Adventures of a Farmer's Daughter: November 2017

Watching a storm roll in over the Sea of Galilee--Cliff of Arbel

Being home from Israel has been a blur... I came home with a cold that is just now finally going away. I got back to cleaning seed, and worries about shipping deadlines, and meetings about Strawberry Festival, and more or less picked back up in the thick of things, in the hustle and bustle, right where I left off three weeks prior. But things aren't the same... It's easy to get caught up in the here and now and the busyness of it all, but then it hits me, the incredible things I got to see and experience, the lessons I learned, and how much... different, everything seems.

Standing on top of some ruins at the Citadel in Amman, Jordan

I could type up sections of my notebook to explain to you all the sites I got to visit, the various ruins, the Biblical significance of the places... I could type up sections of my journal to give you a glimpse into what was going on in my head and heart, and the verses that spoke to me in new ways... But I don't think it would really mean much to anyone else. People have asked me how it was, if I would recommend it it, and the overwhelming answer is YES, but why? What was good about it? That's difficult to answer.

Bedouin Camp in Jordan

There are simply things in life that words don't adequately explain, and traveling to the Holy Lands is one of them. There are no words that convey the feeling that occurs when you lay eyes on Jerusalem for the first time, or sit on the edge of a cliff called Arbel—just gazing out over the whole Galilee region where Jesus spent so much of his ministry. How do you put into words the awe invoked when you watch a storm brewing out over the edge of the Sea of Galilee and it becomes real that this is where Jesus commanded the winds to obey him, or to watch the sun rise up over the very wilderness that the Israelites wandered in for 40 years while you're sitting atop Mt Sinai? How do you explain to someone that these pictures of rocks aren't just rocks and ruins of ancient and dead things, but a place called Shiloh where the woman you admire most in the Bible, Hannah, came to pour her heart out to God with such fervency that she was accused of being drunk? How do you share how your heart broke in a new way to stand in the Garden of Gethsemane and see with your own eyes how very close the Temple was—how Jesus had to wait and literally watch his captors come for Him—to kill Him? You can't speak to someone's heart like those places can, and it becomes frustrating when people ask you to try.

Treasury in Petra, Jordan

Going to the Holy Lands is so personal, and speaks to you in personal ways. Most people wouldn't be led to hire a guide and an armed escort and cross the Egyptian border in the middle of the night to drive for hours and then climb up Mt. Sinai in the pitch dark to watch the sun rise. But that was one of the things that even while planning the logistics of how to make this happen, I was moved to tears time and time again that God was paving the way for me to get to experience this—this mountain I've been in love with my whole life. And oh, how that mountain didn't disappoint.

Aaron's Tomb, outside Petra, Jordan -- AMAZING hike!

Most people wouldn't be as spellbound by storm clouds in the distance while letting your feet dangle over a cliff edge hundreds of feet in the air, knowing that this storm is brewing over the very sea that Jesus walked, where he calmed the storm—the stories of which have held such promise and peace for me as I've walked through my own storms, trying to remember that no matter how bleak and hopeless those storms may seem, the name of Jesus is greater.

Wadi Run, Jordan

Or choosing to be baptized in the Jordan River, the only place I would ever choose to be baptized. I'm a bit of a “if you're going to do something, do it right”-sort of a person, and to be baptized in the Jordan, the very river John baptized Jesus? It was the only way I was ever going to be putting my head under water with people watching me freak the heck out. Yes, I have a pride issue, and being put on the spot to tackle an anxiety trigger in front of a bunch of people (while fish were nibbling my toes—I also have an issue with feet) was sooooo not something I wanted to do, but I love Jesus more than I love my pride and the comfort level I get through my avoidance of my anxiety triggers.

Camels! This one was in Wadi Run

So was my baptism experience like anyone else's? Nope, and I wouldn't expect it to be. Just as I wouldn't expect anyone's trip to Israel to be the same as mine. It's personal. It breathes a reality into the Bible “stories” in ways you couldn't imagine. It brings so much to life that you tried and tried to envision in your head, but never got right. After millennia, these places still hold so much power to speak, and no human words can do them justice.

Sunrise on top of Mt. Sinai, Egypt

Since I can't offer you a write-up about my experience to the Holy Lands, I'll offer you the lesson God weighed most on my heart during the trip instead. One I had to process on a local trail when I got home, a trail I hadn't visited in a long time. So much hurt had been poured out on that trail for me, in the journey to heal and to learn who I was, to finally deal with things I'd kept hidden away for far too long. I always feel closest to God when I'm outside on a trail and my blood is pumping, and my brain is less cluttered by life, so it should have been no surprise that the place I retreated to for so long to clear my head and process would be the very place that God would lead me so He could drive home the essence of what He calls us to do.

On top of Mt. Sinai

Love hurts. It's a simple statement. And one we hear a lot, but do we truly grasp it's meaning or just glaze over it when we hear it? Just another “given” in life? Yep, people will let us down. Or walk out of our lives. Or say cruel things. Or disappoint us in cutting ways. I'll tell you who didn't glaze over the hurt... Jesus. The whole build up of the tour through Israel was finally getting to Jerusalem, just like Jesus' build up throughout his ministry was Jerusalem—where He came to suffer, and hurt immensely, to be betrayed by someone He loved so deeply, to be denied by someone who'd sworn to be loyal, to bear the weight of every wrong done against Him, to face every injustice and disappointment and hurt. Jesus knows all too well how much love hurts, and He calls us to love just the same.

The church on Mt. Sinai

I've found that my brain likes to protect itself, and I think most brains do this to varying degrees. Things that have hurt me (physically, emotionally, mentally, that have simply caused embarrassment or any other non-desirable response) become things my brain wants absolutely nothing to do with. It will freak the heck out to keep me away from these things. So loving people? When people have the greatest ability to hurt us? Oh my. Did my brain ever build up impenetrable walls to keep people at a distance and to keep me from getting hurt. And when those walls got utterly decimated by a certain freight-train of a romance, it was really hard to adjust to having a capacity to love people again, especially in the midst of such a great hurt.

Hiking up the Golan Trail and Mt. Hermon, on the border of Syria and Lebanon

It felt like it would destroy me at times (and still feels that way sometimes if I'm being honest), it can make me want to retreat behind some carefully constructed walls all over again. I get tired of how much my heart can break seeing people make poor choices with their lives when I want so, so much greater for them; the hurt in watching them settle for mediocre when I know God has greater things in store if they'd just step in faith. I get tired of feeling like I give so much to people I love, and so often, get little to nothing in return but disappointment. I get tired of the knowledge that no matter how you can love someone, they can choose to walk away, that there are no guarantees. Or how cutting people can be, when sometimes you just need a little encouragement in a time of uncertainty, or to feel like someone has your back.

The Sea of Galilee from the Mt. of Beatitudes

The thought of keeping on with loving people can be daunting... But then I remember what a life of not loving felt like. How truly lonely it was even if I had fooled myself into thinking otherwise. I remember how much I struggled to love God in a meaningful way, and how much a failure I felt like with my inability to achieve it. It felt like my world became so much fuller, and more colorful, and more meaningful when I let people into it, when I dared to love. It felt like I came to life.

Jesus walked on this water... He calmed the storm.

But God doesn't call us to love because of what we get out of it, He calls us to love because it reflects Him. Because it gives us an opportunity to be extensions of Him in this world that can be riddled with hate and judgment, fear and hurt. God gave the ultimate example of love when He sent Jesus to die in our place, and it hurt Him so greatly to do it, but He loves us enough to let Jesus come here. And to lay eyes on the actual land where these things happened? To let those places speak their truth to me, to make these “stories” come to life in ways that grab your heart? It spoke so much new depth to the love God has for each and every one of us. And that's a truth I never want to forget. One I never want to let lose it's power to bring meaning to my life, or to remind me to love with all I have. To love everyone. To love deeply. To love selflessly. To love fearlessly. Even when it hurts.