel tour was sort of a once in a lifetime opportunity. This trip will be different because the focus is missions instead of study, although we will get to visit Philippi, Kavala, Neapolis, and Thessaloniki. We will be teaching English and building relationships with Muslims. I am jumping up and down, and the trip isn’t until August 2012 (if you are even under the impression that we will have an August 2012).

 I’ve got to admit that growing up in West Texas has not afforded me a lot of contact with Muslims. Most of the people I know associate them with terrorists and wife-beaters. I have tried to form a more educated view. I don’t want people basing their ideas about Christians on the Crusades. As best I can tell without knowing any, I love Muslims. They are hospitable people who hold high standards in a world that doesn’t respect absolutes. I disagree with them and have such heartbreak about the deception they live under, but I admire them. The mosques we visited in Israel were breathtakingly beautiful. They train their children to be experts in theology. It inspires me to dig deep in the truth of the Bible and know what I’m talking about. It also reminds me how important prayer is. I read that the god of Islam is impersonal and detached. I want so desperately to introduce these people to the merciful God who went out of his way to suffer and die for a relationship with his beloved children. I want women to know the freedom and dignity that is in Christ. I can’t tell people about a God I don’t communicate with.

My decision to go on this trip didn’t really surprise anyone but me. I felt that the responsible thing to do this year would be to stay home. I didn’t want to put any financial strain on my family and I felt that I could do some service with the youth events that go on in the summer. But really, all I’ve wanted to do since sixth grade was to go. At G.A. camp, bewildered at the thought that there could be people in the world who had never heard of Jesus, I decided that I wanted to be a missionary. As I got older and pretend-wiser, I qualified my earlier statements. I decided that surely God had intended that I live a mission-minded life here in the states. Surely he did not intend for my get-married-have-8-babies years to be spent in a grass hut. Surely, I would do something more normal…Well, God’s name is not Shirley.

The day after I sent the email to Dr. Shaw asking to be put on the Macedonia team, we had Mission Chapel. Super, God, I’m on the right track, thanks! But there was more. Dr. Shaw began to speak about a friend he made during his extensive time in Macedonia. His friend was the mayor of a town that had recently had an influx of radical Muslim missionaries. This man was a Christian and was deeply concerned about the youth in his community. He begged Dr. Shaw to find just one missionary who could stay with them permanently. After chapel, we all went to lunch like every other Wednesday, but I couldn’t really shake it off like everyone else. Days later, I was ironing and thinking about what went on in chapel, what went on inside me. All of a sudden it was like some part of my heart did that thing your dog does when it hears something and his ears get all lopsided. And then I just knew. I don’t know when, or how, but someday I’m going somewhere as a missionary. I don’t know if I will be there for 4 months or 40 years, but somewhere in the plan for me are foreign missions. God wasn’t misleading me in the sixth grade and he will never lead me in the wrong direction now.

Perhaps someday I’ll reach my bucket list goal of being trilingual. On the other hand, maybe I’ll just learn a lot of different ways to say bathroom.  I don’t think I’ll surprise my grandma, who watched my brother and me play “African Village” instead of house. Maybe I’ll email the computer teacher who let me to a powerpoint about Lottie Moon instead of a sports star like the rest of the class. Whatever happens, wherever I end up, I know that I am in capable hands. As far as spending my marriageable years in a far-off land, I direct you to Figure 1. My Father who knit me together knowing who I would be and how he would use me never leaves my side. He has a carefully constructed plan for my life. I can only hope that he doesn’t send me to some place where I have to survive on pop-tarts. Dear merciful God, no more hummus!

Puffed Up

                Puffed. Puffed is the way every one of us feels. Puffed is the word my brother once used to describe being a step beyond full. Puffed means you threw off the bonds of normal human eating and ascended to new heights of fattyhood. Puffed means my grandma and mom are culinary geniuses (genii?). Puffed means my home is warm, full of laughter, and perfect in every imperfect way. I am thankful to be so miserable on Thanksgiving.

                Poor blog, you have been so ignored. This summer took me on a lovely trip to Glorietta, New Mexico. This month took me to Las Vegas to marry off my favorite seesther. There is a new puppy at home and he and I are basically in love.  This post isn’t about any of those things. Instead, I will be committing a bit of university blasphemy by talking about class during a break.

                One could fill volumes with the knowledge that college students could benefit from in real life. These are not the time-management and get plenty of sleep lessons you get in University Life class. They are the realistic, probably irresponsible secrets to making it work. One of these facts is that your introductory class for your major WILL be boring. You will find it excruciating. You will despair at the idea of spending the next 3 years probably surrounded by these morons. You will freak out about your major, your life choices, and the major essay you put off because you couldn’t bear the thought of creating it. Fear not! This is normal. Life will go on. You will make friends with similar interests and occasionally learn something.

                Just the other day, one of these shining moments took place. My professor showed a video about discrimination. Maybe you’ve heard of Jane Elliot, a clever woman from Riceville, Iowa. Mrs. Elliot taught 3^rd grade in the 70s. Today’s fun fact is that MLK Jr was assassinated in 1968. Mrs. Elliot was not impressed with her country’s response. She found that white reporters reacted with questions like, “What are your people going to do now?” Mrs. Elliot hadn’t seen any progress between the times when “the only good injun was a dead injun” and “modern day”.  How could civilized people commit such atrocities against one another? More pressing, Mrs. Elliot wondered how she could teach her students the truth about discrimination. Mrs. Elliot came up with a plan.

                Mrs. Elliot talked a little with her class (of white, protestant, middle-class students) about discrimination. Her students knew about the civil rights movement and the prejudices that caused it. She asked them if they wanted to do an experiment to see how they would feel if they were discriminated against. Like any good group of small children, they gladly accepted. Mrs. Elliot explained that the students would be in 2 groups for the next few days, blue-eyed and brown-eyed. The first day favored the blue-eyed people. Mrs. Elliot told the class that blue-eyed people were smarter, cleaner, and better than brown-eyed people. Brown-eyed people would not be allowed to use the water fountain, they had to use cups. Brown-eyed people had to stay in 5 extra minutes before recess. Furthermore, brown-eyed people must wear knit collars around their necks. The next day, the experiment flipped. Brown-eyed students took their collars and placed them on the neck of a blue-eyed student and the cycle started over.

                The results of this experiment were astounding. Mrs. Elliot said she watched good, kind children turn hateful and cruel. The group in collars was ostracized and mocked. Two boys had a fist fight on the playground because one had called the other “Brown Eyes”. Students in collars were visibly discouraged and even angry. Mrs. Elliot gave simple spelling or math tests before, during, and after the experiment. Amazingly, students did significantly worse on these tests while they were in the collar group.

                I encourage you to check this thing out. I was shocked at how profound the responses of 8 and 9-year-old children were. They were deeply affected by the exercise. The students were forever changed by their first-hand experience of being considered less than someone else. Mrs. Elliot discussed with them afterwards that you should never judge a person based on what you see on the outside. After delivering some wisdom that could only come from children, they proceeded to destroy the hated collars. One little boy even ripped his up with his teeth.

                So I got to thinkin’, as the thinkers will do. Thinking about how impressed I was that children so young could understand such difficult concepts. Thinking about the devastating effects on a person who is repeatedly made less than someone else. Thinking about the dreadful ignorance of someone who deludes himself into believing he is superior. Thinking about how much this post reminds me of the Holocaust Museum one. But now I’m thinking about something else. I’m thinking of the idea that you judge a person by what’s inside, not outside. Which sounds lovely. Is it? Is it okay to judge someone by their insides?

                I heard once that judgment means assuming you know why a person is the way they are. How arrogant. I can’t even know what a person had for breakfast, much less if your mom gave you enough hugs. Can some people be better than others?  What makes a person valuable? I profess to believe that a person has worth because they are a person. Every human being is made in the image of a creator who was so crazy about them that he would kill his own son just to be with them. My head hangs a little as I think about the reality of my behavior. My actions sometimes say people have value based on how happy they make me. My worst offense is judging people on their vocabularies. When will I learn that feeling like the smartest person in the room is not WWJD? I think it’s time some of us rethought the logic that you judge a person by their inside. Maybe it’s time to realize that even if a person’s insides are nine kinds of nasty, they are still a person.

                Think about it. Hop around YouTube videos of Jane Elliot. Finish your pie and for heaven’s sake take up Cyber Monday you crazies. I’m off to wallow in the joys of weight gain. Leave me a comment and pass the pepcid  :)

Sometimes We Accidentally Learn In School

                My electronic devices all inform me that this is October. I find this hard to believe as it feels as though only yesterday I started another year at Best Place on Earth University. Since my last post, I am no longer homeless *touchdown dance* and am having lots of fun learning to be domestic. Future husband, whoever you are, you owe housing a big hug for arranging that I practice all these skills before you get here. So far I have successfully fixed a toilet, prepared meals, and squished all the spiders that my vegetarian roommate wasn’t around to rescue.

               In the meantime, I find that the further I get into my degree plan, the more interesting my subjects become. Who knew I could study things I actually care about? A surprising course this semester has been World Literature. I am aware that this sounds like one of the most painfully boring classes a person might be unlucky enough to take, and for a while it lived up to that entirely. My notebook contains more pictures than anything useful. For example, this is what I know about the Epic of Gilgamesh:

                In the midst of such excruciating boredom, some things started to get my attention. All of these stories, works that are considered essential to any educated person’s repertoire, have something peculiar in common. They all have some element similar to the Bible. The Epic of Gilgamesh has a flood story; Plato’s The Apology sounds incredibly similar to how Peter and John answer the Sanhedrin in Acts 4; The Aneied mentions an event when the primarily male city of Rome attacks the Sabines to carry off women as their brides. This parallels the Judges 21 story of the tribe of Benjamin snatching up wives out of a vineyard. These are just a few shallow examples. I’m sure that people have made lifelong studies of the similarities between the Bible and the world’s major literature.

                I find that this can be a little disconcerting. Was the Bible…cheating? Is the author of the universe a plagiarist? It only took a moment before the pimp hand of faith dealt with that. If anything, these similarities only validate the truth of the Bible. Romans tells us that the truth is written on man’s heart, whether he acknowledges it or not. Anything valuable, anything worth reading gets ideas from the best source: the truth. In the beginning was the Word. Was, is, will be. How beautiful that our God is a skilled wordsmith. How empowering that the words of our God endure forever. How interesting that the truth of our God shows up wherever we find man looking for something worthwhile.

                Classes are certainly not the main reason I go to college. In fact, I think college would be much easier without classes. I’m having a hard time convincing administration of this idea.  Either way, campus activities are terrific ways to avoid homework and make friends. I get pretty excited when Wayland students do things like this: I Am Second WBU. I look forward to more videos and more stories, all different but all the same. One redeemer, lots of redeemed. I think it’s fantastic. But I’m having some trouble. You see my thought when I watched was what my own I Am Second might look like. Of course I have a testimony. There was BC and now we’re rocking AD with JC. What God did for me is beautiful and real and worth sharing. But it’s…fuzzy. God has been consistently good, I have been consistently pathetic. I have grown and served and been blessed but all along I’ve failed and stumbled and strayed. What’s the theme of my Christ story? Which parts are clear and relatable? How do I deal with times when I’m not sure where I am or what God is doing? Times like…now.

                I don’t have an answer. I don’t have the answer to a lot of things. But I know this:

                I write, but I know The Writer. My name is Katie Jo and I am second.

Sleepin' on a Park Bench

                It did not take an entire nine days in Israel to discover that Hebrew is not the language of love. It is this phlegm-friendly dialect that brings you names like Haggai. Oh, Haggai, the forgotten little book that makes me want to hold my hands up like claws in the “scary monster” position as I pronounce it. Flipping through my bible this week I came across some sermon notes. Brother Tim preached on Haggai so many weeks ago, he may find it a little strange that I’ve only now decided to get something more out of it. However, life events have a way of slipping lessons in our drink when we aren’t looking.

                I write this blog not from my cozy dorm room, nor from the snazzy student house I moved into Sunday, not even the new house I anticipate being relocated to. This comes to you from Parents’ House, Texas, Population: Homeless McGee. As classes began today at my favorite place in the world, three roommates and I remained in student housing limbo. I have to admit that I lost my cool a bit this evening. Everything I own is currently crammed into my magical Mary Poppins car waiting for news. And yet, this is not a sad story. This, my friends, is the good part!

                What does housing have to do with Haggai? Well…Everything! You see, Haggai all about building a new house for the Lord. This may be a bit confusing or our post-Christ, you-are-the-temple understanding. Just a little bible history will tell you that the temple is where the people of God (Israel) went to meet with the Most High God. When the temple was destroyed and the people scattered in exile, everything about Israelite life was devastated. When Cyrus, king of Persia, allowed the remnant of Israel to return to their home and rebuild the temple there was much rejoicing. Still, how could things ever be the same?

                Haggai comes onto the scene just after this. The foundation for the temple had been laid years ago, but the people had abandoned the project. I encourage you to read it for yourself, it’s only 2 chapters. In short, God through Haggai tells the people they are wrong. Enough excuses, enough indifference. They are so focused on building their own mansions that they have forgotten to build a house for their God. After a good scolding, the people come to their senses. The Lord follows up with encouragement that he will be with them. He’s not a mean, old bearded man in the sky shaking his finger. God wants his people to be excited about the work he is asking them to do.

                This book has become so pertinent to both my spiritual and my physical states. Can I rest in Him when I have no place to rest? What is the work he is asking me to do? The foundation has been laid; Jesus Christ redeemed my life and raised me up to walk again. It’s time to put away the excuses and start building. As a new school year begins, there is plenty of construction to go around. *cough*5th Street*cough* I challenge you to take a look at what you’re building. Are you busy putting curtains on your own concerns or are you laboring towards monuments to his glory?

Who's Who on the Holy Land Holiday

           I write again beseeching your forgiveness. In trying to be reliable in everything going on this summer, I have become increasingly unreliable. I have been struggling for some time now with a complete lack of inspiration. I want to share experiences from my trip to the Holy Land, and yet I find it hard to think of things I’d like to write about. Even more difficult is deciding what you’d like to read about. With that in mind, I remembered the wisdom I picked up somewhere or another that everyone likes to talk about themselves. Unfortunately, you were not on my trip to Israel (unless, of course, you were in which case I say Hello!). I think that the next best thing would be a few short stories about those who accompanied me in Israel.  I’ve decided to start off with a little ‘Name that Professor’.

        

          Our first contestant could hardly be discussed without mentioning his lovely wife. In her sun-conscious hat, she kept us students like little ducklings, safely near her. Mr. Professor was easy to find, as long as you kept your ears open. It seems there is a hymn for everything, particularly in the morning. This Man may give you a hard time, but he is always ready to teach, to laugh, and to have fun with his students. Hey teach, you the Man!

           You’ll have to hurry to catch up with our next contestant, he’s probably catching his next plane. Careful observation revealed that this teacher rubs his head approximately every 45 seconds, perhaps to restrict hair re-growth.  This professor opened our eyes to the people around us, the lost, oppressed, and down-trodden who are easy to lose in the shadows of the monuments.  He Shaw is a good’un (even if certain young members of his family do refuse to take much needed baths).

                Who’s the raddest grandparent in Israel? Yeah, she rode a camel. Yeah, she slept in a tent. Yeah, she talked down market prices like a pro. Can’t say I disagree with her statement that “Israeli boys are hot!” Jokes aside, this professor has a way of explaining the truth of the bible in a way that is practical, accessible, and just plain brilliant.

                There were several other great professors among our Israel travelers, not to mention a wonderful group of students. It was a joy to have each of them (and their terrific wives). I want to make sure that everyone knows that Erasmus is dead and that if she doesn’t eat with me then she doesn’t eat at all. I hope you were able to guess the professors, but I also hope you know how much I admire them all. I love my school and the professors of Wayland Baptist University help make it a great place to get an education. Thank you all for being so very knowledgeable, but even more for caring so much about your students.

Can't Quit Now

     Ladies, gentlemen, and blog readers of all shapes and sizes, I am pleased to inform you that the show goes on. It's been a bit since I posted anything, but now that I've given the Holocaust Museum time to soak into your brain, I shall continue. We're all aware that my trip is long over and I am quite contentedly back in Texas (that is, if you've read anything else on this page.) Nonetheless, I am having fun blogging and I'd like to keep adding Israel insights and memories. You guys have been pretty silent, so I'm not sure if you can't figure out how to post a comment or if you are hiding from me. Speak up! I'd love to answer questions about my trip or to get some feedback about my writing. If there is a topic you'd like me to cover, whether mosques or moose, please let me know!

     Before departure, I said a lot about having never flown. I don't think I have been as thorough about my actual flight experience. I'm sorry to say that I might be a little bit of a Negative Nancy again. You experienced flyers..fliers..fly..individuals who travel in airplanes will grin and nod when I describe my frustration with airports. At first, I was in awe. We started in DFW and everything was HUGE. Huge windows looked out on huge runways with huge planes carrying huge numbers of people. Huge signs, huge bathrooms, huge I heart Texas coffee mugs. We took a tram to our gate and joked that all in one day we would be on 'planes, trains, and automobiles'. Speaking of gates, there is a whole system of vocabulary that exists in an airport. There are gates and terminals and 23492 different lines each with different purposes. Apparently, one is supposed to be born with this system etched in his or her brain. I, however, was not and had to suffer all day through the "Are you stupid?" looks of airport staff and customers.

     Airport security. Everyone, their dog, and now me knows that it is a dirty, awful word. Taking my shoes off?? Maybe if I was entering a Japanese home and being offered a delightful cup of tea in return, but seriously? The strangest thing to me was being security checked in New York. We had been checked in Dallas, gotten on our plane, and then went straight into the airport. No, I did not fashion an explosive during my connecting flight, you took my dangerous toothpaste away, remember?
     So we have all these ridiculous measures that I'm sure were designed very carefully by very smart people to keep us safe. Whether that's working or not is up for debate, just not here. Oddly enough, there are other times when it seems entirely too easy to get in and out of countries. Did you bring anything awful? Why, no, sir, I most certainly did not. Fantastic, you're in. I felt that way about passport lines. Although, sometimes it is surprising how hard it is to remember your name when someone asks you. Uh..uh..oh right, I'm me.
     Israel has a bit of a reputation. Basically, it's a beast. Being attacked by all your neighbors after you move in is not exactly the jello-giving reception one hopes for. Every citizen enters the army at 18, boys for three years, and girls for two. How does this translate to airport security? Well, there is definitely no jello. Airport staff are a little scary. Hebrew is a very harsh language, similar to German. This makes for a pretty intimidating accent. At 4AM we stood in line at the airport in Tel Aviv. I made my way up to a woman wearing a military uniform. She began asking me questions and I began freaking out because I couldn't understand her. After three tries and help from some of my group I was able to decipher her asking if I had packed this luggage and if I'd been with it the whole time. I then went on to the x-ray machine that another uniformed employee tossed my suitcase into like a sack of potatoes. From this point, some passengers were asked to go to another security counter and others were allowed to continue. This is where the sad, sad, sadness happens.
     Of course, you can see that I was asked to go to the security counter. Please remember that it is now approximately 4:27 in the morning. I've had 2 hours of sleep, I still need to finish my journal for class, and I'm ready to get out of this country and away from its awful food. I've now switched tenses, something that happens when I get too excited. So here I am, standing in another line. This one is short, but slow, because a rather intense search is going on at the counter. Finally, it is my turn. But wait! A NUN CUTS IN FRONT OF ME!! That's right, a seemingly sweet little lady in a habit cuts in front of me. So with that super experience, I wait some more, and finally get up to a woman in a dark suit with that formidable, unclear accent. At this point, I have an ugly feeling in my tummy about the Dead Sea sand inside my suitcase. The woman asks me if I have any lotions or creams from the Dead Sea, and truthfully, I said no. Perhaps I should have been a little more forthcoming, but she didn't give me time to think. "Open", she said, pointing at my suitcase. I had no choice. I unzipped the compressed disaster that was my luggage. Things sort of popped up on their own. Then, the woman and a new one began digging through my belongings. They took things out and chattered back and forth in Hebrew. They were just tossing my things left and right! My delicates were out in front of everyone! I asked if I could help and she quickly barked back no. Eventually they found the sand, chattered some more, and put it down apart from my other things. She looked at the disaster that she had made and said "Close" and then the two walked away, leaving me completely bewildered in the wreckage of my suitcase. I had to wave her back over to ask if I could keep my sand. Why on earth did I have to be so invasively searched for a bag of sand I got to keep? What a horrible day and it isn't even 5:00.

     Finally, I got a plane ticket. Our wonderful tour guide, Mickey, helped me get through an airline member line. I eventually met the others at the gate and spent my last shekels on pizza hut that had a little bit of a wang. This is where the next story starts. I started that long day off by putting a motion sickness patch behind my ear. I found it pretty effective for the first trip and wasn't taking my chances on the way home. Unfortunately, by the time I made it past those kniving, little nuns and cranky Hebrews, I had forgotten my patch and its warning about drowsiness. Since that was a thing of the past, I got into my head that I was really not interested in being sick on the way home. I asked one of the women in our group for some dramamine. That's right, more drowsiness. Vewy, vewy dwowsy..
     As I hurried to finish my journal on the flight to London, my eyelids became heavier and heavier. Finally, I had a nice airline experience when all the seats on my row were empty. After scribbling down the journal, I hoarded up all the blankets and tiny pillows I could reach and passed out. Even when I flew out of Miami between a slightly creepy man and a noisy Cuban, I slept sitting straight up. Then I got home and ate chicken and dumplings and lived happily ever after. The end :)

Holocaust Museum

     Sometimes the past is difficult to look at, especially when looking back forces you to look at yourself. I want to share another of my journal entries from my time in Israel.

     The unscheduled visit to the Holocaust Museum was an exciting surprise. I had never been to one before and had always found the Holocaust to be a point of interest. I remember a history project in fifth grade when I first learned of the event. It shocked me that so many human beings could be so cruelly abused. This wasn't even ancient history, it was recent and relateable.
     I was unprepared for how emotional I would become. In the first stages of the museum, I read about the almost imperceptible onset of racism in Germany. Much like the frog in boiling water metaphor, discrimination crept in slowly. People began making generalizations about others, assumptions that some people were too different. This slowly turned into the idea that one group was superior to another. I began to feel a personal indictment for some of the attitudes  I have, at times, harbored. How many times have I thought, even just a little, that I was better than someone else? It is that hardly noticeable attitude that opens to door to tragedies like the Holocaust.
     Continuing through the museum, it was as if I was waiting for a hero to show up. I waited for the non-Jewish neighbors to speak out in protest. I waited for the adjacent countries to object. Most of all, I waited for the U.S., my own country, to step in. I was shaken by a quote from a German pastor:
      First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out --
      Because I was not a Socialist.
      Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out --
      Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
      Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out --

      Because I was not a Jew.

      Then they came for me -- and there was no one left to speak for me.

The quote was so striking to me. It challenges the "not my problem" attitude that is so easy to adopt. Injustice is everyone's problem. If we wait until it directly effects us, it becomes too late. With this in mind, I continued to wait for the video or description or photo of the U.S. intervening. I waited in vain. Soon, I saw that not only had the U.S. ignored the injustice in Germany, but it had closed its doors to Jewish refugees. The victims had nowhere to go, no relief from the oppression of the Nazi party.

     Indignant and embarrassed, I began to watch the testimonies of those who had lived through the Holocaust. In its early stages, people lived in fear, children watched fathers and mothers be taken away. The tears came as I thought about how senseless it all was. Nothing can justify a child living with fear or a family broken apart. No reasoning can account for people being displaced, humiliated, and impoverished. Long before I reached the more graphic detailsof the internment camps I was unable to control my tears. The words "this never should have happened" echoed over and oever through my head. The most paralyzing idea was how easily the attitudes of the people who initiated, ignored, or allowed the Holocaust could be repeated, and are repeated by myself and others every day. The most dangerous thing we can do is to say another holocaust could never happen, for we are not like those people. That is the very sentiment that set the disaster in motion.

     Contrary to what we want to believe, holocausts have happened and continue to happen since WWII. But despite the attention that these deserve, I'm not talking about the big things. I'm talking about the small ones. I'm calling you and me out on thinking we are better than others. I'm blowing the whistle on the small injustices that you and I allow daily. As a writer I feel the need to draw you into this, but honestly, this post is talking to myself. 'Get over yourself' may be a good motto to adopt.

Whoa

It. Happened.

     Ever since we landed in Tel Aviv, I have been waiting. Waiting for something to happen. An epiphany, a eureka moment, an emotional experience with the Holy Land. Some of you may have noticed a negative tone throughout my updates. I apologize for this, but I have to admit that it didn't take long for me to wish I was home. I was disappointed in the big, unfriendly cities, the churches and mosques covering the good stuff, and most of all myself. Was I a defective Christian for not having that moment? Was something wrong with me because I wanted to leave?
     I may never have the emotional experience I expected, but today that became okay. There's nothing wrong with me. I don't love Jesus less because I didn't cry(not counting the Holocaust museum of course). But I can continually discover the lessons available to me through my experiences in Israel. Today was a great example.
     I was standing in church this morning singing "Jesus is all the world to me". Suddenly, I had this awareness of the truth. A little background is necessary.
     The orthodox Jewish lifestyles I saw in Israel was like stepping back in time. We were transported back into the Old Testament, the laws, the traditions, the culture. The broken relationship with God. Paul tells us that the law shows us that we need a Messiah, shows us just how screwed up we are. There are plenty of examples, but I was most interested in the relationships between men and women. In devout Jewish communities, a married woman is expected to either cover her hair or shave her head and wear a wig. This keeps her from being attractive to any man but her husband. Birth control is a negative ghost rider, so women grow old before their time caring for huge families. At the Western Wall, the place that Jews believe to be as close to the presence of God as you can get, the women have less than half as much room as the men to worship. A Jewish woman lives oppressed, ignored, and excluded from the worship of her God.
     As I stood in church this morning, I rejoiced that I was allowed to participate. I was overwhelmed by the knowledge that Jesus is indeed all the world to me. I realized how absolutely vital he is to me. Without him, I'm a nobody. Without him, I don't count. Without him, I have no voice. I have important things to do with my life. I can actively participate in worshiping God, in serving his people, in sharing his good news. Motherhood is beautiful and I hope to someday experience it, but I thank God that I am worth more than that. I saw today who my savior is. I saw what he rescued me from.
     I believe that this was only the beginning of the things I will learn from my trip. I hope that you will continue to read, because I will continue to post. Harpatkah'ah doesn't end when you get home. Adventure lasts a lifetime, woman or not. Bring it.

CAMEL DAY!!!

     Mark your calendars, because June 12 is Camel Day, complete with Camel Day hand motions and theme songs. On Camel Day, we left the green, blooming coast and headed for the Jordan Valley. As we drove, the land began to look more like I expected Israel to look. There were towering mountains with not a speck of plant life. Surprisingly, rocks and sand can be quite pretty. We did some souvenir shopping in Jericho, saw a monastery on the Mount of Temptation, and drove by a very old sycamore tree. It wasn't the original, but not too much later than the wee little man we know so well.

     At the Dead Sea Scroll caves, Dr. Ratcliffe did all but squeal like a schoolgirl. After teaching about the manuscripts found there for years, she was finally in the place it happened. Your Bible is what it is because of these scrolls. If you've ever wondered how accurate the text was after so many years, here's a fun fact. The best text we have is the Masoretic text, much of our modern translations rely heavily on it. About 1,000 years earlier than the Masoretic, the Dead Sea Scrolls were written. There are only 6 differences between the two. 6!

     Next, we went to the Dead Sea. The sand there is a weird mustardy color. Ivy and I went for a float and it was one of the strangest experiences I have ever had. I couldn't stop giggling! Then, like slow motion bumper cars, Ivy and I drifted toward each other and gingerly bounced away. We cracked up. When we finished, we had to shower off so our skin wouldn't freak out. Still, our skin felt weird and slimy for a while.

     And theeeennnnn....drum roll please.... CAMELS! We drove up some more dirt and rock covered mountains, a place that looked devoid of anything at all. Out of nowhere, we saw the patch of green that was the bedouin camp. We hopped off the bus and sat down on cushions surrounding a small fire inside a big tent. A bedouin man came to teach us about the hospitality traditions of his people. He also explained that the bedouin way of life is beginning to fade. He had been born in a tent, but now lived in a house. I was a little sad to hear about what life was like for women, but we had a some fun getting into character. An important part of the hospitality was coffee. There was a wooden container of coffee beans with a long handle sticking out. This was used not only to grind the beans, but also to make music. It must have taken years of practice to do both at the same time. There are many important nuances to being a good host or a respectful guest, but a fun one is the amount of coffee the host puts into the guest's cup. If the cup is only partially filled, it is appropriate to stay and continue drinking and visiting. If the host gives the guest a cup that is full, he'd better be on his way. This kind of cup says, "My heart is full of you".

     I know, I know, I told you we were at camels. Here they come. After learning about the bedouins, we went outside the fence around the tents (do I detect a rhyme??) to the camels. One of them was rolling around like a puppy in the dirt. Camels make the most awful noises and have even worse teeth. But as long as their mouths are shut they're pretty darn adorable. We paired up and sat on either side of the hump. The camels were tied in lines of about 5. Carefree as can be, the camel behind me walked up and used my knee to scratch his neck. We walked around the camp for a while. As soon as she stopped crying in terror, 10-year-old Grace began to name them all and sing about Camel Day. It was a very successful holiday, if I do say so myself.

     We all agreed that the bedouin camp had the best food we ate the entire trip. We sat on cushions at low tables and enjoyed some delicious, fluffy bread and (finally) identifiable meat. The low table made the meal into a very shared experience. We enjoyed each other as much as the food. After filling our bellies, we slept in another tent. Our entire group was in one tent, which if phrased just right gets us in a bit of trouble :P Despite having a pretty thin pallet to sleep on, another group of girls being obnoxious at 4am, and the desert getting a little cold at night, we all really enjoyed the experience. I think most of us would have been happy to stay a few more nights.

Filling Holes

     It's about time that I go into detail about the things I saw and did in Israel. The past week and a half was a whirlwind of sights, sounds, and experiences. I am in the process of uploading hundreds of pictures to photobucket (the link in the margin of this page). They are a jumbled mess, but I will do my best to organize and label them soon.
    We began in Tel Aviv, the modern city built on Jaffa. That hotel was kind of icky, but the view of the Mediterranean from our window was nice. Luckily, this was just a place to land after all of our flights. We stayed next in Haifa, where from our hotel on Mt. Carmel I told you we could see Lebanon from the rooftop terrace. The ocean, the mountains, and the city were beautiful at night. I touched a little on the Bahai Hanging Gardens. Down the center are stairs leading up one of Haifa's slopes. They go up to a dome, then up some more to a few balconies and the gates. The gardens surrounding this are incredible. From the top, you can see the dazzling colors of the garden, the city skyline, and the ocean.
     I talked about Caesarea, Nazareth, and Capurnaum. Later, we visited the Mount of Beatitudes. Israelis know how to plant a garden. There was, of course, a church built there. from the balcony, we looked down the slope at hundreds of banana trees and then down to the Sea of Galilee. The trees gave us a reference point to imagine 5,000+ people listening to Jesus teach. Inside the church, was a visiting group of nuns (will you throw rocks if I call them Asian?). As we looked around the small, round room that made up the sanctuary, the nuns began to sing. Caught off gaurd, we all sat and listened. It was a beautiful moment.
     All of these places were in Galilee. To complete my description of this region, I can't forget the Sea of Galilee. Here is another excerpt from my journal:

     I knew that it was the place where Jesus calmed the storm and walked on water. I knew it was the place that the disciples had fished without success until Jesus told them to try again on the other side. I knew that there was not a giant church on top. While we were taking the boat ride, I kept hoping that a great big storm would come up. I wanted to see what the disciples saw when they were so afraid. We always look at them with such superior attitudes. This week, I had an experience that showed me how similar to them I am.
     Our first night in Tel Aviv, my roommates and I awoke in the middle of the night to a loud fight in the next room. We heard shouting in Hebrew and broken English and objects hitting the wall. I do not exaggerate when I say I have never been so afraid. (Nighttime does things to you. I was pretty convinced that those were the things you heard before you were stolen by terrorists.) I felt confused and vulnerable. I imagine that I felt similar to how the disciples felt that day on the boat. Why wasn't Jesus doing anything?
     Also similar to the disciples, the episode looked very different in the light. The next morning showed us that even gently closing the cabinets in our room made a loud noise, the same noise that had sounded like a person being shoved against the wall the night before. What had been so terrifying seemed silly.
     In this situation, I saw that I have never had any reason to be afraid. My life is easy. I didn't have any room to expect more faith out of the disciples when I had never had to exercise my own. Being in this unfomfortable place and seeing the circumstances Jesus and his disciples would have encountered stretches me. The stories from growing up are changing. They confront me abruptly and challenge whether I will continue to see them as stories or if I accept them as truth and fact. I am not yet ready to process what I've seen. I really need to reflect.

Headed Home

     Last night about 11:00, we landed in the best state on earth. I am so glad to be almost home. I appreciate more than ever the friendly attitudes of Texans. In Israel, people push and shout and ignore when you say thank you. In London, there was no ice cream in the entire airport (no wonder British people are so grouchy).
     By this time we are all loopy. If you go off of Israel time, we arived at 7:00 in the morning after waking up at 2:00 the day before. Some of the words I am typing I have had to try 3 or 4 times. Israel was a great adventure. I can't wait to tell you about the Holocaust Museum, the Dome of the Rock, the Garden of Gethsemane and so much more. Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the energy just yet.
     This morning I had a Texas shaped waffle. I usually don't even like waffles, but it was pretty heavenly today. I'd better go, we are getting ready to move out. Don't worry, I'll update your face off at least by next week.
     Oh, and Jacob I had to go through this horrible Israeli search of my bag because of your sand. I hope you're happy.

Super Duper Sad Event

     I just wrote an entire post and then got an error page. I am very sad about this :( and I only have 3 minutes left. Leaving for the airport at 4am. Found Julie some beautiful earrings. Ready to be home. Bummer.

Mom really, chicken and dumplings PLEASE

     You've missed out on my bedouin experience (Camel Day!!!), Massada, floating in the Dead Sea and our arrival in Jerusalem. We have seen more churches than I can count, including the enourmous Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Today we saw the Western Wall of the temple. My female friends and I had to cover our shoulders and were only allowed on the smaller women's side.
     I could go into great detail about the places we have been. Mr. Thompson's pedometer says we did 10 miles yesterday and at 3:30 this afternoon we are at 7 miles so far. Definitely feeling it. But, I'd like to take this opportunity instead to describe the food here. I will start by telling you that I am out of pop-tarts and getting quite worried. Between planes, bus rides, and dirty street smells, I haven't really felt very adventurous. Still, I've tried to get the full experience.
     I did try falafel, a dish I explained in am earlier blog. It comes in pita like a sandwich. I..well if you don't have anything nice to say...
     Meals in Israel are, if nothing else, predictable. At every meal, including breakfast, the table is set with what they call salad. It is usually about four or five small plates with fairly standard items from which everyone shares. One of these plates always has hummus. Another usually has a mix of tomatoes and cucumbers, sometimes with onions as well. Another plate has cole slaw and another something pickled. No really, every single meal. Some of you may not be surprised to learn that I am surviving largely on tomatoes. Breakfast always has boiled eggs. Every meal has bread, not a roll like Texas but a big loaf for each person. The bread often has sesame seeds. The "salad" sometimes has other dips or cheeses to put on the bread.
     After a little while of pulling the inside out of our bread, someone usually asks which meat we would like.Sometimes beef, sometimes chicken, sometimes fish. This is a shot-in-the-dark process, as the dish you receive rarely looks like the animal you expected. It may taste delicious, or it may be an utter disaster. Luckily, it is a very family style dining experience and sharing with the lucky people at your table is alright. It's my blog, I can use the world alright if i want.
     After 8 days of unidentifiable food and labels that I can't read, I've pretty much gone vegetarian. Today, on our lunchtime quest for fruit in the open market inside the old walled city of Jerusalem, we made an epic discovery: hotdogs. I was content with my two oranges, but my fearless commrades went for it. We were shooed away from the tables where everyone else was sittin gby an angry Hebrew-speaking shop owner. So there we sat, blissfully eating oranges and hotdogs on a step in the street. Dr. Ratcliffe christened us the Exiled Virgins of Wayland. A hat vendor proposed to Ashley and we had ice cream for dessert. Success.

What Day is it??

     I have skipped what feels like a hundred days. Everything runs together and I forget when I saw what. I could chronologically fill you in, but as I have only 20 minutes of Internet for the 10 shekels I put in, I will only tell what I can get to. That is only about 3 American dollars, I've been getting lots of practice with my multiples of 3.
     I left off at my favorite site, Capurnaum. This was a town near the Sea of Galilee where Jesus had his headquarters. Much of his ministry was done from, in, around Capurnaum. Forgive me for forgetting what business flourished in Capurnaum, but the people were generally wealthy. Instead of living in the cave-ish grottos we saw in Nazareth, the houses were made of stone walls with palm branch roofs. We were able to see the walls, still standing in little squares, sometimes with rocks balanced up to make windows. In one of those houses, Jesus had drawn a huge crowd so that a group of men had to drop their paralyzed friend through the roof. Remember that? Am I the only one who was under the impression that they had to remove roof tiles? So innacurate. They just pulled the dry palm branches apart.
    Way cooler than the houses was the synagogue. At the time it was super fancy compared to the average home-churches and small buildings. It was made of marble, expensive because that had to be brought from elsewhere. Most of it was still standing, including incredibly ornate pillars and decorative carvings. There was also another church built over Peter's house and I am doing you a terrible injustice by breezing through these, but I must get to the silliness part of the post before dinner.
     OH WAIT! Let me tell you about danger! Well not really, we have been extremely safe. However, some of you may have been wondering about the armored bus in Bethlehem. Not true, we took our usual bus. But, we did have to cross over into Palestine (that's where Bethlehem is). We went through a checkpoint with walls and armed soldiers. We have done this several times this week, we drove on a long stretch of road where we could see the border fence between Israel and Jordan. When we left Bethlehem, back through the checkpoint, 2 armed soldiers walked through the bus. They didn't say a word and we went on our way. Livin' on the edge!
     I'm sick sick sick of dill. All of the food has dill, everything smells like dill, sometimes the water tastes like dill dill dill. I wish I could write more. I feel like I am short-changing my readers by sharing so little. At my soonest opportunity I will improve the situation. Dad, hall closet. Mom, can I have chicken and dumplings when I get home???

More on Saturday

     I'm exhausted. The last post only fills you in to about 10AM. Next was Cana, the Sea of Galilee, Capurnaum, and the Mount of Beatitudes, all complete with sweat and stairs. We saw some amazing things today, and I have been so surprised at how many assumptions I made about these places and how wrong I was. This is not a flat desert. It's blooming and growing and beautiful. Tel Aviv was a poor representation of the other parts of the trip. I am finding this hotel in Haifa much more pleasant. The hotel owner just told us that from the terrace upstairs we can see all the way to Lebanon. How cool!
     Cana is the place where Jesus did his first miracle, water to wine. Since this took place at a wedding, the church on top is a wedding church. There are two towers on top to symbolize bride and groom. Underneath in the crusader layer there is a large stone jar that is what the jars from the story would have been like.
     After another nauseating bus ride, we got on a nauseating boat to sail across the Sea of Galilee. The Sea is so beautiful. The water is blue and the Golan Heights are on one side and more mountains all around. It was amazing to think that we were in the same place where Jesus walked on water and calmed the storm. I kept hoping an awful squall would come up to drive it home, but it was a beautiful day with a comfortable breeze off the water. The boat brought us to Tiberius but we didn't really discuss anything about the historical significance so I have nothing to report about that.
     Next was my favorite part of the trip so far. But I'm going to have to give you a cliffhanger because it's time for dinner. Thanks for reading!

Nazareth

     I don't feel very organized about the information I've been sharing. It is difficult to find time to explain and even more difficult to have the energy. We are at breakfast by 6:30 every morning and out walking in the sweat-fest heat until lunch. We stop and taste something awful and then walk some more until about 4:00 when we return to the hotel. Every time I access this blog I have to click around aimlessly until I figure out how to change the Hebrew letters into English. But for the moment, I've got it working and I have lots to tell.
     Today is sabbath and almost everything is closed. Traffic is low and our breakfast was made up of things prepared yesterday. It was fun to participate in the culture a little.
     This morning we began in Nazareth, Jesus's hometown. Today, it is a large city that is actually made up of two cities, Nazareth and Nazareth-Elit. The second part was added for Eastern European Jews who came to Israel in the hmm 40s or 50s? The original section is made up of 70% Muslims and 30% Christians (Roman Catholics and Greek Orthodox). To get there we drove down off Mount Carmel and then back up,up, up another where Nazareth sits. To travel here on foot in biblical times must have been brutal. It is hard to imagine Mary taking that walk at 9 months pregnant.We visited the Church of the Annunciation, St. Joseph's Church, and the Church of the Synagogue.
     Everywhere we have been has layers, just like Tel Aviv. Generally, the locations are traditionally held to be the site of important biblical events so a church is built there. The first layer is Byzantine, about 1100 AD? with mosaic floors still intact in many cases. The next layer is Crusader. On top is the modern church which is usually pretty impressive. We were not allowed to wear shorts or show our shoulders today.
     The Church of the Annunciation is enormous. In the courtyard outside are mosaics and paintings of Mary and Jesus from Catholic churches all over the world. It is interesting to see that everyone pictures Mary like themselves. African countries have Mary with darker skin, Asian countries have slanted eyes, and everyone puts her in clothes from their culture. There was a joke about the American Mary resembling Hilary Clinton that was quickly struck down as blasphemy. The most expensive and extravagant was from Japan and was housed inside the church. We couldn't tell at first, but if you take a picture and zoom in on a section of Mary's kimono, you see that the white color is made of pearls and decorated with real gold flowers.
     Next to the Church of the Annunciation is St. Joseph's Church, traditionally located over Joseph's home. We had to go downstairs because of the layers to see the remains of the grotto that are believed to be where Joseph lived. There is evidence of a mikvah, a place for ritual baths for Jewish men to purify themselves. There was also a staircase and a water cistern. Even if the tradition is incorrect about Joseph, it is obvious that someone lived here and interesting to picture Jesus living somewhere similar.
     After walking through another market, we came to the Church of the Synagogue. I was very confused about the layers here. The location is traditionally the place where the Synagogue at which Jesus would have studied as a child and preached before getting mobbed out of town. However, that structure is no longer there. The place we entered was a modern building, I think created to symbolize the old synagogue. This was built on top of a Crusader church, the floor of which was still present. Confused yet? Me too.
     That was only the first part of our adventures today. I'd love to get some comments so I can hear from you all. Dad, go down to the air hockey table. Jacob, dirt is hard to find, everything is built on top of something. I went with chicken for lunch. I was pretty psyched to see a french fry. The bus and the mountains and the crazy traffic are not my tummy's friends.

16 Noteble Notes for Your Notice

1. Every toilet I've seen since London has a flush button on top.

2. Staying within traffic lines is not important in Israel. Honking is.

3. There is a great deal of peaceful coexistence between Jews and Palestinians that he news never tells you about.

4. Watermelon is in season.

5. Zach was right, taxis are not my favorite.

6. We went to the beach yesterday. Not what I pictured Israel to be like.

6b. Clearly, babies can roam the beach blissfully naked without shame.

7. Israelies never sweat. This is hardly scientific, but about the time that we Americans are fogging up our own glasses, our guide is completely dry.

8. Ice cream trucks are slightly less creepy here. This makes up for the language barrier ordering system. He holds something up, you say sure and overpay with a smile.

9. Writing this list is more fun than my journal prompts for class.

10. I might potentially be avoiding those prompts.

11. Graffiti is everywhere. Everywhere.

12. Most of the water is heated using solar power. Has been since the 50s.

13. Whole animals hang around in the butchers' shops. How do you feel about your shopping looking back at you?

14. Israeli boys. Noteable.

15. The Coastal Region is nothing like the desert I pictured. There are fruit trees of every kind and flowers almost everywhere in beautiful bright pink, orange, purple, white, and yellow.

16. Everything goes up. If I never see another stair again...

Nitty Gritty Travel Details

     The last post was polished up for class, but if I'm being honest, yesterday was miserable. Don't worry, today was much better. Here is my back-of-the-journal entry.

     Today was...challenging. I am trying to staypositive, but I admit that I am encountering obstacles. Yesterday, I woke up at 5:30 Texas time. I'm still waiting to go to bed at 9:00 Israel time. Thankfully, I had a barf-bagless day, but my tummy is feeling pretty delicate after something like 14 hours of flight. Luckily, my time-zone math was wrong about a 12 hour from NYC to London. Only 6.
     Tired and hungry, we arrived in Tel Aviv. We took a walking tour of the Old City of Jaffa, the port city where Jonah fled from God. It was sweltering. We learned about the layers of former cities that make up the hill, "tel" in Hebrew, on which Jaffa sits. (I'll leave out here what you already know)
     The traffic here is terrifying. The streets are built for camels and...well maybe oompa loompas because they are tiny. Speaking of tiny, two other girls and I have two twin beds to share tonight. I am hoping for the energy to have a better day tomorrow. On the bright side, hummus is pretty tasty!

     Now, before you or I begin to question my coming at all, I should tell you about today. I have seen AMAZING things. First, we took the bus to Caesarea. About 20 years or so before Jesus's time, Herod built it to be a luxury seaport. He had a palace, the hippodrome (a chariot racing ring), a temple for Roman gods, and a theater. Over centuries of erosion from the Mediterranean Sea and being conquered and built on top of, it is incredible how much remains. There are still tile mosaics from the floor of the palace and ornately carved pedestals completely intact. The Theater is still used today. In fact, it was used today by our own Dr. Shaw. Mickey had him sing from the stage to us on the top to show off the great acoustics. Because there were no ancient microphones, the theater was carefully situated facing the ocean so the breeze would bring the sound forward into the crowd. I even learned a new word. Vomitorium is the little hallway where people come into the theater and then spread out into their seats. I wish I didn't feel so much like vomitori-ing so often on this trip...planes,buses,weird food...
     We also visited Acre, or Akko, a crusaders' castle. We walked through a busy market, tried new foods, and walked through a tunnel. We came to Haifa, where Mount Carmel is and saw the beautiful Bahai Hanging Gardens. They are unbelievable. I could go into great detail, but I am very tired. It is 4:30 here. I'm going to get some rest before dinner.
     Jacob I'm working on choosing the best place to get your dirt. Registrar's office, I tried really hard..but I pretty much ate a poptart and watermelon for lunch. Mom, Dad, Kelb, Megan, I love you, be home soon.

Tel Aviv

     I am absolutely overflowing with things to write. I hardly know where to begin. I want to assure everyone that we are safe and well. Our tour guide has taken good care of us. I have tasted hummus, falafel, and some other ethnic food involving chicken inside pita bread. Let's just say I am considering living on chicken and dumplings the week I get home. But, Mom always says "Try new things!"
     I will post some exerpts from my journal. They may not be in chronological order, but neither is the bible.
    
Thursday, Day 2  Jaffa

     Today we met our tour guide, Mickey (I can't help but thing of "Peggy" from Capital One). He led us through Tel Aiv to the Old City of Jaffa. After climbing and climbing up the stone steps to the garden on top, Mickey told us a little about the city. The word "tel"means an artificial hill. Many generations ago, cities were built and later destroyed, either by natural disasters or wars. Later, civilizations built on top, as is the case in Jaffa. The new city, Tel Aviv (aviv means spring), can be seen growing on top of, next to, inside of, and all around Old Jaffa. Jaffa itself rests on layers and layers of former cities.
     Walking through Jaffa, you see the old meeting the new. So far that has been a theme in Israel. The aged stone of Jaffa seemed to hold up the flimsy structures from early Tel Aviv. From the steps of the Old City, you can clearly see skyscrapers and highways in the newer sections of the city.

This was from my school journal. The one I will turn in so that I will get credit for this course. I'm going to post it now because I am having trouble using the internet here. If I can, I'll keep writing.

P.S. Dad, look behind the ironing board.

Ready for Take-off

     It is 7AM and I have been up since 5. Not because I require that much hairspray, but could you sleep before a trip like this??? I feel rested enough, though, after sharing a very nice hotel room with Miss Ivy Sustaita. Super fluffy bed :)
     In about 20 minutes we will leave for the airport. Our flight doesn't leave until 10:55 but the early bird catches the worm!
     Yesterday was uneventful, which is what I like to hear about a 6-hour drive. Everyone in the Plainview/Lubbock group arrived safely. Aside from adventures in metroplex traffic and feeling like hungry bears the entire last hour, everthing went well.
      I'm happy to have so little to report at this stage. Keep reading, things should pick up soon!

A Taste of Israel

Toothbrush: Check.
Passport: Check.
Excessive number of shoes: Check.
Excited traveller: CHECK!!

     Tomorrow at noon, I will leave the Wayland parking lot and head for Dallas. The next day is take-off. It seems like only yesterday when I excitedly told my roommate that there were only 150 days until departure. This was a fun morning because we soon counted forward 3 days to when she would become a beautiful bride. Congratulations to Cameron Harper and Courtney Warren, I wish I could be in two places at once!
     It is now that we come to an awful confession of mine. It is with deepest shame that I admit to my readers that I, Katie Jo Bice, am a picky eater. This term immediately gives me a mental picture of a rail-thin little girl whose nose is permanently turned up from regularly pushing her plate forward with her index finger. I'd like to dispell that idea. I want to like food! Unfortunately, my tastes are more at home in the kids' menu than fine dining establishments.
     I admit this to you, because I have gotten a few questions about the food in Israel. Come to think of it, I had no idea what I will be exposed to in Israel. It is my intention to try everything with an open mind and hopefully to enjoy it. But what exactly will I be trying? I did a little research.

Falafel are deep-fried balls of seasoned, ground chickpeas. They might be considered the unofficial national dish. You can find falafel served by street vendors, perhaps like we might see hotdogs or tacos in the states.

     Another common Israeli food is hummus. You can eat it as a dip for pita bread or I suppose anything else you can think of. Elena Ferretti says it's like America's peanut butter.
   
     I'm not gonna lie. Thus far, I'm nervous. Lucky for me, Israelis eat a lot of chicken. "And fish! Dead fish! From the Dead Sea!" Obviously, the Dead Sea is notoriously void of fish, but the Mediterranean is a source of plentiful seafood. Israeli cuisine also includes a lot of fruit. These all sound pretty safe for a Picky Pete. And for bread-a-tarians like myself, Challah looks like a delightful snack.
     These are just a few of the flavors I dug up. I'm sure I'll experience these and many more. Either way, I've already packed my animal crackers and pop-tarts to avoid potential starvation. Tonight I'll bake cookies to deal with my nerves and have a snack for the drive to Dallas. There are 41 other travellers and chocolate chips are a great way to make friends :)

Waiting

    I. Cannot. Stand it. Two weeks to go and I am losing it. I am too excited to think straight. Not to mention, with Scotty winning and New Directions losing my TV distractions are gone. To combat my pre-trip psychosis I will enlighten you all on some of the details of where our group will be travelling and what we will be up to. Here is the itenerary as far as I know about:
    Tuesday, June 7: 2 Wayland vans will leave the Lubbock/Plainview area for Dallas. Students from several other campuses will be joining us the following day at the airport. Wayland fun fact: there are campuses in Amarillo, Lubbock, San Antonio, and Wichita Falls, Texas; Anchorage and Fairbanks, Alaska: Sierra Vista and Phoenix, Arizona; Aiea, Hawaii; Albuquerque and Clovis, New Mexico; Altus, Oklahoma; and Kenya, Africa. Yay Pioneers!
     Wednesday: Listen for a bell 'cuz I'm gettin' wings! First flight ever from Dallas to New York City. That will be a test run for the whopper 12 hour flight to London.
     Thursday (I think? Israel is 8 hours ahead of us): Arrive in Tel Aviv, Israel. This is exhausting already! Wikipedia tells me that it will be about 75 degrees. Lovely if you ignore the 70%  humidity, ouch!
     Friday: Walking tour of Tel Aviv. Visiting Knight's Hall, the Baha'i Shrine, Haifa Port, and Elijah's Cave. I'm sure I could make up some exciting descriptions of these places, but Junior Asparagus taught me the importance of not telling fibs. Do any of you know what these are?
     Saturday: Hangin' in Jesus's hood with an excursion to Nazareth. Church of the Annunciation, Mary's Well, Mount of Beatitudes. Clueless about these as well, but I can tell you that Annunciation is a bearded person's way of saying "MTV called, Mary's 16 and Pregnant."
      Saturday: My favorite. We'll be in the Jordan Valley. We will see the Dead Sea Scroll caves, float in the dead sea, and spend the night in a bedouin camp. Check it. http://www.hanokdim.com/ What's a bedouin? Desert shepherds. Aside from sheep, they know all about cute little donkeys and another great creature. What starts with a C and ends with an amel??? I suddenly feel the need to sing a little Arabian niiiiiiiiights and Arabian daaaaaaaaaaayyysss!!
       Ahem..Sunday..right. On Sunday, We head to Jerusalem. Trading in my pew for the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane.
       Monday: Bethlehem! Hopefully Dad will skip over this sentence, but I'm pretty interested by what I heard about Bethlehem. We'll take an armored bus! Livin' on the edge. But not very edgy, Dad. Actually, we'll be riding on a cotton candy cloud pulled by unicorns. Yup. Then some free time back in Jerusalem.
       Tuesday: Walking tour of the Old City of Jerusalem. I'm very interested in what kinds of people we will see. I'm also curious about whether my fellow female travellers and I will be excluded from certain sites. I'll let ya know.
       Wednesday: Round 2 of airports, snacks, flights, naps, snacks, flights, airports, snacks, naps...well, you get it.  Recover from jet lag (I hear that takes a day for every hour you skipped, wowzer). Upload pictures. Try not to die of awesome.
     
   

Archaeology in Israel: Ya Dig?

            17 Days from now I will be on my first flight. Altogether I am counting about 23 hours in the air before reaching Tel Aviv. You can bet that this traveler will have plenty of motion sickness remedies in her zebra-print backpack.

As I prepare to visit so many historical places, I’d like to take this opportunity to organize my thoughts and to get on the same page as my readers. Dr. Shaw shared with us an article from National Geographic’s December 2010 edition that I would encourage you all to take a look at.             http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2010/12/david-and-solomon/draper-text/2

The article talks about the controversy surrounding archaeology in the Holy Land.  Jewish Israelis hold fast to the Old Testament accounts of King David and their national identity as God’s chosen people. With this in mind, archaeology becomes less about objective discovery and more about proving the Bible. On the other hand, Palestinians are resentful about Israeli claims on territory they have lived in for generations. Some scholars feel that biblical accounts should not be taken literally and criticize efforts to prove the bible as attempts to validate Israel’s existence.

In short, either King David is real and Israel is right, or the Old Testament is a fish story and the Palestinians are. Of course there are many other important details, but this is the problem I want to focus on.

As a Bible-believing Christian, I feel first drawn to the first argument. I believe that King David was who the Bible said he was. I believe that the places and people talked about in the Old Testament were real and tangible. At the same time, I think that any reasonable person recognizes that in most arguments there is a little bit of right and a little bit of wrong on both sides. I believe that God wants my heart, my soul, and my brain. It is so important to read the Bible within a cultural context. We have to recognize that the way we understand the writing of history may be different from the ancient Hebrew understanding.

I feel like I gained a tiny understanding of this when I named this blog. Being a little bit familiar with Spanish, it was my understanding that language was like a coin. On one side you have English, and on the other you have whatever it is you want to translate to.  “Dog” flips over into “Perro” and easily flips back, unless of course you share my utter inability to rrrroll my rrrr's . I failed to think about the fact that Spanish and English are both Latin-based languages, they’re in the same family. Hebrew is from another part of the world, totally unrelated to what I know language to be like. This turns my coin idea into a rubix cube. “Adventure” didn’t go straight into “Harpatka’ah”, it went to Hebrew letters. Then there were different types of “adventure”, different parts of speech, different spellings. After some persistent Googling, I still don’t know if I got it right. Is it not reasonable to think about the Old Testament this way? That maybe we have to leave a little room? That maybe we aren’t going to find hard evidence of everything we read? Maybe we don’t know everything?

I think that the prospect of seeing biblical sites is very exciting. However, I find the use of archaeology to prove the bible a little manipulative. I don’t need to prove the greatness of Israel to believe in the greatness of my God. He picked that scrawny country on purpose. As far as I’m concerned, we ought to seek truth and justice where it can be found and chill out where it cannot. Maybe if these conflicting scientists could put their emotional attachments to the issue aside, we could really get somewhere.

Having barely expressed what I set out to say, I think I’ve likely reached the end of your attention span. Thanks for staying with me. On a lighter note, I got a fantastic new notebook to write in on the trip. I anticipate this blog getting far more exciting when things get rolling.

Counting Down!

Departure date gets closer and closer, and I grow more and more excited. I once described myself as a young woman who knows where she is going, and that is anywhere I can get a plane ticket. That remains to be proven as I have yet to fly anywhere, much less transatlantic. Even so, I anxiously await the opportunity to take my first baby step in seeing the world: Israel.

            Details are important, so here’s the scoop. I am leaving June 8 for a 9 day study tour of Israel with Wayland Baptist University’s religion department. Since Israel could easily fit inside the Texas panhandle, we will be able to visit just about everything. While I don’t have a great deal of information about what we will be doing and seeing, I can say that I am very excited about riding a camel.

            Most people get all in a tizzy about “walking where Jesus walked”. I know that this is a meaningful experience for many people and I mean no disrespect. At the same time, I am having a hard time with this mindset. My Jesus lives in me and his Holy Spirit walks around with me right here in Texas. If that doesn’t blow your mind, then I don’t know what will. I am thrilled about having new experiences and gaining new understanding on people and places outside my day-to-day. I consider it a terrific opportunity to get a living, breathing context to put my bible knowledge in.  But I am not going to Israel to meet Jesus. He came to meet me.

            I’ve said it before, and I will say it many more times, if you helped me out with my funding by buying a pumpkin roll, coming to a fundraiser, or some other form THANK YOU! I am so grateful to go on this trip. I can hardly wrap my mind around the fact that it is ME and not some friend of mine flying to Israel in 24 DAYS!! I hope that you’ll enjoy reading what I have to say about it. I hope to be updating this blog while we are gone with informative, exciting, and (you know me) sometimes goofy insights.