Same God

More than forty different nationalities. Every inhabited continent. Ah, a truly international church.

I was super excited to visit the international church here in Rabat and was even more excited when Byron, one of the guys on my team, said he'd be more than willing to come with.

Worship was wonderful. I felt parts of my brain being tugged by memories of Uganda three and a half years ago. What was it about the church that made me feel-- that at least part of me-- was back in a mud-brick structure with hay roofs? Was it the fervent worship? Was it the beautiful voices rising up all around me? Another memory tugged at my mind, beckoning me to remember the multi-ethnicity I enjoyed at InterVarsity large groups. I saw people of all backgrounds surrounding me. And still, I felt at home, as if I were in Colombia, with the lively worship.

Ah, who cares what memory it was bringing up.

I was there, and it was wonderful.

I simply closed my eyes and savored the moment. Would heaven be like this? Even in the slightest? Would I hear different accents and languages?

The love and joy was so evident and I wanted to find ways to get involved with this wonderful congregation.

During worship I was also reminded of my friend Lauren's prayer for me before I left for Rabat: May she remember that you are the same God in Illinois that you are in Colombia, that you are in Morocco.

Ahh, the truth of her prayer resonated deeply in my soul and I knew that the same God that I know, love and follow in Colombia, Canada or the USA is here.

He's already here and he's shining brightly.

Anemone Pimples

"Meshi mushkela?" I asked, slightly concerned.

He opened his eyes wide and shook his head fervently, "MUSHKELA!!"

We had just touched at sea anemone,  and now Farid was telling us there was a problem. Ayub had said there wasn't, and even touched it before we had, but now Farid tried to explain there was a problem. I thought I had clearly asked if it was dangerous to touch it. Hahaha. So I thought...

He scooped up some round shells and spread them over his arms. Chessy pointed to a pimple and he nodded.

Great, we're going to get anemone pimples now.

- - -

Cous cous Friday today so we all met at Madiha (our program director's house) for lunch. Super delicious and then we headed off to a beach walk. Madiha sent two of her nephews (I believe?) to accompany us. I tried making conversation with them, but really, what else can you talk about when your Arabic doesn't go much more than asking how they are and what their names are.

Darby and I at the "beach"

When we got to the beach they told us to take our shoes off and follow them on the rocky parts. We balanced along some parts and I felt my pulse quicken when I saw sea urchins in the pools right by feet. But no problem, I got to hold one later :)

And then, then we got to the sea anemone.

I felt slightly Moroccan because we were all yelling at each other, but no one was angry. We were trying to string together French or Arabic to figure out what in the world was going to happen to us.

I think we concluded that for today, we were okay. Maybe because its not summer? Or maybe because it didn't sting us? Or grab us? Or something us. However, I believe, that we will be okay.

So far, no anemone pimples.

Sink or Swim: On Your Marks...

I found myself giggling uncontrollably. A huge smile spread across my face and I absolutely knew without a doubt that I looked like a goof. But I couldn't help it. This was my way of dealing with nervousness and anxiety. You know, uncontrollable giggling. It drives some people crazy when they're stressed or scared, but I can't actually help it that my default is to laugh.

We were in the car with my host dad ("baba") and he spoke absolutely no English. He had gotten out of the car to help another student with his luggage, leaving me and Lesley behind. I burst into laughter and felt a release of anticipation and nervousness.

Yes, I really was on my way to meet my host family and yes they really didn't speak any English. Sure, they spoke some French, but considering my French doesn't go beyond merci and bon jour, I wasn't counting on any help from that romance language.

Lesley and I swallowed hard and once again I found myself grinning.

Once back in the car, my baba was super nice and tried to make polite conversation. I was surprised at the amount of Arabic I was able to catch and flattered when he understood my broken phrases strung together.

After dropping of Lesley, we headed to my home for the next four months. My host brother, Ala, met us downstairs and carried my bag up five flights of stairs. Like Colombia, no elevators. No surprise there.

My host mom ("oma") is a sweet, small lady who kissed my cheeks immediately, repeating "salaam." They showed me around the apartment and then allowed me to unpack before dinner. For dinner, we had delicious tajine, a typical Moroccan dish (I'll describe it more in a later post), and of course... bread :D

I focused so hard on their conversation, on the National Geographic program on TV, on signs on other conversations, yet found it so hard to follow anything. Zoning out was easier, so it happened several times. Often, my thoughts would wander down rabbit trails, following things that reminded me of home: A Mago de Oz sweatshirt, my parents' ringtone, a familiar smell. Then, I'd hear a familiar Arabic word, jerking me back into the present conversation.

Phew :)
Sink or swim. Time to actually learn this language...

On your marks, get set...

GO!