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| "Moses in the Reeds" silk painting by me, from summer at Grunewald Guild |
The skies let loose this afternoon in Elkhart, Indiana, and I feel ready to go. Many cultures say that rain on your wedding day is a sign of blessing, a pouring out of God's holy water over the couple. Well, I'm not getting married, but I am about to embark on a three month commitment to a group of 18 other students, one American teacher/leader, studying Arabic, navigating foreign streets, and submersion into a culture far different from any I've ever visited before.
Send-off from Goshen College is tomorrow morning, and our home for the next seven weeks will be in a southern suburb of Cairo, Helwan. We will be living in a hostel-complex run by an evangelical church called the Eman House, and traveling by train each day to our study center. The second portion of our time in Egypt will be spent doing some type of service assignment, but those details are yet to be determined.
People have been asking me: "do you feel ready for Egypt?" I think I'm as ready as I will ever be, minus the Arabic. But, I figure I'll either sink or swim. Or maybe just float along, grasping to phrases and words along the way.
Here's a prayer I stumbled upon today. If you have travel prayers, poems, or blessings that have been meaningful to you, I welcome you to comment, share, and pass them along. Salaam.
"I Praise You for What is Yet to Be" (from Guerrillas of Grace by Ted Loder)
Wondrous Worker of Wonders,
I praise you
not alone for what has been,
or for what is,
but for what is yet to be,
for you are gracious beyond all telling of it.
I praise you
that out of the turbulence of my life
a kingdom is coming,
is being shaped even now
out of my slivers of loving,
my bits of trusting,
my sprigs of hoping,
my tootles of laughing,
my drips of crying,
my smidgens of worshipping;
that out of my songs and struggles,
out of my griefs and triumphs
I am gathered up and saved,
for you are gracious beyond all telling of it.
I praise you
that you turn me loose
to go with you to the edge of now and maybe,
to welcome the new,
to see my possibilities,
to accept my limits,
and yet begin living to the limit
of passion and compassion
until,
released by joy,
I uncurl to other people
and to your kingdom coming,
for you are gracious beyond all telling of it.
