Where the Veils Come Off

On August 12, 2015December 10, 2016 By happyreignIn Heather3 Comments

I used to run. A lot. But the past year and a half of meeting my spouse, moving to a foreign country, getting married, merging our lifestyle patterns, moving to another country, then returning to the states for six months living in other peoples homes and moving back to a foreign country have some how managed to make a dent into my running habits. Running outdoors here in Jordan is less than ideal, one hundred degree weather, curbs that are the height of your knees, sidewalks that are adorned with massive trees and cars in the middle of them, a culture where no one else is running and you are bringing attention to your location as a foreigner and a female all combine to discourage one from freely galloping about one’s abode.

In my search for flying space for my feet I made a cold call to a gym I had heard of. It was a ways from our house, which then consists of me walking two blocks to the main road in the heat, then waiting for a male driven taxi cab whom I can’t communicate with, paying more money and probably fighting getting ripped off because I am obviously not Jordanian and then arriving at my workout destination. When I called, I also discovered something I hadn’t anticipated; one day at the gym is for men, the other is for women. This did not sound like fun for me; moving along. I then had a nice evening out at a local hotel that is international. Many hotels have gyms and/or pools and I had read online that sometimes the hotel allows people who are not guests to use their facilities for a fee. So I inquired again. 250 JD per month the man responded or 50 JD a day. What does this convert to? About 380 U.S.Dolloars per month or around 80 USD for one day; moving along.

So one day in celebration of the completion of my mural here, Joel encouraged me to get my nails done at a local new nail salon removing the long accumulated paint in my cuticles. The salon was located on the second floor of a building complex two blocks away from our house. Fortunately Joel waited outside with a few of our groceries because upon ringing the exterior camera of the large wooden salon door, I discovered men were not serviced or allowed in. I made an appointment for later that day and descended the elevator again to my love awaiting me. He said there had been three women all in workout clothes leaving the building and that I should look into it. I asked the front security about it and he pointed downstairs. Joel and I were going to check it out when the security guard halted him. Only women allowed downstairs, and so I continued my journey of discovery alone. At the bottom of the stairs around a corner, behind a door, lie an entire workout facility, stocked with machines, weights, one classroom, a spinning room, a pool, hot tub, sauna, and steam room; women only. The young woman behind the front desk spoke English and explained to me the set-up. I could work out today free as long as I want and use all of the facilities. “Oh, really? Why thank you.”

Upon explaining it to Joel he asked, are their Muslims there? I had to think about it for a moment. Joel and I live in a so-I-had-thought largely international neighborhood so I was a reasonable question. We normally distinguish religions by female head coverings here, although this is not always the case. Apparently higher-end, further education Muslim women occasionally–at least here in Jordan–choose not to wear a head covering. And so I returned later that day to the gym with my Fiji pink nails and when I looked all around, I saw no one looked international–not one. Only I looked like the foreigner and you can sometimes distinguish easily, even whether or not locals have lived abroad for some indefinite period of time.

It’s the subtle things really. How a pony tail hangs, what hair accessories are worn, how clothing is worn, how make-up is applied, how non-verbals are carried on the body, little things. I was the only foreigner in sight and I LOVED it. That is except for the three ceiling to floor wallpaper choices of European light-skinned women in trendy work out gear. As I ran on the treadmill, a full view of the classroom behind glass was before me. I had seen on the schedule an ‘oriental dance’ class was going to begin soon. I anticipated this to be come time of Ti-chi or something. These beautiful women that desire fitness began to gather and wrap these shimmy things around their waist and the obvious female instructor took her place and then to loud Arabic music began in a form of belly-dance aerobics. As time passed on my treadmill I began to again, notice little things: most women were wearing a regular bra or some were wearing normal clothing, vs the exercise culture that has been established in the U.S. over the last thirty years. A woman next to me on the treadmill even adorned a full body swimsuit as workout attire with shorts covering, as she attempted to try a treadmill for the first time pushing hard against the tread with her feet in efforts to make the machine go faster.

Some of the woman in the class I could see taking place in front of me had a difficult time replicating the steps displayed before them and then I wondered, “how many opportunities had these women been given as children, to dance, play sports, or be physically fit?” And as time went on I noticed that many of the woman who were leaving the locker room and exiting the facilities, were veiled. All my wondering of the proper, reserved, women I have never ever seen behind their veils in any circumstances were now here displayed before me all veil-less, with sweat dripping down their foreheads, ponytails sagging behind their concentrating minds as they shook the jangling metal pieces that accented he attempted movement of their hips. For some reason, I had thought that they had been veiled from me a non-Muslim, when in reality they had only been veiled from men. And so I somehow felt a part of a world I have never felt a part of; the place behind the veil. Mother, daughters, sisters, and women all allocating their resources of time and money to take care of themselves and invest in their health. And so I have once again began to run, and now I am running alongside my beloved neighbors, two blocks away from my front door, woman I have never spoken with, woman I am already proud of, woman who are worth their health. And so I run.

The Gospel Revealed through our Enemies

On August 8, 2015December 10, 2016 By happyreignIn Heather, Reflections & MusingsLeave a comment

A man’s character is revealed through how he treats his enemies. A man’s love extends only as far as his nearest enemy. Or does it? There are many religions in the world that refer to conflict, human interactions, and behavior choices. During the time of Jesus’ life racism was as strong as ever. Especially between the current reigning empire of Rome and the ever persevering minority group of Jews. They were excluded, forced to walk in filth on the roads instead of on sidewalks with others, they would be heckled, ridiculed, robbed, spit on, and more, even by Roman ‘police officers’.

Jesus did not avoid these issues when while spending his days with us here on earth. Kingdoms and individuals, political parties and people groups all have enemies, and all choose to respond to their enemies in certain ways revealing what lies within their make-up. In regards to individuals, Jesus’ revelation on how we should respond to people who have hurt us, robbed us, and taken something from us is VERY clear.

We may not be slapped in the face, and someone may not take our clothing from us, but there are plenty of offenses that happen to EVERYONE in daily life. No one is immune to opportunities for woundedness and accusation to take root in our hearts. Jesus, again, very clearly gave instructions for appropriate responses in these situations. The places of grievances and bitterness in our lives are the very thresholds of which the body of Christ stands on to shine something that lives inside of them that exists beyond human justice and selfish reasoning.

Here are a few examples of teachings for instance:

“Love your enemies. Pray for those who give you difficulty and hard times. In that way you will be acting like My kids. For I give good to everyone, naughty and nice alike. Even corrupt politicians love the people that love them, how does that make you any different? But love with perfection as I do.”

“If you do not forgive others, I will not forgive you.”

“Do good to those who hate you.”

What would this like if we acted like this toward the people who hate us? What would it look like if we acted like this as a nation towards countries that hate us?

I heard a man here talk about all that happened to him from under the hands of ISIS here in the middle east. He said to me, “If you knew everything they did to me, you would be friends with no Muslim.” This statement revealed not only the hurt of the individual but also his lack of the knowledge of God. God himself was beaten, betrayed, abandoned and murdered, and still the words on lips that revealed the content of his heart were “Let none of this be counted against them.”

In his innocence, God did not bear up under scorn and cry “I must have justice! I must have payment!” Instead, in complete selflessness, God denied what was rightly due him, and gave himself–his life–as an offering for their freedom, their peace, and their wholeness.

So often–myself included–we get caught up in this loop-hole of a thought process of self-justification, self-consideration, self-sympathy. We are in the right; others are in the wrong. The very ones we accuse in our minds are the very one’s God thought were worthy to give his life for. ‘Being right’ is not the answer; ‘being love’ is.

It is in the opportunities of offense, injury, and hurt we have a divine opportunity to confound the mind of our offenders in reckoning ourselves having been already crucified with Christ and not acting on our own behalf, but in his likeness living in us, as us, and through us.

We have the power to let yesterday go in the relationships we hold with people around us. I’m not saying this is easy, but it brings to mind Corrie Ten Boom who forgave one of the very guards that held her in a concentration camp, but she knew it wasn’t of herself but it was God giving that man forgiveness through her. Displays of forgiveness, selflessness, generosity, and blessing without them being deserved or earned, or even in the face of hatred, is giving others the experience of heaven here on earth.

I feel like this would be most profound on a political and international level as well. Sometimes we are holding onto power so tightly that we don’t actually utilize the opportunities we have in using the power we’ve been given.

This loving response to injury does not only reveal his glory here on earth, but is our own path to liberty and restoration; individually and nationally. Restitution follows forgiveness rather than being a prerequisite for it.

My expereince with Divorce

On May 27, 2015December 10, 2016 By happyreignIn Heather, Reflections & Musings1 Comment

I just wanted to share an encouraging story about divorce; not that divorce is encouraging but what can happen with anything in God’s hands.

My childhood, from my perspective, was a rough one. Not that I didn’t have an abundance of things, opportunities, and food, but that I had a first row seat in watching my parents fall out of love with one another. And if anyone’s ever experienced this you know sometimes, well rarely is it a smooth road. Unfortunately this was my first exposure to what it means to be part of a family. I think my siblings and I grew in our abilities to stay out of the way, or at least we were trying to.

This did not continue forever and after attempted investments by both parties, they decided to take different paths. Both, I am assuming grew through this relationship of their lives in more than just becoming unhappy, they learned more about themselves, learned what doesn’t work in marriage, and also became parents. I learned later that during these hard relational times of my childhood, God was carrying us through it all, even though my memories didn’t recognize him in the same way until late.

My siblings and I, now older and equipped with very thick skins in life, began to see very different people through their new separate grieving processes during our teenage years. I met a father I had–in a relational way–never felt like I had met before and a mother who spent a lot of time in her room. This was a season of life and even here, when seeds are not visible above the ground, God was growing new things in the soil below the ground. Even the winter, after things appear to die, serves a purpose.

After this season would come me watching both of my parents dare to give their hearts to another and fall in love again. Granted it was through the eyes of an angry, resentful teenager that I watched, but that season too for me passed and I grew up and I began to witness healthy communication, support, enjoyment, laughter, safety, forgiveness, and I began to have two marriages, two places I called my family.

God weaved newness in spouses for each of my parents that I had known my whole life, people whom I already trusted and already knew me too. I think that for my experience, growing up in a household of divorce-I don’t know if the two are related-but I think there was some reconciliation that needed to happen with myself. Like the kids go through a divorce with themselves inside when they live in an environment of rejection that bears fruit in divorce. Like they need permission to fall in love with themselves again, if that makes sense. Maybe it was just me.

I remember the sprouts of new life after the separation, feeling new real expressed affection first time, the asking of forgiveness by a parent the first time, the ending of yelling in communication the first time, peace, love, and enjoyment springing up from the ground of what I had known as family that had died.

I am writing this piece not to grieve but to celebrate. I am celebrating the stories God has written in the life of my parents. Each are people that I now know and am proud to call my parents. They both are experiencing love and growing in love on a daily basis. I am a witness not to one healthy marriage, but two. And now my own.

Joel and I, the day–without trying or planning–the day we ended up signing our official marriage license, which wasn’t the beautiful day we got married on Malta, which was our real wedding, in my eyes, our word before God is more real than our pen before a government, but that day happened to land on the anniversary of my parents. I wouldn’t have even known it was that day, but they did.

And God in his goodness, overcame every heartache, every hurt, every pain, and every rejection in the life he has been showing me and calling me into and redeemed all those moments in the overcoming of my marrying Joel. I said yes to everything that I trusted that God said was good about this idea of his called marriage and I trusted him to be faithful to his word of inviting me into it. God has redeemed this sad story of my childhood experience of family by restoring my own, and I am writing today, in tears now, to share about his goodness, his faithfulness, and his redemption–even in the face of divorce. He has made all things new.