I’ll admit to being smitten with details. It’s what makes me a good proofreader…and a very long-winded writer, if I’m not careful to budget my details and my words, words, words. But oh, I’m fascinated with life as it is, with people as they are, with this land where I am, with the God who dreamed them up. They’re all so much more rich, so much more real, so much more…textured, if you will, than anything that comes into my head.
I didn’t know that some days I’d walk out my door into grey: the Sahara Desert comes to visit in powder-fine dust that looks like mist.
I didn’t know the rain would run so wet and so wild down the streets that the longest skirts aren’t the warmest because they’re six inches wet at the hem. And the wind would be so strong that abandoned, lamed umbrellas are a common sight to see.
I didn’t know there’d be no real personal space on a busy day at the shuk. That I could stand still and wait forever for a break in the crowd — or wade right in with my elbows (as if I would!)
I didn’t know my eyes would change. That my clothes would match more casually, that such bright colors would catch my fancy, that black would seem more boring — and less chic. (And yet I’d wear it anyway!)
I didn’t know how blunt kind comments could be. How I’d hear “Your Hebrew is so poor?” and wince — and still smile, knowing no offense was meant, and so no offense was taken. (And stung so gently, I’d leap back into my studies with new zeal!)
I didn’t know I’d be blessed so soundly — and by blessed I mean strangers pronouncing blessings on my life. A sneeze? “To your health!” No husband? “With God’s help!”
I love this gritty, chaotic, bold and bright story that God’s writing in my life, and in His land. And I wonder how He felt, when He stepped into the wide-world story He was writing, and saw the texture right up close. Was it new and yet familiar? Surprising and expected? So this is how it feels to breathe this dusty air, to be a carpenter, to touch the wood, and look into these eyes!
I wonder. No air-brushed world is this: it’s raw and piercing and loud and wrong — and oh, so very right. And I love the real that came from His mind. And I’m glad I can walk in his steps.
Elisabeth Adams 