It’s almost the end of January, the first month of a new year, and my friend Kathy has wisely suggested that I reflect on the new year. The truth is I have learned much – and not much at all – this last month, as is the way of life most times I suppose.

One thing that seems to have finally sunk in for me is that I don’t need to hurry all the time. When I take time and do one thing in each moment, I find myself enjoying what I’m doing and still having time to do most things I want/need to do. I feel like I’m here now, not in tomorrow where I was for a while. Plus, I’m finding myself doing things more thoughtfully and carefully. It feels very good.

Akin to this lesson, I see myself learning another – that I don’t have to participate in everything. Sometimes in my human arrogance, I seem to think that if I don’t do something it won’t get done or, at least, it won’t get done correctly. That committee can’t run without me; that decision can’t be made if I don’t give input; the world will spin off its axis if I don’t hold it up. This need to be involved comes from pride but also from loneliness and from a desire to be needed. I’m not more lonely or needy than the next person (at least I don’t think I am), but for me, the overextension of my time and my desire to poke my nose into everything seem to be the way I try to meet these needs. And in the process, the talents and responsibilities I have been truly given fall away.

This insight struck home a few weeks ago when my pastor preached on Acts 6 the other day. In this passage, the Greek believers and the Hebrew believers are fighting because the Hebrew believers felt that their widows were being neglected and they wanted the church leaders to do something about it. The Twelve, instead, realized that they need to focus on their commission and their vocation – “the ministry of the word” – and so they appointed seven men who were “known to be full of the Spirit and wisdom” to be in charge of the food distribution. The church leaders realize the needs of their flock but then they delegate the responsibility to others, accepting their need and calling to be people of the Word. There’s no judgment in not taking on this task, no condemnation that it is below them – simply acceptance that this is not their calling.

In Morocco, I saw this in action. Some of the folks on our work team are people that God has gifted with the ability to work with their hands. They have great physical (and spiritual strength), knowledge about construction, and the ability to work physically for hours in a day. These are not my strengths. My work comes in the word (and hopefully in the Word), and so while I was happy to help, I found myself in the way more than not on the worksite. This experience was humbling for me because I like to believe I can do everything – and surely if I had been needed on that site, I would have been able to work as was required. But I wasn’t needed there; I was needed for other things (prayer, cooking, photography, childcare, conversation with the people there). And once I accepted this, saw my calling in those actions – well, then my visit became all the more meaningful.

As I continue on into this new year, I find myself a little giddy with glee – we have a new president in whom I am ever hopeful especially given his first few policy decisions. I have a year ahead where writing will have the space to be more of my focus. I have friends – new and old – who I am thrilled to share my life with. I’m eating good food, checking out some great wine, finding new music . . . and underneath it all, I feel the peace that passes understanding. What a great thing.

Filed by Andi at 6:06 am under Uncategorized
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So in the spirit of the 25 Random Things Meme that is making its way around Facebook like a virus, here are my 25 random good things for this winter day.

1. Snow that glistens in the early morning sun.
2. Frederick Buechner, whose book of meditations I’m reading in the mornings these days.
3. Nyquil – can you tell I’m fighting an upper respiratory thing?
4. Ice scrapers that made my car drivable yesterday.
5. Hot tea with stevia and milk.
6. Blankets.
7. Memories of warm Moroccan walks.
8. The way winter air makes the inside of your nose tingle.
9. The blast of warmth that pushes against your face when you walk into a store.
10. The way salt dusts everything and makes it look ancient.
11. Dark evenings where the only reasonable thing to do is stay in, watch a movie, and eat good, hot food.
12. Thinking about summer concerts on the lawn.
13. Citrus, especially tangerines.
14. Stews with really soft potatoes and carrots.
15. The chance to suck on cough drops or hard candy all day and not be thought a glutton.
16. The sound that icy snow makes under my boots.
17. Running my fingers under hot water after cleaning off the car.
18. 17 gold finches on my back porch.
19. Snow delays or cancellations.
20. Seeing people make snow (ice) men and women.
21. The tips of crocuses that came out a little early but hold out through the snow.
22. Scarves
23. Candles
24. Not sweating.
25. The prospect of snow, rain, spring, and warmth.

Filed by Andi at 5:45 am under Uncategorized
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Picture this – Mardel and I are buying produce from a little shop, a store that most Americans could fit into one part of their two/three-car garage. We’re scooping up tangerines, buying little bananas, scoping out the apples, and the whole time Mardel is speaking Rifi with the shop keeper. Her enthusiasm is high, and she’s exuding warmth, this I can tell even though I can’t understand a word she’s saying. We gather our fruit; she talks; I wander; she talks; the shopkeeper talks; I wander; she talks; the shopkeeper talks; I wander. In essence, what would have taken me two minutes in the states is taking 10 minutes here? Here, in Morocco, relationships are central, even with your local shopkeeper.

I see this over and over as our week progresses. We smile at (and Mardel talks with) the supermarket clerk. He chats back a bit and hands the baby with us a toy rabbit filled with candy. We see a neighbor in the street, and Mardel takes us over so we can greet her; we kiss both of her cheeks, hold her hands, smile, nod, wave; we spend time with her. We eat together, digging communally out of a common bowl; we talk; we laugh; we spend two hours over a meal.

Everything in Morocco goes more slowly. Not once when I was there did I feel rushed – none of those pushy folks in the grocery store line who look at your with the evil eye when you don’t have your credit card swiped and pen in hand for when the clerk finishes; no beeping when you don’t floor the gas at the red light; no gobbling a sandwich in the car between appointments. Here in Morocco, moments are savored and people appreciated more than time or efficiency. It is glorious.

So now I find myself back in the States with this driving thrum of time around me. I talk faster, I walk faster, I pee faster. So much to do . . . no time to chat with a colleague . . . no time to linger for lunch. And I get sad, feel my shoulders creep toward my ears, sense my chest tightening. Then, I breath, lean back, and think of Morocco. As my friend Kevin walks in, I stop what I’m doing, turn toward him, shake his hand, and listen. It feels good.

Slow down, you move too fast; got to make this moment last. — Simon and Garfunkel

Filed by Andi at 6:58 am under Uncategorized
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I have never been so scantily-clad (or seemingly so) in my life as I was in Morocco. There, the women are covered completely, from head scarf to ankle, all loosely fitted, no shape showing beneath. We, our American team, went with our traditional Mennonite attire – modest but feminine – jeans, long skirts, knit shirts that hug our torsos just a bit, scoop-neck blouses – and we seemed bare in comparison. We spent a lot of our mornings checking ourselves out to be sure we didn’t seem scandalous and disrespectful. Who knew collarbones and calves could cause such a stir?

But this part of the trip was easy in comparison to the other ways we had to adjust as women. For example, we couldn’t sit in the front seat of the car/van if a man was driving – that was not acceptable, unless that man was our husband. Since I don’t have a husband, you can see the dilemma I was in (and I don’t even get carsick like one of my female teammates). In fact, if we were out in public, we weren’t to speak to men, weren’t to make eye contact with them, and certainly weren’t to touch them. This may sound simple, but it is not. I, as a single American woman, am used to caring for myself, taking care of what I need, acting in society like any other member of society – but this mode of behavior was not open to me in Morocco. In fact, this behavior would have been not only disrespectful but wrong in some serious way. So I found myself staring at the sidewalk a lot, hands folded under my arms, words racing behind my tongue. . .

But then there were these beautiful things that happened in this place – as I suppose they do in any system of oppression (and yes, I think women in Morocco are oppressed, at least in some ways). There, women walk arm in arm like sisters, talking close to one another, sharing secrets and ideas for themselves alone – we have lost that in the States where we get catty and protective around other women sometimes. There, women eat together (with the men in another room) savoring their own cooking, sharing their work, appreciating the fruits of their labor. And I hear that Moroccan weddings are great parties for women, where they sit for hours and celebrate the marriage of one of their own. There, women hold on to one another for support in ways that I rarely see here. That, that love, that community, that I could learn to love.

So here, in a part of the world that seemed so different, I learned to appreciate the great freedom I have been given to move in the world openly (for the most part), but I learned that I am also missing a great closely among my female friends – and I wish I could figure out how to bring that here. . . but I wonder if individual freedom and true community are mutually exclusive terms. I suspect they are.

Filed by Andi at 6:25 am under Uncategorized
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I have returned, and nothing I see looks the same. Trees, cars, people – all of them stand with a new meaning for me after a simple (or not so simple) seven days on another continent.

I will share many stories with you as I begin to process them more fully, but right now I can say that this trip has changed me deeply, in terms of my faith, my way of viewing wealth and work, my relationships, and my sense of self. I have seen new things and met new people, and I have been changed forever by them.

Below is the view from the town where we stayed – not bad to wake to the sound and sight of the Mediterranean each morning.

Filed by Andi at 6:24 am under Uncategorized
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