chag yom yeshua

My aunt had a roll of Christmas wrapping paper with cats on it.

That's not very Christmasy- say you.

Oh, but wait. The cats wore santa hats.

And, underneath each snapshot of the varying cat varieties was written: meowy Christmas.

That cracks me up. Someone says Merry Christmas! I think, Meowy. Meowy Christmas. Sometimes I even say it out loud.

The Cats didn't make a cameo this year, although I seriously considered free-handing it on the wrapping of my dad's present (Mark Twain Autobiography. SO NEAT). Then I thought better of it- considering when I tried to draw a unicorn on the outside of a letter I recently sent to a friend, I managed to make the unicorn iodine deficient evidenced by a massive (unintentional) goiter on his magical unicorn neck.

Gross.

But it was a good Christmas. How could it be anything else? Kansas City with family. Excellent food. Card games. Spending the first few hours of the day sitting in the living room with everyone drinking coffee, talking, reading. Oh, is this heaven? Ok. I'll take it.

The first time my immediate family has been all together in 8 months. Come on people, let's not do this to each other again. Too long.

Meowy Christmas.

high school reunion- i shudder at the thought

I'm doing it again... doing that stalling thing (i just typed that stalin thing--- no. not obliterating peasant and jews in Russia).

I decided that I'm going to turn over a new leaf over this break. I'm trying to take myself seriously, truly I am! But I'm laughing at myself as I survey my room and see that nothing has really changed at all yet. My clothes are already strewn haphazardly around my room. My guitar is on my bed. The keyboard is next to my bed... I can barely bring myself to play it anymore. What a pitiful excuse for a piano.

But, the big game plan was to work out and then get real crafty this afternoon. Work on some spectacular christmas gifts for people that are precious to me. But thus far, I have a big fat $0 and I'm sort of praying for a miracle of a babysitting job to open up or for some horrifically wealthy stranger to knock on my door and say,

"Hello. Here's $10k to spend on Christmas presents for everyone that you know and love."

Dream Big, right?

I can still turn over this new leaf. I really haven't given up on myself yet. I'm about to go put on my boots and grab my ipod and head over to the park district workout facility... seriously hoping that it's not an impromptu high-school-reunion. I can see it now:

(cue chime and xylophone music)

Picture Rachel, sweating, heaving over the elliptical machine, cursing the SDR and Baccis for all that they've done to my physique, and in walks So-And-So.

"Wow. Rachel you look...."

Gross? Sweaty? Pale? Fatter than when you were 18?

"Ha.. [huff and puff, huff and puff] Thanks! You look..."

About the same too. Good, I don't feel so bad.

"So, what are you up to these days?"

"I go to Bible College."

"....cool. See you later."

Yeah, because everyone knows that us Bible College kids do mega proselytizing at the gym.

When we smell bad.

I highly doubt it would go that way. People are usually a little bit gracious when they see you at the gym, because they know that you're working out and can see that you're making genuine strides to maintain-- whatever. I'm rambling now.

I guess the part of this scenario that kills me is the response that I get when I say I go to Bible College. People making one million assumptions, usually beginning with- "Oh. She wants to be a nun! Or a Priest."

I don't want to become either. In case you're reading this and wondering the same thing.

But why do we become non-entities when people find out not only are we believers in Jesus, but especially when we are ordering our lives around getting to know Him better and that our careers will involve some kind of ministry.

I don't really understand it.

Off to the gym.

can you even button your pants still?

Submit.

It's sort of a strange word. Dictionary says it means to "accept or yield to a superior force or authority or will of another person" or "consent to undergo a certain treatment or process"

Maybe I should have read the dictionary before I prayed for a heart that would submit to the Lord. I mean, obviously, it's what I want to be doing. I really do want my heart to accept the authority of the Lord above all else. But what about undergoing the certain treatment or process? Did I really want to sign up for that too?

So funny how when we pray for growth in some area, the Lord always gives us opportunities to work it out. [How convenient.]

Clearly, from the dialogue that my heart has been having with the Lord today, no I do not want to submit to the process of sanctification. I think if I were actually submitting to the Lord I wouldn't be giving myself permission to be emotionally pounding away on my computer. Or I wouldn't be storming around my room frustrated that my pants don't fit unless I make a slipknot with a hair tie to pull them up like a pregnant lady (actually, very martha stewart of me if i do say so myself).

How can I give myself permission to act a certain (ahem, sinful) way if I am actually submitting to the Lord-- accepting his authority, sovereignty, sanctification as the canopy that I live under?

I think that's just it.

I can't.

No, Rachel. You may not start crying because you're not sure what you're feeling or why you're feeling it. No, Rachel. You do not have permission to blow of quiet time with the Lord because you are just desperate for some extra sleep. No, Rachel. You do not have permission to waste your time rather than spend it studying for finals or for something else that is remotely edifying.

Submit--- under the authority of a perfect gracious Heavenly Father whose discipline yields fruit much sweeter than the bramble patch that my permissive sinful thoughts and actions land me in.

the turkey was on fire!

We had a smorgasbord of people at our house for Thanksgiving. International couples, five small children, married couples, single ladies (ahem, me). It was great. But probably the best part was right before we sat down to eat. The children had gone through the line---

which, side note, it's still foreign to me to not be considered a child. So, let that be said when it comes time to recite the four questions at Passover. I don't go through the dinner line with my parents holding my hand. I don't stand up and sing Ma nishtana. That's how life works.

---and they were sitting innocently at the table gnawing on Turkey legs and other tasty nom noms that my Mom prepared. And all of a sudden a small voice cries out, "Fire! Fire!" My first thought: "Sweet! He's never seen a fireplace before." Luckily, we had some Moms and Dads on the scene to realize, rather logically, that the 9-year-old was holding a FLAMING paper Turkey centerpiece. I responded approximately 45 seconds too late with a towel and a cup of water.

My rationale: Never mind the fire extinguisher! I'm going to put this sucker out with a dish towel and 4 oz of water!

Into the fireplace went the flaming Gobbler.
Into the tummy went the food.

And there was plenty of reflection.

In our dining room, the windows face the street. I imagine that looking in at the tableux of family and turkey fare would be rather Norman Rockwell-esque. It struck me as I sat cozily between the 80 year old and the 9 year old that I was dang thankful to be on the inside and happy to report that the feeling was just as warm and delightful as it would appear from the street, because of Jesus' love.

There was a gentle gnawing that started on Tuesday night, that I haven't really let turn into much of anything just yet- I'd rather have not thought about it. But when we went around the table saying what we were thankful for, the same thing poked me in the little soft spot in my heart:

Why wasn't my salvation the the first conscious thankful thought in my head?

I got choked up talking about my parents and everything that they do, their marriage, their ministry, their parenting, their friendship (here I go again...) but then when someone mentioned Salvation and we all nodded enthusiastically, even in my whole hearted agreement, my eyes were drier than a matzoh ball soup from a south Florida deli.

Why doesn't this thankfulness, this eternal gratitude and indebtedness that I have not translate into water works?
I'm still pondering it. But I want it to be there.

This love is real.

revelation

You know what?

This might sound really shallow, but I think this makes sense.

You don't wear shoes you don't like, right? You don't style your hair so that you're embarrassed to go out in public, right? (Unless you're my sister ca. 2001-- "Perm"). You aren't going to be amped to go into work with a tattered brief case or man bag...

So, you're probably not motivated to bring your Bible out in public if it has some weird graphics of Jesus as a fair skin clean shaven man in a bed sheet ensemble on the front cover, nor will your fingers itch to leave through the pages of a book that you highlighted with 58 different colored jelly rolls when you were 12...

You're probably not eager to bust out that bible that you had doodled your crushes name on every blank page--- or strategically written on that page where it lets you list marriages, your name with that boy that took you to homecoming your freshman year.

just sayin.

Invest in a nice Bible. An attractive Bible. A Bible that will make the people in Starbucks wonder what that darling little book is that you're reading with the cool fabric on the front and the shiny gold edged pages...Get a Bible that you're excited to reach for off your shelf and tote around. One that's practical for traveling and having in your purse or "mag" (man bag) and then the five-pounder for when you're doing some major exegesis.


You can look at nice Bibles here.

Read your Bible.
All the cool kids are doin' it.

can you tell me how to get to sesame hood?

Sesame Street. You are classy. Always.

xanga throw back

Getting back to my blogging roots. Wrote this entry about 4 years ago. Excuse the malpracticed punctuation.

Saturday, October 07, 2006
Even though sleeping in an extra hour would have been sweet, I woke up and went for a walk.

It was gorgeous.

Like seriously... this morning made me like fall. And I told one of my friends that I hate the inbetween seasons becuase it's not like... a done deal. Things are changing, and we're saying goodbye to one phase of life, and getting ready to enter into another even if it's not the best... and I don't know.

I think we've already agreed that I'm not very good with change.

Let's take last year for example. Well. My grandparents moved in with us, exactly a year ago and I went into this crazy hibernation phase where I was out of the house as much as possible, having as little as possible communication with parents, and everytime I was actually home I'd come upstairs to my room and shut the door and listen to music all the time. I hated meal times, and I hated having to be with my family. In my sophomore mind (no wonder why sophomore means foolish) I thought everything that happended was a total invasion of privacy, and part of me seriously loathed my grandparents.

Sick, yeah? Well, that's what it was. It took almost a full year to get to the place where I've accepted my grandparents as a part of my life, but seriously.. change like that, completely alterred my personality. And for a while things were just not good inside of me.
The scariest part was, that after my grandparents moved in with me, I associated fall with some depression and a complete and full void in my life that I couldn't ever seem to fill. God felt distant, but at the same time I did very little to try to contact him.... and you know? Everything was like fjkdlajdfklajfklda. Just pounding down on the keys not making any words.

I feared fall.

But this morning changed it for me.

The leaves fell down around me while I was listening to some song by Jill Phillips, and well.. it all felt right. And I knew that these in between phases are not like THE big change. But more like the prologue to a new chapter... enticing, slightly profound,sometimes difficult...but just enough to pull you in to continue in the big story.

And so it begins...

My blogging has reached an all-time high. Three posts in one week? Who do I think I am? Some world-traveler that's got exciting stories to share?

Here's my new mantra: When the going gets tough, the tough get blogging.

See what I did there?

...Anyways. I'm about 8 pages into this Old Testament paper, and hardly through 1st Samuel. So, I'm off to immerse myself in all things coffee-shop and let my skin slowly graft to my chair and not leave until this paper is done.

Or at least until I have to come back and get ready for work.
That's right. Return of the full tuxedo tonight.

It's been so long.

meredith gray moment.

I can't believe I'm about to do this. I mean, this pretty much goes against every code of anything I've ever thought of blogging and journaling in general. But sometimes, you need to do a little outlandish on the blog to snap everybody's attention.

Ha, no. I see what you're thinking. No nudee photos here.

ew.



Ready for this? Entry from my PRIVATE journal dated from October 29, 2008...exactly two years ago.


"I need to become super productive. This really needs to happen. I need to do my homework. Study like crazy and get really awesome grades. That is super important to me. I just am not sure what to write on..."


Observations:
1) valley girl.
2) i woke up this morning and thought this exact same thought... my how I've [not] grown.
3) what am i doing? i'm blogging. clearly being "super productive" is not as "super important" to me as I swore it was
4) awesome grades? can grades even be awesome?

Anddddd, there was a lot more dirt in there but I do have some sense of self-preservation.

stay tuned. entry dated 10/24/08 started out with:

"i feel like i'm on crazy pills."

cyclone warning.

Apparently, some mad gusts of winds are coming into the Windy City (go figure) and people have been asking me if they'll cancel school.

Probably not. You know why? Because Moody won't cancel class unless the rapture is happening--at which point, if the whole of the campus is not already caught up with the Lord, then I'd be concerned.

So. We're alive in the Windy City. And no windows have fallen out of buildings. Yet.


Unrelated to the wind blowing, I... feel like a monster. Today, especially. But not like a Cyclone monster or anything that does huge damages to structures and buildings. More like the monster that lurks under your bed and grabs your ankles as you try to dart from bed to bathroom. Or I feel like the little old lady from Hansel and Grettle, that lured the children in with gumdrops and candy canes and sticks of sugar- things that looked good, and ended them up in a load of trouble.

"You seem like you've got it all together, though. I don't really understand why you feel like that."

Because you don't see my heart. You don't see the sin that I struggle with. You don't see the way my mind races and I give over into anxiety, and telling the Lord, "I AM RIGHT. LET ME DO THIS ON MY OWN!"

It's like, my whole life I'm playing this tug of war game with the Lord, and we're wrestling back and forth and I'm screaming and tugging with all my might, and occasionally it seems like He'll give a little. But then He fastens His grip tighter still and I've lost, and I'm getting pulled over the boundary line. But I'm not spinning into the fireplace and splitting my eyebrow open. Instead, I've somehow been pulled right into His arms, which have managed to stay open and waiting all the while strong and defiant against my sense of self and entitlement.

So there I am. The pulling is done and I'm weak and tired, and my hands are blistered from holding on too tight. And as He lifts my hands open to survey the damage from this struggle, He tells me:

"You are no monster. You belong to me... and besides. You don't have half as many warts as that that Old Witch in Hansel and Gretel."

And then as I sit in His lap, a small child in the arms of a big Father, He sings to me:

Hope. Peace. Love. Forgiveness.

Oh, Forgiveness.
Amen.

it only takes a spark.

Is she dead? You asked yourself that this morning when you typed in my http and found no new post on here.

I just wanted to put your fears to rest and let you know that I am in fact, very un-dead. Very much alive, very much exhausted, and very much anticipating a trip to the great state of California to visit my hipster brother David.

He has a beard and everything.

In the meantime, savor this post and gear up for the next one. There's some meaty stuff to throw in here.

feast your eyes on this, blogosphere.

delighted to be wearing a full tux for work?

no, me either.

stay tuned. something juicy coming real soon, i'm sure.

dear moses

a poem from my OT Survey Textbook:


By Nebo's lovely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
There lies a lonely grace.
But no man dug that sepulchre
And no man saw it e'er;
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.

O Lonely tomb in Moab's land,
O Dark Beth-peor's hill,
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.
God hath his mysteries of grace---
Ways that we cannot tell;
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep
Of him he loved so well.





I choked up reading the end of Deuteronomy. Top it off with this slammin poem by Cecil Frances Alexander, and I was borderline wiping my runny nose with sleeve of my extra cozy Moody Dad! sweatshirt...25% from the bookstore.

Moses loved the Lord so much. And, he messed up a lot too. Which is good news for us. Because that means that the Lord can use us even when we mess up...Like hitting rocks twice and yelling at them (numbers 22).

read the poem again. and then read exodus through deuteronomy. then read the poem again, and you try to tell me that you don't get a little ferklempt when Moses goes to be with the Lord.

It'll be good to meet him one day.

home is where you keep your underwear

I should be in the shower. Or in bed.
Or studying for that C-Doc exam that's due tomorrow.

But, here I am. On the computer. Thought I was turning over a new life, didn't you?
Me too.

Don't worry Mom and Dad. I did a ton of reading today--all's not lost.

But, I was struck as I was looking at some friends' blogs...the way that they talk about the Lord. And the outpouring of love that they're somehow managing to convey without sounding mushy or unreal. It's like, they've ingested some kind of radioactive Jesus-love and they're literally glowing. Even in their writing they ooze and writhe with joy-love from and for the Father.

I used to be like that I think. No, I'm not saying that I've stopped loving the Lord, but I think somehow amidst the legality of defining my beliefs and questioning everything and trying to establish a firm foundation of faith in Jesus, I've sort of lost the romance of it all.

Like, ok. Ponder this: the first time you realize it's friday afternoon and you're almost to the weekend and you've got some seriously great plans and no homework and the weather is right...not to mention you're having a great hair day. You know, how your stomach starts to do flips of joyful anticipation and you're radiant and beaming, and practically prancing from your class to your dorm or home or wherever you keep your underwear....


Well, isn't that like small potatoes when compared to realizing that we've been saved by grace by Jesus' ultimate sacrifice? That the God that hung the stars up in the universe made sure that you're belly button was exactly the way He wanted it to be- inny or outy. He took the time to make sure that you had a nice layer of skin to keep all of your precious little organs in place, and he also created the Himalayan mountain range.

Somehow I feel more excited for the weekend.

So we do we get back to the romance? How do we begin to train our hearts to fawn over the face of the One that we have not seen?

I think we pray for "more". More love. More joy. More growth. More discernment. More delighting in God and less in man.

Or men, as the case may be...Just sayin'.

I think I'm going to take a day off to go on a date with God.

to my fossil

My sister has fallen off the face of the blogging earth. This is sort of a call to bring her back to the blog world, because I miss hearing her voice in her writing.

Also, I secretly imagine us to be like a cjane and nienie. Two funny, articulate, talented blogging sisters.

Well...minus the whole being mormon thing. Oh yeah, and neither of us have children. Or husbands. And neither of us almost died in a plane crash. But--

Whatever, basically the only thing is that we're related and we both have blogs and we both like each other.

So, come back sweet sister. Please?

Hm. In other news:

I went to the wedding of one of my oldest friends yesterday. She is absolutely exquisite. So happy for her and her new grown-up hubby.

After the ceremony as all the men were smoking cigars (that's weird, right? cigars after a wedding?) I was standing and talking to my dad. And all of a sudden, upon me were the aunt and cousin of the groom. After a brief introduction and the mention of being a women's ministry major at good ol' MBI, Aunt asked the question:

"do you have a boyfriend?"

"no, I do not have a boyfriend."

"Well, then may I introduce my nephew to you!"


I mean, I'm a pretty awkward person. But I don't think that all of my years of awkward could have prepared me for the feeling of being set up by the aunt of the groom at my best friend's wedding to a boy I had just met.

After we (me and future husband...kidding) blushed, the conversation slowly fizzled and that was that.

So, stay tuned. I'm sure there's a fairy tale ending in there somewhere.

;)

the best youtube video i've ever seen

Generally, I don't like to make this blog about anyone other than myself (you know what they say Dad, "it's all about me!"...I was being slightly facetious)

Anyways. Watch this.

No seriously. Watch it, and then send it to your friends.

this is the blog that never ends, it just goes on and on my friends...

"I've had a lot of bloggable thoughts lately, so I'm starting one," Lauren said to me today.

"Good."

That's how I feel about blogs. They are good. And I think there are such things as bloggable thoughts. And after Lauren said that, I thought to myself. "Dang. I have bloggable thoughts too!"

I've been itching to get back on this bad boy, but I fear that maybe I'm less exciting than when I was battling Salmonella (oh, right. That's what I had. Thanks Delhi!) and living out of my back-pack---

maybe I need to change the tag line.

Anyways, I'm sure there's an old adage somewhere that has something to say about "one man's bloggable thoughts being another man's treasure" ...or garbage as this case may be, so if you're not up for reading this, you have my permission to unsubscribe to this.

I won't be offended (much).

Just know that every time you hit the unsubscribe button a little angel loses it's wings.

Or so I've been told.

With that being said, I've mostly lost my bloggable thoughts for now. I guess the only thing to share is that Chapter 2 of Rachel's Big Adventure: Moody Edition, has been going wonderfully well. I am blessed to be here, and despite being an awkward 20 year old freshman, am making friends and learning more about Jesus everyday.

So keep reading if you'd like, my friends. Or if you're sick of procrastination or spending your time being entertained by wholesome writing (nevermind the grammar) then by all means, nice knowing you through the blogosphere.

On a more enticing note: guess who has to wear a full tuxedo to work?

...I smell adventure.

much to do about something.

I can't tell if I want this to be the last post of this blog. On one hand,I think it'd be a little sneaky if I were to continue blogging. It seems like I'd be taking advantage of all of the subscribers (21! wow!!). Yet, the idea of sitting down to write and having an audience is so appealing... I blame it on showchoir.

I'm laying in bed and it's 630 am on a Sunday morning. Why am I up this early? Jet-lag. Huzzah. I thought I'd overcome it. I had been pushing myself to stay up until midnight, then 1030, then 10, and then last night I barely made it to 930. So I guess this is what I get. Tonight will be rough, I'm sure, but pretty much every time I lay down in my bed I am overcome with the much-ness of being home.

For example, things smell much better. No more calling me Curry Armpits, or trying to sniff them when you see me for the first time. I now smell like a daisy.
I would say that food tastes much better here- but I haven't be able to sample much of the mouth watering assortments of fruits, veggies, and gorgeous flank steak sitting in the refrigerator. My body is taking a bit longer to adjust than I had anticipated....the doctor put me on a rice, toast, banana diet...if you catch my drift.

sick.

Anyway, at least the food is much more appealing here.

As a female, I am much more free. I walked out of the house yesterday wearing a skirt that showed my knees and a tank top. And no one oggled me, or tried to video tape me walking around.
I'm experiencing the much-ness of our wealth- the fact that I have my own bedroom when there are whole families that share a tent on the side of a road in Delhi.
There's much internet to be had here.

I think I'm much different too.

Actually, I know that I am. But I can't pin print what it is that has changed. A little bit of everything maybe.

I tried to explain to my friend the other day how this trip had changed my life. It really has, I think.
I think I failed miserably because after a rambling scattered explanation the poor chap tried to summarize it as, "so basically everything you already knew became real to you".

I said sure. Because that's in part true. But there's much more to it. Maybe you will help me figure it out over the next couple of days, weeks, months, and as the years unfold because I sure as heck can't place my finger on it.

But I am changed. Maybe because I am beginning to scratch the surface of comprehending the transformative power of God's grace. Maybe because I want to learn Hebrew. Maybe because understanding my Jewish identity actually plays a part in my testimony. It's all of that and more, I'm sure.

So, I'll let you know when another little nugget of "aha! this is how i'm different!" pops into my life. And you let me know too.

I'd appreciate it.


As always, thanks for praying. God is good.

Rachel

oh. this is way too sad.

Why like this, Ghee?

How is it time to say goodbye? How could 10 weeks could have gone by so quickly and so impossibly slow that it feels as though we've lived in Israel and India our whole lives?...you know, minus the whole not speaking either of the languages.

It's kind of hard to be really emotional and put forth a stirring blogpost when I'm wedged in an awkward seat at an internet cafe in Delhi, so I'll keep this one short. I'll blog more when I get home and want to procrastinate from unpacking/repacking for Moody.

Oh yes. the Next adventure.

Maybe I should have entitled this blog "lifetime for adventure".


See you in 'Merica.

t.m.i?

true life: my armpits smell like curry.

naughty child in manali

The past two days have been great. Totally uplifting, encouraging. Everyone from the trip made it back together for a little rendezvous in Vashish. We ate. We watched movies. We shopped. We avoided rabid dogs. We ate more Yak milk products than I think I ever want to consume again in my life.

But really, on to the high light of staying in Manali:

There's nothin' like bringin in Shabbat with a little boob graze from a five year old Indian boy who calls you, "White Chocolate".

I know what you're thinking.

White Chocolate? Really? Who calls you that?

Personally, I think White Chocolate a very fitting name. Far better than any of the other nick names I've earned through out the years...as far as originality goes.

And as far as the physical violation goes, it's rather traumatic.

cue tragic violin music

Our team was on the way to a nice quiet Shabbat dinner, and as a few of us made our way to the ATM to withdraw a couple more rupees (to buy souvenirs with, obv)a small child ran up to my, grabbed my purse and yelled,

"hello white chocolate!"

To which I cleverly responded, "No! I don't have any chocolate!" And then shoved him out of the way so that he would get his hands out of my purse.

Three minutes later, we're walking down the road and my "little friend" comes at me at a dead sprint, grabs onto my arm, resting tragically close to my chest region, and ba bam.

That's nice.

So, I did what any one would do. Shook my finger at him and pretended that I was his mother.

"That is NOT OK! Knock it off!"

Then he made a pitiful little face and ran off.


That'll teach him to mess with White Chocolate.

school these days.

I was prepared for a lot of things when coming to India.

-Diarrhea
-Vomiting
-Being dirty
-Developing the black lung from inhaling everyone else's smoke from their respective drugs of choice

I was not prepared for high school.

Yeah, that's sort of what it's like here. You are either in or your not. You either belong to the clique or you don't. So, you can pretty much put a big L on my forehead because I'm not Israeli, I don't do the drugs, and I believe that Yeshua is the messiah...and I talk about that. A lot.

After spending some time word-vomiting into my journal for a good 45 minutes yesterday, I began to understand the undercurrents of my growing frustration in being here in Dharamsala:

P-R-I-D-E

The past two days or so had been a growing dissatisfaction for not being perceived as I thought I should be. I was getting so irritated and frustrated feeling like everyone looked at me like I was that girl and writing me off like all I did was talk about Jesus.

I began to see the way my heart became indignant and heard this small voice crying out defiantly, "There's more to me than Jesus!"

...what?

Say that again, Rachel?

I mean, no. That's not the truth. At least, I hope it's not. If I really do believe that Yeshua is Lord, the atonement for my sins, the Messiah, my righteousness (hallelujah the list goes on and on) then why wouldn't that hugeness of His Grace be at the very forefront of the way that I live my life, and permeate every other part of my life?

Even if I'm not saying "I Love Jesus!" and carrying a Bible around, what sets me apart?

Here's what I think. Because I'm following the Lord and being made a new creation through Yeshua, my life should look different. I shouldn't be ashamed of the truth that has set me free. And if people could look at me and think, "here comes that Jesus-girl"-- that's an honor. To be so marked and transformed by the Lord that you radiate His love, His beauty?...

Still, it's a struggle. I feel the same as I did in high school. I just want to fit in with everyone and not have anyone know that I'm different, let it leak out cautiously that I love the Lord. But now, a couple of years wiser (fingers crossed) I can sort of see the other side of that.

I can walk in grace and confidence because of Yeshua. And If loving the Lord makes me a nerd, then fine.

I've secretly always wanted to wear suspenders with high wasted pants.

And a pocket protector.

As always, thankful for your prayers.

the beginning of dharamsala.

I think I am in a much better place today than I was a mere 48 hours ago. Which feels like an eternity ago, btw.

I'll try to paint a better picture of Delhi, because I don't think that I was really doing it justice.

Delhi is dirty. Delhi is crazy. Delhi has flies everywhere. Delhi is smelly. I actually have clothes and a sleeping sack that still smells of Delhi. Delhi has chewed us up and spit us out and I am so thankful.

I think that coming off of 24 hours of traveling and then watching two team members get a bad case of something nasty from ICE CUBES, the eminent goodbyes to our friends, and the fact that we had a 16 hour bus ride ahead of us put me into a less than optimistic mood.

Now though, the air is sweet. And I did some shopping. So, life rocks.

Dharamsala is incredible. We're situated in the Himachal Pradesh region of India, almost to the foothills of the Himilayas...but don't let the "almost" fool you. Our guest house has the most exquisite view. We're tucked into a mountain and look out over several thousand feet at small villages below. There's a waterfall in the distance, and the snowline is a five hour hike north. This place is incredible.

I will say this about dharamsala though. There's a darkness here. I imagine that it's all over India, but it's this palpable yearning that the people seem to have. Like, they light up but are already looking for the next high. I can see that some feel full of life after some super spiritual experience, but they seem to droop within hours, wanting more.

So, prayer requests? For boldness. For wisdom. For joy. For delighting ourselves in the Lord and trusting that He's at work even if we can't see much beyond the smoke from the backpackers' temporary high.

I'll admit it. Walking off the plane I was feeling pretty good about the whole being in India thing. Then I walked into the bathroom and was only slightly fazed by the smell and thought, "you know? I can do this! What's a little bit of bad smell?" Then I got into the cab. Which took us to Paraghange.

Not ok.

I never thought I was high maintenance until this trip when I started washing my face and brushing my teeth with bottled water.

We're Splitting up in an hour to leave for our respective destinations. My group is going to Dharmsala. The other groups are going to Manali and Ley. Am feeling really sad about saying goodbye to everyone, but can't wait to meet up again.

8 days till then.

Will update more soon. Pray hard people.

This country is nuts.

uhhhh....

I got peed on today.

I was walking through Florentine, thinking about how good it was to be alive and in Israel, walking around- an independent woman, and then I was stopped to be asked where the nearest grocery store was.

Nevermind the joy in understanding what he was asking. Nevermind my elation in being able to give legitimate directions to the grocery store. Passing by at that very moment was a pug (oh the irony, seeing as we've been singing the Abramson children's 'Hug a Pug' for the past two weeks).

And then, the flood-gates of that small bladder opened as the dog is walking and peeing. On my foot. On my foot!

Poor Shy, the guy that was asking for directions, because mid-sentence I yelp, "The dog just peed on me!"

The man walking the dog turned around and offered an apologetic half smile...probably was more smug that his dog has the uncanny ability to urinate while walking than was sorry that my poor foot had been showered.

The Lord has a sense of humor. I had just been thinking about how i needed to add a post to the blog but wasn't sure what I should even be writing about...voila! Pee on foot.

And an opportunity to share the gospel with Shy. As we walked together towards the AM PM, I shared my faith and why I believed what I did. Shy was polite and listened, and even asked some questions. At the end of the walk, where I would turn towards the Hostel, Shy asked if I would like to continue the conversation.

....wait a second.

Continue the conversation? I pulled out the litmus test that all women should know when doing evangelism:

"You know, I can't guarantee that I'd be the one to call you, but I know some people who will be in Israel longer than me who would be able to explain all of this better, and probably be able to answer your question better than I."

Shy looked at me. He wrote down his e-mail and as he handed the paper back to me, he said,

"You know, I'm interested in you and not your religion..."

RED FLAG.

You better believe that I was wishing him well and high-tailing it out of there.

But I will continue to pray. And I think it'd be great if you guys prayed too. His heart, though momentarily confused, is definitely being pursued by the Lord.

Don't worry, I washed the pee of my foot.

bringing up baby

WARRNING: seriously rambly post. read at your own risk.


Alright, a new post. And I don't actually have a clear idea of what exactly I want to write about---so what you're reading now? Those past two lines? Will probably have been deleted and rewrote in an effort to sound more pithy, charming,entertaining, etc.

I'm sitting in my room at the hostel right now, listening to the shabbat service of a messianic church that is taking place downstairs. The best part? The chorus of tiny children singing "Yeshua!" over and over again.

Faith like a child.

I'll be real, these past five and half weeks in Israel haven't been some cake walk. My friend David was laughing at me as I was trying to articulate in a not-so-whiny way that I was sick of being physically, emotionally, or spiritually challenged.

"Well what did you expect Rach?"

...to which I shrugged my shoulders and grunted (in a delicate way, of course) to say that this is in fact what I imagined more or less. Less falafel at least.

Here's my heart, blogosphere: I've been confronted, maybe for the first time in a large-scale way, to own up to my faith. To stand firmly on what I believe. To holdfast to what is True and not be tossed about by the wind, by peer pressure, by the flighty-ness of my emotions...and I think that I often adopt the mindset that I'm in this all by myself and that I've got to have everything figured out before I can come and worship the Lord.

Yet, Jesus was no stranger to suffering. He resisted the devil in the wilderness, he experienced the pain of losing friends and family that he loved dearly, he was beaten, bruised, kicked, nailed to a cross and then hung paying a price so great that we cannot even fathom it- a life without God? He felt that. How Deep the Father's Love has a line that says "the Father turned His face away"...

We don't have to feel that.

Woah.

So when we--or I, or you, or however you want to think about it-- have these heart-gripping, attitude wracking, anxiety bringing doubts, about who God is, and what we're doing here, I don't know...can't we look at what happened at that cross and think, "hot dang! this love is real!"?

Yeah, we can.

And then everything begins to make sense. This is why God is Love. This is why we go to the far corners of the earth to share our hearts and the beauty of the gospel. This is why we're plauged with fear and doubt- because tricky Satan wants to deceive us to believe that we're crazy for believing that God would love the world so much, that he would provide redemption to pay a price that calls for more righteousness than we'd ever know.

Makes that other line, in that children's song, "I stand alone on the Word of God" pretty powerful stuff. We stand only on the Word and power of God because when the hard growing stuff comes, then comes fruit.

Faith like a child. Encouraging.


How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocing voice,
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that helf Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I knoww that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast inJesus Christ
His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

a different kind of adventure

"Blah blah blah blah blah malaria blah blah blah blah malaria..."

So far, all I'm getting from the Emergency Room doctor is that maybe I have malaria. The rest of the words that are coming from his mouth in Hebrew are basically meaningless. Pondering the extreme hilarity of getting malaria BEFORE I go to the Malaria-Headquarters of the world (INDIA)I've decided that things really can't get much worse than this.

Which was my thought until the doctor ordered another round of tests which included another urine sample in a cup that was more like a take-out soup bowl. Oh, yeah. And then a literal crack-addict WALKED IN ON ME in the bathroom, pee-bowl in hand.

Now, dear reader, before you become too alarmed that I'm somehow holed up in a hospital somewhere in Israel, I am perfectly well now. So, you may continue to read with good conscious that your prayers for my safety and well-being are still being answered. PTL.

It all started with a little bit of heartburn. Which turned into a lot of heartburn, and then some acid reflux. Which somehow morphed into heaving and gagging up bile. Which then turned into some kind of chest pain and a lively fever of some degree Celsius. 4 hours later of the emergency room, a sketchy prognosis of "Upper Respiratory Infection- MOST LIKELY" and a presciption of some kind of 17 shekel antibiotic, I was back to the hostel and to bed.

The hospital sort of felt like a circus. People screaming in Russian, Hebrew, Yiddish. Someone needed to be resuscitated-- so Grey's Anatomy. My doctor, the intern, told me that he didn't serve in the army because he was a political activist. Whatever that means.

Last weekend's strange illness seems like a dream now. Really, am back to 100% and so thankful too, because we went South for a three day trip to Be'er Sheva, Ein Gedi, and Masada...a hike that made the trek to Cabin 8 look like an ant hill; the view, so worth it.

I'll be honest- visiting a hospital in Israel is not exactly what I had in mind when I signed up for this adventure. Yet, the Lord's faithful provision never ceases to amaze me. The total bill was 975 shekel. The Lady behind the desk probably watched my face blanch when she handed me the receipt because she quickly said,

"Is it too much money?"

"Uh, well. That's a lot, I think... I just didn't bring that much with me...didn't anticipate spending 1000 shekel at a hospital on this trip..."

"So, you're visiting Israel then? We'll give you the Tourist Discount. We'll take 500 shekels off. We want you to come back to Israel, just not to the hospital."

Fist pump for socialized medicine. Double pump for the Lord's mercy.

Rachel

sort of like splunking...

Things that are running through my head as we are crawling on our hands and knees through 2 by 3 ft tunnels in Israel:

I hope Al Queda isn't hiding around the next corner....
......Why don't we have a flashlight?..........Am strangely comforted that someone's butt is in my face..........Ow! Ow! OWWW!! What is that?!
Oh. a tick. In my arm.

That's when I started crying (a little bit) and panicking as it was pitch black, dank, and every claustrophobe's worst nightmare. But dangit, we were doing team bondinng, and nothing seals friendship like hanging on to eachother's ankle's for dear life and removing ticks from arms by light of a camera flash.

Maybe I'm not making myself clear here.

We were dropped off at these caves in the foothills of southern Israel and instructed to crawl into a jet black tunnel---watch out for that 10 foot drop off---sans flashlight, and thanks to David and Abbie not being afraid of ANYTHING, we somehow made it out of the tiny tiny tiny tunnels (by way of a traumatically difficult and small hole to crawl out of. I believe that this must be what childbirth is like for the baby: what is that bright light? I'm being squashed. HELP! HELP!... no wonder we've repressed that memory).

And aside from the probable lyme disease that I caught from ol' ticky-poo, wriggling through the caves was the craziest most fun thing I've ever done. Don't worry, I'm not an adrenaline junkee now, but it was cool to be completely surrounded and enclosed and in a place where a million bad things could really happen (walls collapsing, water flooding in, terrorists, bats, someone in front of you farting) and to really have to take my thoughts captive.

I know that I am not the only one who struggles daily to control my thoughts on topics varying from relationships to body image, fear of death and doubts of faith, but it is so important to be able to dwell on things that are true, lovely, edifying etc and in this specific instance, to remind myself that I belong to a God who put those danky little tunnels in the earth in the first place.

And if God can deliver us from the bowels of the earth, just like he did with the Messianic Jews who were hiding in those very tunnels from the Romans in the early second century, then he can most certainly deliver us from our paralyzing claustrophicizing (new word. dig it)thoughts.

I'm trying to think about a parallel I can draw with the tick and some other kind of spiritual epiphany, but I don't want to push it.

Thanks for praying. Life is good here.

rachel

ps. i'm really going to try to get a hold of some picture to put on here, but i didn't bring an adapter for my camera...silly me!

broadsiding 101. no extra charge for the vomit.

Don't worry everyone. My vocabulary is improving immensely.
I know that the word, "mazeh?!" followed by rapid Hebrew and fist shaking from the Orthodox man pointing at my t-shirt means to turn around. Fast. Actually, mazeh (excuse my phonetics) means, "what is this/that?"...but that's the basic picture of what it looks like to be doing evangelism here. Fight or flight in a sense.

When we hit the streets and pass out tracts, we don't like to trick people into talking to us, so we're quite honest about who we are and what we believe: Elochim yehudim mishochim (we are Messianic Jews). So we wear t-shirts that say something catchy (or offensive to those who do not believe that Yeshua is the Messiah).. the shirts pretty much generate conversation and are also a good way of sending out the message, "We are different"

...and you thought being different in junior high was hard.

You know, a lot of my life I really wrestled with the idea of being Messianic. I attended a private Christian school for k-8; I spent most of my summers at an all-girls Christian summer camp; I was involved with YL for a bit in high school; I was really involved with Campus Christian Fellowship at Truman... all of these were all great opportunities for fostering spiritual growth and gaining understanding of what it means to be a follower of Jesus, but aside from my home-life and being sort of involved at my home-congregation, there wasn't a whole lot of opportunity to see what it looked like to be Messianic- to be embracing my Jewish identity while following hard after the Lord.

I think it's just been really incredible to be here, even though we get spit at (yum) vommited on (I don't think they did that on command.. it was just unfortunate) sworn at (I don't know the curses for that yet, so I'm fairly oblivious) and one of my friends was even pushed into the street. It can be ruthless.

But the joy.

Seriously, the joy in getting to sit with an old man named Jacob and share with him that he can have life anew in Yeshua; the joy in waking up and having a quiet time on a roof of a building that over looks the mediterranean sea; the joy in running down the streets of Tel Aviv at night with friends, Israeli air in our lungs; the joy and satisfaction in being able to say confidently, "ani lo kapit" (I am not a spoon)...basically it makes the hard stuff worth it.

Am so thankful to be in community with other Jewish believers. We're all really really different. Pretty much can only think that the Lord has something incredible in mind when he threw all of us together for the summer.

Am looking forward to seeing the Lord do good work here.

Jerusalem tomorrow. Yessssssssss.


Rachel

Jesus wuz here.

First of all, thanks for praying. We arrived safe and sound. And no luggage was lost!

Our first night together was typical: awkward. But now, after 24 hours of traveling and a day and half in the Holy Land we are practically family. So great. So so great. I would launch into great details about everyone here, but I've only got this computer for a couple of minutes, and need to share what's important enough for you to read.

I am tempted to give you a play-by-play of what we've eaten since I'm pretty much in hummus heaven, but the general consensus on blogs about food is either that they are 1) julie (of Julie and Julia) 2) boring 3) mean, since the food that's being written about is probably going to make you hungry...so, I'll skip that.

Here's the good stuff for now:

Less than 20 hours in Israel and I was almost arrested.
Liz and I decided to go for a run (try not to laugh too hard, ok?) and as we're crossing the street to turn toward the Sea (as in the mediteranean...nbd) Running where Jesus probably walked) a police officer waves over at us and another lady runnner coming from a different direction (I mean, she was like hard core. Full Nike ensemble etc.) and starts scolding in Hebrew.
To which I respond, "Lo Ivrit...?" I seriously couldn't even remember the only full sentence of Hebrew I had come to Israel with. When he found out we were tourists, after we continued to stare blankly at him, and then started yelling at the other woman runner.
What we gathered from the one sentence of Anglit (English), "Israelis, we never cross at the light!", we believed that we had possibly (ok, probably) crossed the street when the little man was red and not green (so handy that those color codes are mostly universal) and were being scolded...which really could have been a ticket or some jail time because the Nike Lady Runner was being escorted to the cop car and Liz and I took the opportunity to run for it.
Literally.

So, two points for running. And seven points for not getting arrested.

I like it here.
More info to come. E-mail me!

Lehitraot,
Rachel

final countdown

"Now many of you don't know this, but Turkey and Iran are now coming together to invest in the extraction of the natural sources of Uranium, and perfect the engineering of the bomb that they will use to launch this massive atomic uranium bomb on Israel. And then America...blah blah blah blah"

...I'm beginning to tune out of this sermon because all I am getting from this guy is the fact that I am dead. meat.

At three days until my launch into the far reaches of the earth, I had woken up massively anxious. My mind was racing, trying to sort through everything that I need to get done, all of the things that I didn't finish yet, how was I going to pack ten weeks worth of clothing, shoes, necesities etc. into a not large pack...Decided that it would be a good idea to get myself to Church to spend some time thinking about things that were True, Lovely, Admirable etc etc and not what was going to give me a premature ulcer. So I decided to check out a church that I had visited a lot when I was in high school when I had rehearsals or events on Saturdays and had to miss time at Olive Tree. I was slightly discouraged to find that a guest pastor was preaching, but almost "jubileed" (spontaneous dancing...great word though, right?) when he said that he was speaking about the Holy Land! I almost turned to the lady next to me and exclaimed, "I'll be there in less than a week!" I contained myself though, and poised my pen ready to take note.


10 minutes later, my heart is racing, my palms are sweating, and I'm squirming anxiously in my seat while mentally kicking myself for going to church alone. After hearing the little bit on uranium bombs I was thinking that this would be an appropriate time to share some nervous laughter with someone I know, or politely ask if I can borrow their inhaler because I am feeling myself begin to hyperventilate. In a word, I was fearful I can see a little more clearly now that this heart racing, mind spinning, get-me-out-of-this-church-pew fear that I was experiencing was not simply a product of a pre-trip jitters.

I think, it was a form of spiritual attack, by way of a sermon of all things!

Satan certainly is crafty...


Luckily, the Lord prevails. And while The Deceiver is at work to try to pelt my heart with doubts and fears, cold feet, second guessing, the Lord has gone before me to prepare a way for me and the team that I am serving with. I think that I have just been affirmed in the fact that I really cannot do this summer without a total dependence on Yeshua, that every good thing will be a tangible reality that His grace really is sufficient and His love knows no bounds.

I am comforted by the promise of His faithfulness not only to me, but to the people Israel.

Fear, mostly quelled. Excitement, all time high. Can't wait to see where Jesus lived!

Thanks for praying,
Rachel

the beginning

"Now, are you aware of the hazards and risks to your health and general well being for this trip Rachel?" asked Lynn, the lovely nurse from the health clinic.

"Uh...wear sunscreen and bugspray, right?" I didn't really want to know all of the gory details of how I was voluntarily launching my life into great peril. I came to the clinic to get whatever immunization I needed for protection against any infectious diseases like...you know, death.

Lynn looked at me and smiled. And then whipped out, a 16 page document chalk full of every disease, bug, parasite, virus, infection, or illness that I could possibly contract in Israel or India. After going over the troubles of dengue fever, typhoid, travelers diarrhea, hepatitis a-c, polio, measles, japanese encephalitis, and rabies(NOM) Lynn paused for a breath and looked me in the eyes.

"We need to talk about Malaria."

Turns out I have three options for Malaria vaccinations, only at best 92% effective. One involves night terrors, extreme anxiety, and hallucinations. True life, I am already a weenie and do not need any medication that will induce what I can achieve on my own, thank you very much. The second option, is acne medication. Pros and cons to this one. I'll have great skin while in India, but will also be extremely susceptible to sunburn. Also have to take is for 6 weeks following the trip. Eh. The third option sounds great. No massive side effects, quite effective in staving off malaria. Downside? Pricy.

After more directions on how to stay well whilst overseas from Lynn, and me suggesting that perhaps I should just wear the DEET treated mosquito net like a burkha for real surefire protection (Lynn wasn't as amused at that as I was...) I got my shots, and some cute Band-Aids. I mean, seriously cute Band-Aids.

Despite my sore arms and a whole new set of fears for this trip, I am really excited. Excited to see the Lord at work. Excited to meet Him in His Land. Excited to grow, be challenged, establish relationships with these new people that I've never known before. Excited to have community with other Jewish believers in Messiah Jesus. What a rich experience this will be.

I am glad that you are reading this now. I am hoping that you will be able to follow along on this blog and be encouraged and challenged. Hope that these posts provide specific ways for you to be praying for the effectiveness in reaching God's Chosen People with His testament of faithfulness: the Messiahship of Jesus! Also am hoping that you will be able to laugh with me as I'm sure that this summer will conjure funny/awkward/hysterical situations-- like wrapping mosquito netting around myself to fend off things like malaria. Pesky little illness, that one.


Shalom shalom,
Rachel