August of 2008 was quite a season for my husband and I. First, I broke my neck and collapsed my spinal cord. (No worries, I’m fine now, sort of) then, my husband tore his rotator cuff and we had to return from an out-of-town trip to have back-to-back surgeries on a Monday and Tuesday. On Thursday, I flew to the Bahamas for my niece’s wedding. On Friday I swam with the dolphins. Saturday, I boarded a plane headed for home just ahead of a hurricane that shut down the airport in the Bahamas. Sunday, my husband and I both boarded a plane for our planned tour of Israel. There we were, me in a neck brace with Frankenstein type wounds on my neck and my dear husband with his shoulder elevated and extended in a sling. We were so ready to seize the day!
I could go on to tell you about each day of the trip in great detail, the feel of sailing across the Sea of Galilee in a wooden boat with the wind in my hair and the scent of Jesus trailing across the water. I could relay the chill of the frigid water as it crept up my ankles and then to my thighs as we traversed through Hezekiah’s tunnel. I could describe the peaceful albeit disturbing darkness that settled around us when we turned off our flashlights in that long underground tunnel.
I could impart to you the way I felt as if I could transcend time as I stood on the stage of the giant amphitheater in Caesarea Philippi. I could paint a picture for you of the carnality that littered the Via Dolorosa as we made our way to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I could mimic the desperation of the little old ladies who tore through the barricade at the alter there as if in some vain attempt to reach our God who is available to us where we stand, no matter where we are. I could impart to you the scent of the Arabian market place that stank of odd spices and musty disregard. I could relay the feeling I got as staring eyes of hatred bore through me just because I was American. I will never forget the oppressive darkness that seemed to envelope us there and the impression it left on me.
There was the Garden of Gethsemane and its Olive trees and grand view and the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem where we observed a time of prayer and contemplation. The sight of the Bedouins along the highways and their tent cities gave us moments of pause as we considered their lifestyle. I could describe the meal we ate while perched atop a pile of pillows at a knee high table and scooped from a communal bowl. I could show you the pictures of each of us mounting our camel for the departure in the gritty wind as our scarves floated behind us. I could tell you of the fruit in abundance in rows and rows everywhere we went but how we were frequently served canned or frozen produce because they export most of their bounty.
I could tell you about the ring of oil that rested along the tile rim of the hotel “hot tub” that was as large as a swimming pool and nestled in the basement of a fine hotel. The intricate tile work and surrounding mosaics made me half expect a prince and his harem to appear.
I could tell you about our Jewish tour guide and his many details of history. I could sweep my arms wide to virtually invite you into the path among the stone arches as we made our way under the wailing wall. I could bow my head in respect for the women who are still oppressed as there remains a determined separation of men and women. There were orthodox Jews wandering the streets expecting their government to support them in trade for their willingness to dedicate their free time to the practice of learning and keeping the old laws. There were young soldiers serving their time for their country on nearly every corner or every street. They were imposing with their guns and gear but in conversation they were young and eager with a zest for life and country.
Yes, all of those things and more made for a memorable trip but if there was one thing that happened on this trip that stands out and haunts me it has to be what we witnessed on the temple mount. The temple mount as a “tourist” destination is run by Muslims. They checked each of us as we passed through the entrance gate subjecting each of us to their definition of “discreet”. Most of us passed by un-noticed but one of our group was called out to be more heavily draped with a scarf because her t-shirt wasn’t baggy enough. I guess she looked too much like a woman or perhaps the Muslim guard found himself attracted to her buxom beauty.
The grounds inside the gate were beautifully manicured and we were told to be extra attentive to our speech and actions while in the area so as not to offend the Muslims and put ourselves in danger.
We were led to a short stone wall and instructed to be seated and wait there. While we waited, a small boy about 5 years old, came to our group with an armload of postcards and our tour guide sent him away. We watched him as he made his way to the next group and the next and so on and so on. As he reached the far end of the sidewalk we noticed an aging woman on a blanket under a tree. She made the temple mount seem like a mere public park rather than the most famous plot of earth on the planet.
The boy seemed to dread reaching the end of the row. We all sat almost holding our breath anticipating the older woman to reach out in love and embrace the trembling child. Imagine our surprise when she reached up, grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to the ground and began to beat him with her basket and her fist.
She and the boy made the most disturbing feral sounds as she beat him into submission and when the boy went limp she kicked him with her feet back into the sidewalk pushing and prodding until he pulled himself up from the stone path. With tears in his eyes and dirt and gravel on his marred skin he stood and began walking to the front of the line of tourists. We watched in horror as she re-composed herself and quietly tucked her hands and feet inside her dark garment and smiled a small, almost imperceptible smile. The child pulled out the postcards and re-approached the nearest group of bleeding hearts.
Recently, in a parking lot, I saw a young mother embrace her child in love and adoration. It looked as if the child was returning from a weekend with her dad; but only seconds after Dad pulled away everything changed. As she hugged this sweet child of God she noticed the child’s shoes were dirty and instantly her sweetness turned to blind fury and she began to berate the child and make threats to the child and use the most profane words. The child began to tremble in fear and then she went stone still while the mother ripped the shoes off the child’s feet and threw them far into the parking lot and told the child she was worthless and incapable of taking care of her things and didn’t deserve shoes or presents or any of the things other kids were allowed to have.
This went on and on like a slow motion video of a train wreck. I approached the woman and gently tried to reason with her and plead with her or at the very least distract her. Normally, when a child is being reprimanded in public I walk away and let people parent in whatever way works for their family. I am not the kind of person to butt in or insert my opinion where I don’t belong; but this was an exception to the rule. I could not just stand there and watch this child crumble before my eyes.
As I spoke the woman seemed as if she suddenly realised she was in public and out of control and she made her way to the drivers side of the car and got in leaving the child standing there, helpless. I honestly thought she was about to leave the poor girl there in the parking lot.
Images of what I could do were racing through my mind as well as their consequences. As I stood semi-frozen trying to determine what needed to happen the woman reached through the passenger door and yanked the girl into the car and sped off even before the door was closed. The woman pulled away in a cloud of dust and screeching tires.
I stood there helpless and stunned. My mind couldn’t compute what had just happened.
I couldn’t help but break down in deep sorrowful tears and cry out to my God for mercy for the children of the world who are at the mercy of the people in their lives who are supposed to protect and love them. As I sat there in the parking lot broken by what I had witnessed my anger began to grow and I cried out to God: “What can I do Lord”, “What can I do”.
Lord, let me be wise in these situations. Let me walk in confidence. Let me not be overcome by fear. Let me be who you want me to be when these opportunities present themselves. I sincerely hope this woman drove away and repented her actions and while she can never take away the feeling of worthlessness she unloaded on that child I beg of you Lord please make that woman make every effort to make it up to her and rescue that child from every being humiliated like that ever again.
Today in church we sang; it was a good reminder to me that God is in control and while I wasn’t able to rescue that child from that monster of a mom, my God can protect the child and strengthen her and prayerfully God will deliver her and every child like her from this abuse:
You Hold It All by the Newsboys
From the highest of mountains
To the depths of the sea
From the planets in motion
To the breath that we breathe
From the womb of the barren
To the rich and the poor
To the dreams of the orphan
Every heart beat is Yours
You hold it all (every mountain, every valley)
You hold it all (every tear drop, every heartbeat)
In my weakness You’re my victory
In my sickness You surround me
I believe that You hold it all
It’s in the roar of the lions
It’s in the wind and the waves
It’s in the glory of sunrise
And the lives that You change
You hold it all (every mountain, every valley)
You hold it all (every tear drop, every heartbeat)
In my weakness You’re my victory
In my sickness You surround me
I believe that You hold it all
You stand alone in splendor
You reign in majesty
Your hands formed all creation
Your hands are holding me
You are my hope forever
You are the sovereign King
You are my friend and Savior
I believe that You hold it all (every mountain, every valley)
You hold it all (every tear drop, every heartbeat)
In my weakness You’re my victory
In my sickness You surround me
I believe that You hold it all
I believe that You hold us all (Every mother, every father)
You hold us all (Every son and every daughter)
You hold us all (Every saint, every sinner)
You are sovereign, You’re forever
We believe that You hold us all
Yes, You hold us all
Songwriters: Brandon Michael Collins / Travis Ryan Collins / Jordan Randall Merritt / Seth David Mosley
You Hold It All lyrics © Capitol Christian Music