Well then, I have taken that 4 day weekend round trip weekend to Morocco to get my Visa stamped, extending my stay in Portugal until June 17th!
The night prior to leaving, Wendi asked if I was nervous. I said, "No! I'm excited!" John said, "You should be at least a little nervous." When I drove a friend to her base home from dinner with us, she said, "If you find yourself having a panic attack @ any point..." I said, "a panic attack?!" She continued, "If you find yourself having a panic attack, tell yourself that you are having one in MOROCCO!" What in the world did I have to be nervous about? It had been raining nearly non-stop all month and with emailing Jon-Jack @ the hostel-house in Morocco, he sent this photo!
When I arrived and found my way up to the 3rd floor outdoor terrace the next morning - what it really looked like was this:
So, let me back track some. Like I said, it had been raining on Terceira Island nearly non-stop for a month. Wendi has been very ill in her 1st trimester of pregnancy since December 30th. I was very anxious for a change of scenery, of people, any change, anywhere else! I was just coming off a month long pet-sitting job and had to get the owners car back to the airport. So I left Porto Martins @ 8:15A, to leave his car and check-in for my 10:30A flight....in terrible winds and rain. I had showered and fixed my hair, only to be drenched by the time I entered the airport. I checked in, treated myself to a Galoa (Portuguese latte) and waited. Later, flying above the clouds toward Lisbon, there was the sun and I felt my whole spirit inside lift. Easy transition @ Lisbon airport to await my flight to Morocco. I found a new pair of sunglasses and didn't even get nervous when I realized that flight would be on a 20-seater aircraft. It was dark when we landed, but I had watched the sunset from above the clouds:
after waiting in line @ customs for 15 minutes only to be sent back to fill out a customs form and waiting another 15 minutes, my passport was stamped and off I went to see my name on a card by a driver sent from the hostel to pick me up. There he was and I followed him for another 15 minutes through a large parking lot. I was thinking small SUV, but he was a gentleman and opened my passenger door, motioning for me to get in to a very old, small, squeeling-noised Mercedes:
He said, "English, not good." to which I responded, "Moi? French not good." I asked, "how long to hotel?" He said, "10!" I asked, "10 minutes?" "No," he answered, "1 hour." So, I settled back and rode in the small backseat for 1hour and 30 minutes. No problem....until we entered a city that reminded me of a seedy neighborhood in the heart of Chicago, but with vendors in robes and head covering selling their wares and people and traffic bustling about. The driver said, "City Azemmour" He slowed, pointed and said, "Through there." I looked and all I saw was an archway inset a very highwalled...uhm....area. He must've sensed my growing fear and proceeded to park and walk me through what my only reference would be very twisting turning alleyways inside this very high-walled area. I kept my wits about me to pay attention that we were staying to the right the entire walk, until we stopped just before a dead-end left right and forward, and he knocked. A young adult girl opened the door, "Aloooo, so sorry, my English...very little." I paid the driver and she showed me to my room asking if I remembered which room as she was opening the door to a room. This is the photo I was sent when making the reservation:
After a 12 hour day of travel, I gobbled up my very delicious dinner, washed down with a small bottle of excellent red wine and slept like a baby.
My hosts name was Rachida and in her very broken English, she told me there was no English speaking person to take me around, but that I was safe, as an American woman alone, to walk out into The Old Medina, but that I should walk to the bank just outside the city to transfer my Euro into Dirham if I wanted to shop. She gave me a key to the main door of the house. At least that's what I understood. So...showered and changed, out I went. Here are some photo's of finding my way from the hostel-house to the Medina:
Being the only American and finding the majority of people walking around in robes with head-covering, seeing bums asleep in the small parkway, the more I walked, the less comfortable I became, so I snapped away, but only lasted about 40 minutes before I was headed back through those alleyways to my hostel-house. I found it easily and as I turned the key, I heard the lock opening and closing, however, the door would not open. I rang the bell...I rang the bell gain...I rang the bell again. I sat down on the stoop. After the 3rd time the same group of children and a lady robed and head-covered passed me speaking something in French, admittedly I laid on that bell. Still I waited, so I took my camera out to project that I was sitting there on purpose.
Finally, after about 20 minutes, the door opened - it was the maid, Miriam who let me in. Okay then! Much better. I went to my room to read and take a short nap. When I awoke, the house was silent...for the next 6 hours, the house was silent. I opened my computer, only to find any internet access unavailable. When I started smelling smoke, my heart began to race. Finally about 6:30P, I heard women's voices. I maintained my composure by not running down those stairs to find them. There were 2 women fully robed w/head covering. They chattered away to each other and just smiled @ me. I had my book with me, called 'One Thousand Gifts' about living a life of gratitude. When I asked after Rachida, though she spoke an entire sentence in French, all I heard was "No Rachida". Now, I did not know if that meant she was just not there tonight or never coming back. After the last 6 hours of deep breathing and talking myself out of hailing a taxi back to the airport to find a Hampton Inn or just live @ the airport until my flight home on Sunday afternoon, I was determined to just read my book....but I couldn't retain anything I was reading. No internet access, no idea what to dial if I tried to use the phone and had no idea if or where I might find someone who spoke good English. So, when I found my day culminating with this news, I felt tears sting my eyes and just put my head down to my open book. And this is what I read:
“I have lived the runner, panting ahead in worry, pounding back regrets, terrified to live in the present, because here, time asks me to do the hardest of all: just open wide and receive.
This is where God is. In the present.
The ‘I Am’ - His very name.
It’s not the gifts that fulfill, but the holiness of the space. The God in it. Far curvature of time, God Himself framed in moment.
I am Jacob and the Lord is in this place and I was not aware of it (Genesis 28:16). And it is...an architecture of holiness -- a place for God. I will not desecrate this moment with ignorant (fear) or social ingratitude. I will be Jacob, and I will name this moment the “house of God” (Genesis 28:19).
The clock ticks slow. (The Arabic women speak to each other). True, this full attention slows time and I live the full of the moment, right to outer edges. But there’s more. I awake to the ‘I Am’ here. When I’m present, I meet ‘I Am’, the very presence of a present God. In His embrace, time loses all sense of nothingness and fear and stands so still and holy.
Here is the only place I can love Him. Here is the only place I have time for God...
I hunger to taste life.
God.
Why is gratitude the answer to the time starved and soul famished? Like the God-Man, counting His too-few loves and not-enough fishes. The one I remember from felt boards and figures pressed out smooth, where “Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted” (John 6:11 NIV)
Gave thanks. He’d done it there too? Again? I’d missed it and all of my life?”
On Friday, 3/15/13...i wrote, “I prayed - angry that I found myself in a hard place again, rather than to be surprised by simple goodness let alone joy. I was ready to give up all hope, it seemed to me that brightness, goodness and joy were not part of my path and I was grappling with a decision to just give up, close my hearts door to hope - because hope after hope dashed is just too hard. But, then "NO!" I wrote, ‘No! I will seek after joy always. I will never give up on my God! That He is a good God!” and then I read this: (Psalm 27:8 ESV) “My heart says to you, ‘Your face, Lord, do I seek’”, but I’m desperate to grab someone, anyone to shake hard, “How do I have the holy vision in this mess? How do I see grace, give thanks, find joy in this stinking place?” - and God tries to gently drive the words of Caussade from the knowing of my head to the bleeding of my heart:
You would be very ashamed if you knew what the experiences you call setbacks, upheavals, pointless disturbances and tedious annoyances really are. You would realize that your complaints about them are nothing more nor less than blasphemies--though that never occurs to you. Nothing happens to you except by the will of God, and yet [God’s] beloved children curse it because they do not know it for what it is.
And i think, “what compels me to name these moments upheaval and annoyances instead of grace and gift? Why desprive myself of joy’s oxygen?” because I believe in the power of the pit. Really? Do I really smother my own joy because I believe that anger achieves more than love? When I choose--and it is a choice--to crush joy with bitterness, am I not purposefully choosing to take the way of the Prince of Darkness? Blasphemer. Senses are impaired if they don’t sense the Spirit and somebody, tell me, how do I tear open tear-swollen eyelids to see through this for what it really is?
How did Jesus do it again? He turned His eyes, “And looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then He gave...” (Matthew 14:19 NIV) He looked up to heaven, to see where this moment comes from. Contemplative simplicity isn’t a matter of circumstances, it’s a matter of focus.
....and instantly my heart racing returned to a normal, steady pace, my tears dried, I was no longer gulping for air and w/goosebumps, I felt the hand of God close around mine. 15 minutes later, Rachida came in, “Aloooo, so sorry, I had trouble with my car for insurance.” Have you ever felt yourself exhale when you didn’t realize you were even holding your breath? Over dessert, I felt tears spring back into my eyes when I asked her if she had to leave tomorrow, if she would please tell me, then tell me when she would return. Unsure if she had understood most of what I’d said, she assured me that she would be there the remainder of my time there. Dinner looked wonderful, but what little I could eat of it, I did not taste. My beverage of choice was water.
I awoke Saturday morning, had my breakfast and drank 1/2 of the coffee I’d had the day before. I decided my quest for the day was to finish my book, just be in my pj’s all day and enjoy the 3rd floor terrace, until my 5P massage, manicure and pedicure. From the little English speaking exchange, I wasn't sure if that would really happen or if so, what might a full body massage, manicure and pedicure be like in a 3rd world country? I decided to just go for it anyway.
It proved to be a warm, sunny day on that rooftop for me and though I'd showered and dressed, that was the extent of my personal care and I finished my book with pen in hand, dozed and read all day. I took solace in hearing all of the noises of this place, the 5x's per day call to prayer over a loud speaker, within the safety of these walls. Rachida left and returned @ some point only a couple of hours, but today, I just didn't care. I had crossed a line by reading this wonderful book, written with such transparency and truth....and realized how interesting that THIS is the book I'd chosen to bring on this trip. When I finally attained internet access, I responded to my nieces message, "How's it going?" with a very softened version of what I'd been through the day prior. She responded, "Wow. Proud of you! Have a great time!", which was good to know they weren't freaking out and telling me to call a taxi and get to a hotel near the airport. My missionary sister who has a greater understanding of Eastern culture gave me some insight, but also wrote, "Maybe Ed & I could help with the cost (Ed who was currently traveling through Indonesia @ this very time), but you should get out of there and find a hotel near the airport!" And I smiled to myself, how much I needed both of those responses.
So, 5pm rolled around and I was led into a small cozy spa-like room where Miriam stood to take my discarded clothing and I laid on a heated spa bed. The massage was wonderful and kind of funny. Strong hands from this petite woman who was also the maid and the cook, did them all. And I remained lying suppine for the the duration of the pedicure and manicure! After which I enjoyed a wonderful fish (face, eyeballs, tail w/lots of bones but VERY good) dinner and a bottle of red wine. I had pre-packed, so slept well and woke easily by 6A my time (7A there). Same breakfast. A little more coffee, but cut w/good creme and the taxi driver came promptly @ 9A. It was better to see in daylight the entire drive to Casablanca! He drove me through many streets of Casablanca and to the Mosque and walked around w/me there. I was unimpressed with Casablanca entirely other than the Mosque. It was a dirty city with lots of litter. I thought back to the photo we'd gotten and wondered where that view could possibly be. I loved how my taxi driver knew to walk around with me the entirety of the Mosque. (the Mosque did not open until 12N, but I had to be back to the Marakesh airport by 12:30P, so I was grateful it was a warm, sunny day). We broke through our language barrier enough for me to learn that he was married with 3 children, 12 yr old boy and 10 & 7 year old girls. He got me to the airport by 11A, shook my hand and bid me bonjour. I enjoyed a Galoa and started the hunt of where to check in, etc. It was a very crowded, small airport with unfriendly, bordering on rude, staff. I finally found my way and waited the long 2 & 1/2 hours for my flight; got a small thin pizza w/Orange Fanta and grabbed a couple of chochki’s @ the gift shop. Can’t even describe the relief to land @ Lisbon airport! My breathing was easy, I had another 2 hours to browse around, treated myself to a Galoa and a fruit cup. Landed in Terceira Island Portugal@ exactly 7:40P and Wendi & Carla were there to meet me! Oiey! It was chilly and rainy :( and who would have thunk it 6 months ago that I would be so relieved to be on Portuguese land! This was an experience of a life-time. I do not regret it. I learned some things about myself and about God and my belief in and relationship with Him that I would not have otherwise known. I learned some very key, "will and will not's" as I make decisions about my future. For instance, as I look @ my term here drawing to an end in 4 months, prior to this trip, I might have signed up for missions work in a 3rd world country alone. Now? Not a chance. I still want to travel the world, but after the trip to Morocco? I will happily start with good old USofA and anything overseas, won't consider doing by myself. After some good-hearted laughter about this trip w/people who have been to 3rd world countries - I did hear some compassion as their travels were with a group or a church. They were not a female alone in a Muslim country without an English speaking guide. I am proud of myself that I took the chance to leave the hostel-house and walk to the Medina and I have forgiven myself for not going back out to barter in the Marketplace there alone. Even in hindsight, I would not ask myself to do that. And the best thing of all, I learned that there is something profound, to this thing of living in the present: to do the hardest of all: just open wide and receive.
The night prior to leaving, Wendi asked if I was nervous. I said, "No! I'm excited!" John said, "You should be at least a little nervous." When I drove a friend to her base home from dinner with us, she said, "If you find yourself having a panic attack @ any point..." I said, "a panic attack?!" She continued, "If you find yourself having a panic attack, tell yourself that you are having one in MOROCCO!" What in the world did I have to be nervous about? It had been raining nearly non-stop all month and with emailing Jon-Jack @ the hostel-house in Morocco, he sent this photo!
but alas, this is the room I was entering:
The photo I was sent for dinner was this:
however, there were only Egyptian looking women and this is what I was served:
My hosts name was Rachida and in her very broken English, she told me there was no English speaking person to take me around, but that I was safe, as an American woman alone, to walk out into The Old Medina, but that I should walk to the bank just outside the city to transfer my Euro into Dirham if I wanted to shop. She gave me a key to the main door of the house. At least that's what I understood. So...showered and changed, out I went. Here are some photo's of finding my way from the hostel-house to the Medina:
“I have lived the runner, panting ahead in worry, pounding back regrets, terrified to live in the present, because here, time asks me to do the hardest of all: just open wide and receive.
This is where God is. In the present.
The ‘I Am’ - His very name.
It’s not the gifts that fulfill, but the holiness of the space. The God in it. Far curvature of time, God Himself framed in moment.
I am Jacob and the Lord is in this place and I was not aware of it (Genesis 28:16). And it is...an architecture of holiness -- a place for God. I will not desecrate this moment with ignorant (fear) or social ingratitude. I will be Jacob, and I will name this moment the “house of God” (Genesis 28:19).
The clock ticks slow. (The Arabic women speak to each other). True, this full attention slows time and I live the full of the moment, right to outer edges. But there’s more. I awake to the ‘I Am’ here. When I’m present, I meet ‘I Am’, the very presence of a present God. In His embrace, time loses all sense of nothingness and fear and stands so still and holy.
Here is the only place I can love Him. Here is the only place I have time for God...
I hunger to taste life.
God.
Why is gratitude the answer to the time starved and soul famished? Like the God-Man, counting His too-few loves and not-enough fishes. The one I remember from felt boards and figures pressed out smooth, where “Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted” (John 6:11 NIV)
Gave thanks. He’d done it there too? Again? I’d missed it and all of my life?”
On Friday, 3/15/13...i wrote, “I prayed - angry that I found myself in a hard place again, rather than to be surprised by simple goodness let alone joy. I was ready to give up all hope, it seemed to me that brightness, goodness and joy were not part of my path and I was grappling with a decision to just give up, close my hearts door to hope - because hope after hope dashed is just too hard. But, then "NO!" I wrote, ‘No! I will seek after joy always. I will never give up on my God! That He is a good God!” and then I read this: (Psalm 27:8 ESV) “My heart says to you, ‘Your face, Lord, do I seek’”, but I’m desperate to grab someone, anyone to shake hard, “How do I have the holy vision in this mess? How do I see grace, give thanks, find joy in this stinking place?” - and God tries to gently drive the words of Caussade from the knowing of my head to the bleeding of my heart:
You would be very ashamed if you knew what the experiences you call setbacks, upheavals, pointless disturbances and tedious annoyances really are. You would realize that your complaints about them are nothing more nor less than blasphemies--though that never occurs to you. Nothing happens to you except by the will of God, and yet [God’s] beloved children curse it because they do not know it for what it is.
And i think, “what compels me to name these moments upheaval and annoyances instead of grace and gift? Why desprive myself of joy’s oxygen?” because I believe in the power of the pit. Really? Do I really smother my own joy because I believe that anger achieves more than love? When I choose--and it is a choice--to crush joy with bitterness, am I not purposefully choosing to take the way of the Prince of Darkness? Blasphemer. Senses are impaired if they don’t sense the Spirit and somebody, tell me, how do I tear open tear-swollen eyelids to see through this for what it really is?
How did Jesus do it again? He turned His eyes, “And looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then He gave...” (Matthew 14:19 NIV) He looked up to heaven, to see where this moment comes from. Contemplative simplicity isn’t a matter of circumstances, it’s a matter of focus.
....and instantly my heart racing returned to a normal, steady pace, my tears dried, I was no longer gulping for air and w/goosebumps, I felt the hand of God close around mine. 15 minutes later, Rachida came in, “Aloooo, so sorry, I had trouble with my car for insurance.” Have you ever felt yourself exhale when you didn’t realize you were even holding your breath? Over dessert, I felt tears spring back into my eyes when I asked her if she had to leave tomorrow, if she would please tell me, then tell me when she would return. Unsure if she had understood most of what I’d said, she assured me that she would be there the remainder of my time there. Dinner looked wonderful, but what little I could eat of it, I did not taste. My beverage of choice was water.
I awoke Saturday morning, had my breakfast and drank 1/2 of the coffee I’d had the day before. I decided my quest for the day was to finish my book, just be in my pj’s all day and enjoy the 3rd floor terrace, until my 5P massage, manicure and pedicure. From the little English speaking exchange, I wasn't sure if that would really happen or if so, what might a full body massage, manicure and pedicure be like in a 3rd world country? I decided to just go for it anyway.
It proved to be a warm, sunny day on that rooftop for me and though I'd showered and dressed, that was the extent of my personal care and I finished my book with pen in hand, dozed and read all day. I took solace in hearing all of the noises of this place, the 5x's per day call to prayer over a loud speaker, within the safety of these walls. Rachida left and returned @ some point only a couple of hours, but today, I just didn't care. I had crossed a line by reading this wonderful book, written with such transparency and truth....and realized how interesting that THIS is the book I'd chosen to bring on this trip. When I finally attained internet access, I responded to my nieces message, "How's it going?" with a very softened version of what I'd been through the day prior. She responded, "Wow. Proud of you! Have a great time!", which was good to know they weren't freaking out and telling me to call a taxi and get to a hotel near the airport. My missionary sister who has a greater understanding of Eastern culture gave me some insight, but also wrote, "Maybe Ed & I could help with the cost (Ed who was currently traveling through Indonesia @ this very time), but you should get out of there and find a hotel near the airport!" And I smiled to myself, how much I needed both of those responses.
So, 5pm rolled around and I was led into a small cozy spa-like room where Miriam stood to take my discarded clothing and I laid on a heated spa bed. The massage was wonderful and kind of funny. Strong hands from this petite woman who was also the maid and the cook, did them all. And I remained lying suppine for the the duration of the pedicure and manicure! After which I enjoyed a wonderful fish (face, eyeballs, tail w/lots of bones but VERY good) dinner and a bottle of red wine. I had pre-packed, so slept well and woke easily by 6A my time (7A there). Same breakfast. A little more coffee, but cut w/good creme and the taxi driver came promptly @ 9A. It was better to see in daylight the entire drive to Casablanca! He drove me through many streets of Casablanca and to the Mosque and walked around w/me there. I was unimpressed with Casablanca entirely other than the Mosque. It was a dirty city with lots of litter. I thought back to the photo we'd gotten and wondered where that view could possibly be. I loved how my taxi driver knew to walk around with me the entirety of the Mosque. (the Mosque did not open until 12N, but I had to be back to the Marakesh airport by 12:30P, so I was grateful it was a warm, sunny day). We broke through our language barrier enough for me to learn that he was married with 3 children, 12 yr old boy and 10 & 7 year old girls. He got me to the airport by 11A, shook my hand and bid me bonjour. I enjoyed a Galoa and started the hunt of where to check in, etc. It was a very crowded, small airport with unfriendly, bordering on rude, staff. I finally found my way and waited the long 2 & 1/2 hours for my flight; got a small thin pizza w/Orange Fanta and grabbed a couple of chochki’s @ the gift shop. Can’t even describe the relief to land @ Lisbon airport! My breathing was easy, I had another 2 hours to browse around, treated myself to a Galoa and a fruit cup. Landed in Terceira Island Portugal@ exactly 7:40P and Wendi & Carla were there to meet me! Oiey! It was chilly and rainy :( and who would have thunk it 6 months ago that I would be so relieved to be on Portuguese land! This was an experience of a life-time. I do not regret it. I learned some things about myself and about God and my belief in and relationship with Him that I would not have otherwise known. I learned some very key, "will and will not's" as I make decisions about my future. For instance, as I look @ my term here drawing to an end in 4 months, prior to this trip, I might have signed up for missions work in a 3rd world country alone. Now? Not a chance. I still want to travel the world, but after the trip to Morocco? I will happily start with good old USofA and anything overseas, won't consider doing by myself. After some good-hearted laughter about this trip w/people who have been to 3rd world countries - I did hear some compassion as their travels were with a group or a church. They were not a female alone in a Muslim country without an English speaking guide. I am proud of myself that I took the chance to leave the hostel-house and walk to the Medina and I have forgiven myself for not going back out to barter in the Marketplace there alone. Even in hindsight, I would not ask myself to do that. And the best thing of all, I learned that there is something profound, to this thing of living in the present: to do the hardest of all: just open wide and receive.
