dissection: an outsider looking in

The thing about living in another country is that you will always be an outsider. The language isn't yours. Even when you are fluent, there are tons of nuances and idioms that go over your head. The customs are strange, foreign, interesting--wrapped up in layers of traditions and heritage that you will never fully understand no matter how many questions you ask or how often you participate and try to fit in. It's like dissecting the many (and seemingly unending) parts of a cow in order to understand the whole.


This past month, I had the privilege of first-hand experience in the butchering of a cow (and a sheep) during the Eid celebrations. Eid al Adha (Holiday of the Lamb), or Eid Kabeer (Big Holiday) as my Moroccan friends call it, is a three-day celebration in which every family kills a sheep, and then participates in eating delicious meals together.


Of course, just as each family in the States has their family traditions in how to celebrate Christmas, so it is with the Eid. Some families may sacrifice a goat instead of a sheep. Others a cow. When I ask about this, I get different answers. Everyone has an opinion on the animal of choice, the purpose of the celebration, and the significance of the sacrifice.


Join me as I observe, dissect and participate in this rich piece of my host country's tradition...


September 30- On my way to class today I noticed a few men leading sheep down the street. Some were led with ropes, others hauled in carts. It reminded me that the Eid was coming up and I knew that these animals were being led to their temporary and last homes. Men are also selling piles of hay for families to keep their sheep alive until the appointed day.


October 2- More and more sheep! Sometimes I see men with goats or cows instead. My language teacher said that normally cows are killed for a whole village or an extremely large family. She said others will purchase a cow to show how wealthy they are. My host mama told me they are getting a cow and a sheep this year. I don't think they are wealthy, but her husband just got back from working several months out of country and had his savings.


October 3- I came home from class to find a cow and a sheep tethered in the central courtyard of our home. Hay and water were laid out for them, as well as huge rags to collect any urine and fecal matter. I thought about how every family had the same scene in their houses. Some may keep the sheep in their bathroom. I also know that those who live in apartments keep the sheep in a small room on the roof. By this evening it definitely smells and sounds like we are living in a barn. I suppose I'll fall asleep to moos and baas!


October 4- This morning the cow met her fate. Several extended family members arrived to help (but mostly to watch and take pictures). The butcher arrived around noon. The first task was to get the cow on her side, which took several bodies to bring her down. Her legs were then quickly tied together. The butcher twisted the cow's neck tight and all the men held her in place as the butcher made a quick and experienced slash with his knife across the cow's jugular. Blood filled the tiled courtyard and the women and children got busy with water buckets and squeegees to guide the flow toward the drain. The cow shuddered for several minutes (reaction of the nerves, she was already dead) before she was still enough where the men could let go.


With the cow on her back and men holding the hoofs, the butcher began skinning the cow. He then opened the belly to remove all the innards. There are a lot of innards! My host mama and her husband began to open and clean out each of the seven stomachs, filled with hay in varying stages of digestion. The courtyard was covered with wash tubs and buckets of water to rinse and clean every piece. Next came the intestines, which were the smelliest to clean. The lungs came out with the esophagus, which the 14-year-old son blew into to make the lungs expand. All the other organs were also carefully removed: the heart, liver, kidneys, pancreas. More and more wash bins were filled. The cow looked as if she had nothing left to offer--so thin and skeletal. I felt a bit deceived in how much meat she ought to have provided. But the butcher quartered the cow, and the huge pieces were placed on a tarp in a side room to rest. The butcher's services were over, so he left.


By this time a couple hours had passed and everyone was getting hungry. My mama took a big slice of the liver and began to grill it over coals. She then cut it up, wrapping the pieces in bits of intestine and then skewered them to grill some more. It was a delicious meal.


Then we got back to work, cleaning and cutting up the innards. I believe this work will take a few days to accomplish. My mama pressure-cooked a huge pot of mixed innards and that is what I ate for dinner. It was extremely fatty, but great flavor. I've never been a huge fan of meat, much less fat. I looked longingly at the bread I couldn't eat and wished I could fill mostly up on that like everyone else. But God gave me grace to enjoy my meal. Meat and fat is all I'll be eating this week, I'm sure! We went to bed; most everything was left out in buckets and bins. To be honest, I'm not so worried about refrigeration--it's super fresh meat, right?


October 5- Today, the first day of Eid, we ate the cow's head for breakfast. It was the most tender meat I had ever eaten and quite delicious. The first day of Eid also meant the day to kill the sheep. Family members showed up again, though it didn't seem to hold the same amount of excitement as the day before. It seemed much more routine--everyone knew what to do, the sheep's end was quick and everything was cut and cleaned before I even realized it had started. My mama made a drying seasoning using cumin, paprika, parsley, and tons of salt. She carefully rubbed it over the cow's and sheep's intestines and let them all marinate in a huge bucket overnight. That day we ate sheep liver wrapped in intestines. And more of the innards stew.


I knew that the tradition of Eid stems back to when God told Abraham to sacrifice his son, and just as Abraham was carrying out God's command, God provided a lamb to sacrifice instead. So I decided to ask my Mama about it. She agreed that the holiday is meant to be a time to remember God's provision. But she also said that there are many people who forget that and get into fights when out purchasing their sheep. In a conversation with another friend I was told that the sheep sacrifice is to cover the family's sin over the year. But not everyone views it that way either.


October 6- Another day, another breakfast. This time it was eggs scrambled with the brains. I'd stab a piece with my fork, not knowing if it was an egg chunk or a brain chunk until I chewed. Brains are a bit gamey tasting for me--I wouldn't want to make a solo meal of them. My mama took the seasoned intestines to the roof and hung them on the clothesline to dry. Today we ate a beef tagine. I was grateful for a reprieve from the innards.


October 7- The third and final day of the Eid and almost all the innards have been properly eaten, hung to dry, or placed in the fridge for later. It was finally time to work on the beef quarters that were still on the tarp in my mama's bedroom. Mama and her husband cut and chopped away, sorting pieces to make into tagines or to serve with couscous. The 8-year-old daughter and I were put in charge of cutting up the leaner pieces of meat for kebabs. Fattier pieces were placed aside to bring to the butcher to have ground into hamburger. And other pieces were cut into long strips to be seasoned and hung just like the intestines. We ate a lot of kebabs today, which was so nice! The meat was bagged and placed in the freezer, and we were finally done.


October 9- But not done eating meat! A couple meals the past few days we were fed lamb tagine with prunes--a truly amazing dish that I would be happy to eat anytime.


October 11- It's been a week since the whole meat adventure started. I thought the innards were all taken care of by now, but today Mama informed me that we would be eating the pancreas stuffed with hamburger. While we were in the kitchen she gave me a piece of meat to try. It was soft and just kind of melted down the throat. Definitely pure fat. Later I found out it was the sheep's testicles. Everyone laughed at me and asked if I'd like more. I assured them I was quite content, and passed the plate on--"B'saha" (To your health), I said.


October 12- I made it through the week! My host family was quite pleased that I was willing to try everything. I think they enjoyed sharing this part of their culture with me, and I am grateful that they did. I've learned that we Americans waste too much edible (and delicious) animal parts, refrigeration is (a bit) overrated, the Eid is too rich to explain and understand in just one week, and that I am still a complete foreigner. I'm also super glad that vegetables are back on the menu!

the pet of fes

Once upon a time there was an old, beautiful city called Fes which was full of community pets. Cats were the most common of these: roaming the narrow streets, playing in the doorways, and constantly getting underfoot. Some people would bring their scraps to feed the strays, others would mercilessly kick and shoo them away. Chickens were also well known by the community, kept in cages for the eggs they produced. Roosters added to the noise, color and bustle of the venders and buyers. And of course, there was the constant flow of mules and donkeys hauling carts and various merchandise, and the occasional calf or sheep being led by his master. Fes accepted, ignored or made use of all its pets. But perhaps the most acknowledged pet--whether loved or hated--was the foreigner, who provided endless entertainment for the Fes residents.


One day, one such pet migrated to the old city. Her name was Kat. Pet Kat was adopted by one of the families of Fes, and quickly taken in by the community. Every day that Pet Kat headed into the streets, she was greeted by many calling for her attention. "Bon jour madam. Hello." "Do you like our city?" "Come into my shop. I have the best price, just for you." (What Pet Kat heard was, "Here, kitty, kitty," and generally ignored such encounters.)


Frequently the young men of the community would attempt flattery to capture Pet Kat's interest. "You're very beautiful. Not just today, but forever." "Very nice." "Are you married?" "Come get a drink with me." Catcalls were never more appropriately named when it came to Fes and its foreign female pets. But Pet Kat knew better, and instead of wagging her tail and getting all excited like puppies do to praise, she would keep her eyes lowered (and tail tucked) as she continued on her way. Inwardly she might laugh at some of the more sappy pieces of flattery, but mostly she didn't like how they treated her; it felt degrading.


And just like children like to imitate animals, so does Fes its pets. Oftentimes when Pet Kat struggled to speak in her host country's language she was met with laughter and mimicking ridicule. While Pet Kat thought she was saying it right, her new community heard "bow wow!" and responded in kind. Fortunately she was able to laugh at herself and keep trying. And most of the residents were willing to correct her and patiently listen to her frail attempts of communication, for which she was grateful.


One time Pet Kat went to a shop for a particular item. The shop owner kindly told her he didn't have it, but suggested a shop nearby. That shop didn't have it either, but a map was drawn for The Pet to guide her to another place. Pet Kat quickly found the store; but it was locked, though the sign said it was open. A young man informed her that the owner would return shortly, so she decided to wait. But then he offered to show her another place. Pet Kat weighed her options and chose to chase the string some more. After a few twists and turns, the store was encountered, but yet again resulted unsuccessful. The boy led her to one more across the street where finally Pet Kat found what she needed. The Fes boy thought he had earned a date with The Pet, but she declined, while thanking him for his help. Pet Kat turned the corner to return home, only to recognize her surroundings and realize that the boy had led her in a big circle from where he had first encountered her. She shook her head at the games and tricks he had made her play, licked her paw and swallowed her pride.


Another day, Pet Kat went to the park for some alone time and to paint. She found the park peaceful and she enjoyed soaking up the afternoon sun. A lady with her sister and brother-in-law and mother came and sat down next to her. "Bon jour madam," she began. As it was a woman talking to her, Pet Kat replied with "Salam alekum." Laughter from all four was her reward. The lady began to speak and ask all sorts of things in Arabic, none of which Pet Kat could comprehend. "Mafemptsh" (I don't understand), Pet Kat kept stating. They just kept laughing, "She doesn't understand!" Pet Kat went back to her painting, but the lady continued poking her with questions. She wanted The Pet's phone number. She wanted to take a photo of The Pet (which she did although Pet Kat had expressly told her no). Pet Kat felt cornered, like a caged animal in a zoo, her fur was ruffled. She slightly turned her back and returned to her painting, ignoring all further pokes and prods. Eventually the family left.


Everyone thought Pet Kat's accent and actions intriguing. It was irresistible to leave her alone; they wanted to be a part of her life. Pet Kat found her fish-bowl life to be extremely exhausting. Being an introverted pet, she would steal away to her room for peace, as a turtle retreats into his shell. There she would rest, message friends on facebook, and write silly blogs.


Pet Kat did find some friends who took a genuine interest in her--like her co-sufferers at her aerobics class (read previous blog), and her home-stay mom. Pet Kat learned and thrived with these people of Fes. She was happy; and if her friends listened closely, they may have heard her purr.

awkward aerobics

Pictures of muscle builders posted on a sign indicate the way down a twisting road toward the gym. I descend several stairs to enter at basement level, and using the few Arabic words I know, attempt to express my interest in joining the women's classes for a month. The young man behind the desk responds in French, which is no help to me. "English? Español?" I query. "La. No," he replies. I determinedly repeat my four Arabic words: "Mra´. Shar wahed. B´shal?" (Woman. One month. How much?) Being a smart young man, or because there is (hopefully) only one way those words can be interpreted given the context, he pulls out a registration form and has me fill out the necessary information and pay a 1 month fee of 250 dirham ($25). ¨The class will start in a few minutes,¨ he informs me (or something to that effect, I only understand a couple words). I nod and sit down to wait.


As I wait (I´ve learned that waiting is a quite common activity in this culture and I´m prepared to wait a long while) my mind wanders to why I´ve decided to join a gym in the first place. I´ve always enjoyed staying active, whether it be running, swimming, biking or climbing; and I know that if I go awhile without being active, I become lethargic and go stir-crazy. I already knew that my activity options would be limited during my month stay in Fes. While it is physically possible to go running, I really didn´t want to draw any extra attention to myself, a foreigner, nor did I want to encourage unwanted catcalls or advances from men. As a norm, women just don´t go running outside. Thus the gym. Here again I have limited options. Men and women do not work out at the same time, so this particular gym reserves three evenings a week for women. And currently there is only one class offered. Thus aerobics. I´m skeptical, but beggars can't be choosers.


After only a short wait (literally just the few promised by the young man), a woman enters. And then another. The third to approach speaks a bit of broken English and she encourages me to follow her. We pass underneath a curtained doorway (which has been hung expressly for the women's privacy) into the weight room where the women begin to change into their sportswear. One lady is wearing a tight body suit, another normal sweats and top. One young lady sports a push-up bra and a tight tank top, and an older lady has opted for baggy sweats and headscarf. I notice I´m wearing the shortest shorts though, coming to mid-thigh. Loud Arabic music begins blaring throughout the gym and the ladies begin to shimmy and dance. I can't help myself and begin to wiggle a bit as well. One lady behind me laughs and says (in Arabic which I undertand) to the others, "Look at her now!" I laugh too, but now I'm self-conscious and end my poor dance attempt.


After changing, spraying on tons of perfume and I assume catching up on all the current gossip, we pass through another curtain into a smallish open room covered with floor pads. Some women briskly walk around, while a few run. I start out walking and then jog--the room is too small to actually run. I quickly get tired of the senseless and dizzying circles. Finally our instructor enters and assumes charge at the front of the room by ordering out directions--in French! Un, deux, trois, quatre...I rigorously begin marching in place, lifting my arms above me and to the sides. Next come lunges and half kicks and other crazy marching steps--always marching. One particular marching series confuses me and I can´t seem to get the steps right. My instructor comes over and enthusiastically shows me the steps, all the while explaining in French. I smile and nod and keep attempting. She moves on when she sees relative success. Unfortunately I´m a hopeless case when it comes to the shake-nothing-but-the-hips routine. Next, our drill sergeant leads us through a series of arm lifts and circles (while still marching). I´m sweating now, but I chalk that up to the small room and absolute no air-flow due to the closed windows and curtained doorways.


Fifteen minutes later, as I start to wonder how effective all this really is, a dull ache betrays my doubts and spreads through my upper appendages. How long do I have to keep my arms circling? Some ladies give up. I catch eyes with the woman next to me and we both laugh at our miserable situation. Can we please move on to another exercise? A tingling sensation begins in my fingers--I think I´m losing circulation. Just as I bring my arms down to shake them out our instructor switches to a new repetition. Alhumdu'lla! (Thank God!)


Nearing the end of our hour, the women begin pulling yoga mats from a pile at the back of the room. I follow suit and cool down stretches commence. My mat already smells like stale sweat and I try not to think of how unsanitary this place is as I mimic the awkward poses of our instructor. She is even cruel with our stretches, walking around pushing and pulling on our spread legs to expand even further. I´m glad she passes me by. Finally everyone gives a cheer and claps. We must be finished. I sigh relief.


My broken-English friend, Fatima,* and my "look-at-her-now" friend, Bahija,* lead me back into the weight room where we gather up our clothes and they steer me toward the showers. "Daba doosh" (now showers) they tell me. Hmmm...I hadn´t prepared for this and didn´t think to bring soap or a towel. But in we go into one corner of the bathroom to strip sweaty clothes and bras. Only underwear modestly remains. My friends attempt to converse with me, and they laugh at and mimic my attempts at their language. I´m feeling vulnerable in more ways than one. Then my friends usher me into the shower room where there are four shower heads and several bodies underneath. I get under one and rinse off, careful not to bump any bodies or boobs--a difficult feat as everyone is quite large and the Minnesota space bubble is as foreign a concept to them as a potluck without a Jello salad. I´m surprised at how quickly I adjust to my new situation though, observing the ease of conversation and laughter, and I return a few friendly smiles. I leave the shower and head back to my clothes attempting to shake off as much water as possible. "Next time I´m bringing a towel" I tell myself. But Bahija comes up and offers me hers. Again, I try not to think about the unhygienic possibility, and gratefully accept and dry off. Fatima, Bahija and I finish dressing. "Nshoofu lhamis" (see you Thursday) I say. They laugh. Because they laugh at everything I say. "Insha'lla" (God willing) they respond. I´m glad I´ve made friends. Perhaps I´ll enjoy this aerobics class after all!


*not their real names

painting a story

Many of you have asked me to share the meaning behind my Legacy painting. To be honest, I´ve been a bit hesitant to do so beyond sharing that it springs from Isaiah 58:10-12 and my experience over the past few years working with North African women in Spain.

The reason for this is because I want you, the viewer, to spend time observing the painting to discover truth on your own. Artists aspire to create good art—art that communicates truth and beauty, art that is aesthetically pleasing, even sublime. An artist communicates through her artwork, so words are not necessary.

Of course, there are several paintings that I would like to know the artist´s story behind it. There is something about knowing the whole story—the thought process, ideas, experiences and emotions that the artist was communicating to express herself.

For me, art helps me to process my own experiences and emotions. I sense God speak to me through my painting, and his truth floods my mind and refreshes my soul. I often start with a well thought-out theme, but it continues to unfold new truths and ideas as I paint, surprising me. I am excited when my finished piece turns out even more wonderful and complex than I had first imagined. You see, the process of painting teaches and changes me. I come away from it understanding God, others, and myself better than I had before. My painting, Legacy, is by far the most detailed piece that shares my heart, my passion, the most intimate me in correlation to who my God is and the work he has given me to do.

You may worry that you might not see or understand exactly what the artist is communicating. That´s okay. All art, if it is good, will communicate universal truth. This truth may not always give you happy, feel-good feelings. Oftentimes art stirs up emotions and truth that is painful and must be wrestled with. Good art may make you just downright uncomfortable. But that can be a good place to be. As long as you allow yourself to study the colors, textures, lines, and subject matter and then ponder the emotions and thoughts that stir up within you and leave with a universal truth that it has taught you, you will be appreciating art the way it was intended.

So saying that, I hope you will take the time to do so with my painting now before reading my personal explanation.

¨If you are generous with the hungry and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out, your lives will begin to glow in the darkness, your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight. I will always show you where to go. I´ll give you a full life in the emptiest of places—firm muscles, strong bones. You´ll be like a well-watered garden, a gurgling spring that never runs dry. 

You´ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. You´ll be known as those who can fix anything, restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate, make the community livable again.¨

As I mentioned, this painting stems from a passage of Scripture found in Isaiah 58:10-12 which I stumbled across in the summer of 2009. I was nearing the end of my first year living overseas in Spain, working with North African immigrants. It had been a very long and difficult year, I was extremely lonely and homesick, and I was uncertain on whether I was going to continue on there or return to the States to stay. When I read the passage that summer, the words just jumped off the page. It seemed they had been written just for me, right then. This passage has remained a bedrock for me, as I did decide to continue on in Spain. The years have been long and hard, just as lonely, but also very exciting because I see God at work and I know I am where he wants me to be.

I first had the idea to create a henna design depicting the Isaiah passage. I love drawing henna designs on the hands of my Moroccan friends, and it is an important part of their culture. So in the summer of 2012, I began to sketch some ideas. With my progressing ideas, I quickly realized that this was not going to be a simple henna design—it was going to become a painting. The gold leaf design you see is what blossomed out of my first sketches. The underpainting and colors were dictated in relation to that.

You may notice that the bright colors are reminiscent of southern Spain and North Africa. The henna designs, of course, tie into this theme, and the Moorish ruins are actually the Alcazaba in Málaga, the city where I live.

The story starts with the painting of the hand. For me, this hand represents the hand of Christ, and you can see a bit of his white sleeve covering his forearm. He is reaching down to my foot—perhaps massaging, or the more well-known washing found in John 13:3-17, ¨…he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples´ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him,¨ but in either case, bringing relief for my tired and weary feet.

The path leading out from the ruins represents the road I have been walking—the life and work God has set out for me—I will always show you where to go. I am also reminded of Psalm 119, which holds 176 verses sharing about those ¨who walk according to the law of the Lord.¨

As this road passes under my foot and rises up the right-hand side it transforms into the silhouette of a woman. This signifies health and vigor,  firm muscles, strong bones. Personally, this is a huge encouragement to me as I have struggled with arthritic joint pain all my life and am currently dealing with some other health issues. The silhouette is a dark shadow, representing the emptiest of places—for me, that would be loneliness.

However, the path and silhouette are also blue, representing water—the well-watered garden, and the gurgling spring. And this path naturally leads the viewer´s eye to the painted lotus flower, representing the full life God promises in spite of the hardships. The passage shares: your lives will begin to glow in the darkness, your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight. Such a beautiful, encouraging promise, especially in the midst of hardship!

Of course, we cannot overlook that this promise is hinged on a condition: IF you are generous with the hungry, and give yourselves. So we move back into the hand again, this time through the gold leaf design. These symbols and designs were common in ancient art and are prominent in henna art today, communicating specific meanings.

If you look closely, you will first see a peacock. Looking more closely, you´ll notice that the peacock´s body is also the white sleeve underneath. My mind flooded with Bible passages as symbolic meaning flowed out from my brush. Peacocks symbolize love, passion, immortality, and royalty. Paintings of birds in general represent messengers between heaven and earth. As the peacock intricately embroidered Jesus´ garment, I pondered the significance of Jesus as High Priest. One purpose of the high priest is to serve as a mediator between God and people. As Hebrews 7:24-25 states, ¨…but because Jesus lives forever, he has a permanent priesthood. Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.¨

Observe again and you may see that the body of the peacock is also the palm of a hand, his head the thumb, and his long tail feathers represent fingers. It´s another hand on top of the hand of Christ—my hand. The peacock adorning my hand hints at who I am in Christ and my new calling. 1 Peter 2:9 reveals that ¨…you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness and into his wonderful light.¨ This ties right back into the Isaiah 58 passage and fleshes out further in 2 Corinthians 5:17-20, ¨Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men´s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ´s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ´s behalf: Be reconciled to God.¨

As an ambassador and messenger of God, my life needs to reflect the life of Christ, thus my palm imitating the hand of Christ. As Philippians 2:5-8 so beautifully expresses, ¨Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross!¨

In the painting we observe the beauty of the peacock´s feathers. Feathers remind us of truth, order, and justice. You may notice that the ends of the peacock´s tail feathers turn into raindrops which represent the love and affection of a woman. As a woman, I am reminded that God has created me uniquely to share his love with those around me. One of my favorite verses is Micah 6:8 which states, ¨He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.¨ The tail feathers and raindrops may also bring to mind the hair and tears of the sinful woman who anointed Jesus´ feet with perfume (Luke 7:36-50), reminding us that ¨whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me¨ (Matthew 25:40).

So if I truly am going to live out Christ´s example, then I will reach out to those hurting around me, spreading God´s love and bringing relief to the tired and weary—you´ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew…you´ll be known as those who can fix anything…make the community livable again. In art, hands and feet also express symbolic meaning. The palm expresses an opening and offering of oneself, and the foot is considered a point of divine contact, a holy junction. For me, it´s reaching out to women who are oppressed and on the fringe of society, represented by the Alcazaba ruins and the beautiful henna designs, especially the designs in the foot.

Near the toes you will notice unfertile fields—hard soil. This represents the foundations of past lives, the old ruins mentioned in Isaiah 58. But then you will see seeds beginning to sprout as the raindrops come in contact with the soil. And you will even see some squiggling lines representing flowing water—growth and renewal. This reminds me of Ezekiel 36:25-28, ¨I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your impurities and from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. You will live in the land I gave your forefathers; you will be my people, and I will be your God.¨

This foot is also walking along the path. When God fills us with his Spirit, we begin to walk in his ways. Jesus shares, ¨I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me¨ (John 14:6).

Coming up from the fertile garden you notice buds—representing new growth, flowers—signifying joy and happiness, and vines and leaves—symbolizing longevity, devotion, perseverance, prosperity, entwined lives and vitality. These symbols mirror the Isaiah 58 passage again, I will give you a full life in the emptiest of places. God never promised us an easy life by following him. Walking in his ways may lead us through hardships and we will need to persevere through them. ¨…he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in the paths of righteousness for his name´s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me¨ (Psalm 23:2-4). It is possible to have joy in the midst of whatever life brings us. ¨I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world¨(John 16:33).

These buds and vines lead us up into the lotus flower again. The lotus is very popular in henna art and represents grace, beauty, creativity, femininity, sensuality, and purity. It also declares a rising from the muck into something lovely—regeneration. I love this symbolism! And I love the passage that it brings to mind, where Isaiah prophesises how the Lord´s coming will ¨bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair¨ (Isaiah 61:3).* Coming out from the lotus flower are more vines and buds, drawing the viewer´s eyes back to the hand, to repeat the cycle once again.

The central point of this painting is the bright circle in the middle. A circle symbolizes something whole, perfect and infinite. In henna art, a design like this is called a mendala and represents the wholeness of life. It can also remind us of the sun, which portrays knowledge, immortality, deep and lasting love, renewal and resurrection. I placed this in my painting to convey the presence of God in our lives, walking by our side, leading us—I will always show you where to go. That is why I named the piece Legacy. I hope to be known as someone who followed Christ´s example and obeyed God´s guiding hand.

*This verse was in my mind as I painted, but I didn´t read the passage until after I finished the painting. When I read Isaiah 61, I was amazing at how well it tied into the entire painting. For those of you who wish to read it in light of my painting:

¨The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the 

Lord´s favour and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendour.

They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations. Aliens will shepherd your flocks; foreigners will work your fields and vineyards. And you will be called priests of the Lord, you will be named ministers of our God. You will feed on the wealth of nations, and in their riches you will boast.

Instead of their shame my people will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace they will rejoice in their inheritance; and so they will inherit a double portion in their land, and everlasting joy will be theirs.

For I, the Lord, love justice; I hate robbery and iniquity. In my faithfulness I will reward them and make an everlasting covenant with them. Their descendants will be known among the nations and their offspring among the peoples. All who see them will acknowledge that they are a people the Lord has blessed.

I delight greatly in the Lord; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. For as the soil makes the sprout come up and a garden causes seeds to grow, so the Sovereign Lord will make righteousness and praise spring up before all nations.¨

cockroaches and God´s unfailing love

I absolutely HATE cockroaches! I live in fear in my own apartment that I´ll see one. At night, I do not enter a room without first turning on the light and glancing around. Oftentimes I startle myself, thinking I´ve seen one out of the corner of my eyes, but then realize that it was only my imagination. When I do discover one, my heart starts pounding and I shudder, and sometimes scream. Once, I curled up in a ball on the couch, willing it to go away so I wouldn´t have to deal with it.

But, since I do not have roommates, I have to take care of the cockroaches myself. You do not want to see me when it´s wartime! Since my initial reaction to seeing a cockroach is to run and hide under the covers, I have to sike myself up for the task ahead. First, if I´m not already wearing good, solid footgear, I go to my closet and pull out my ¨SOB cockroach killer¨ boots. Yes, I am afraid that not-so-nice words come out of my mouth when there is a cockroach to deal with. Next, I slowly approach the nasty bug and stomp on it as hard as I possibly can. If I miss, the roach scurries away, and I do a jittery-shivery-shake/dance, swear, and go after it again. Sometimes, my whole apartment becomes uprooted while I´m at war! But I usually win, sweep up the roach and triumphantly dump it in the garbage.

The day before my birthday I realized that it had been a couple weeks since I´d seen a cockroach. I don´t usually go that long, and for a few days I had become more and more wary upon entering a room. Sure enough, that night before going to bed, I spotted one. Out came the boots, the foul word, and stomp, sweep,  dump! Off to bed I went, praying for a cockroach-free birthday.

But sad day! As women were arriving for my cooking class, I saw one scuttle across the room--in broad daylight! Oh, how could that be! Horrible! Beyond words! He died with all the ferocity I could muster.

In addition to having to face a cockroach on my birthday, the day was also a dreary one. Cold, cloudy, windy, and it even rained a bit. I was surprised, because my birthday is almost always sunny and warm (I like to think it´s a gift from God). But the events of the day were starting to make me wonder if God was trying to teach me something.

The devotional I had read that morning was from John 15 on remaining in God´s love. It talked about the importance of recognizing God´s great and incomprehensible love for us. This knowledge leads us to unwaveringly trust in His goodness and plan for us. Even when we face hard situations or uncertainty, we can rest in His love.

¨Our dwelling, the home of our soul, ought to be the love of Christ.¨ Hmmmm....do I dwell in Christ´s love? It sure becomes difficult to trust God and remember his love for us when our day isn´t going as we´d like it to. It´s easy to become discouraged and wonder if God really cares or if he´s listening when we are facing hardships and uncertainties. We start to doubt his love for us. This is why being rooted in God´s unconditional, unfailing love at all times is so vital. Make your home in Christ´s love. Let him be the source that brings you life and joy.

¨Take your eyes off of the visible in order to see and have the invisible.¨ God could have given me a warm, sunny, cockroach-free day. I would have known his love for me in that. But he chose to give me a cockroach (that I so mercilessly killed), to show me how his love for me goes even deeper than mere circumstances.

the gift that keeps on giving

How long can an almond briwat last? The answer: hypothetically forever.

North African hospitality means putting forth one´s best and being generous with what one has and has been given. A practical example of this was an experience I had during my recent visit to a North African country. It was nearing the end of day 2 or day 3 of a traditional wedding--what an unforgettable time! I was already full of food and sweets, but before leaving, we were all loaded up with several more baked goodies containing almonds, dates, and other dried fruits and nuts. Each guest was also provided with a napkin and a little satchel to wrap them up and bring home to enjoy later.

Sweets to enjoy during the wedding

The take-home goodies

The next day, my friend had a tea for her female relatives. She had several goodies to bring out, but on prominent display were the wedding treats. She was showing true hospitality and offering her best. The women sipped on tea and nibbled on one or two treats, but the majority of the food remained on plates and platters. Before leaving though, my friend made sure to load up napkins for each guest, making sure each lady got one of the special wedding goodies to take home and enjoy later.

The pretty napkin and satchel

All wrapped up to give again

I began to sense a pattern. I smiled as I wondered how many of those women would entertain tea in their homes the following day, and in turn send those same goodies home with their guests. Potentially, one of those wedding sweets could go from hostess to guest to napkin, ad infinitum. It would almost be a pity to be the one to break that long chain and actually eat the sweet! Now that I think of it, how many times did I?

can openers and hash

When I first arrived in Spain back in ´08 I did some kitchen supply shopping. One of the things I bought was a can opener. However, as the months (and years) went by, I never had to use it because I discovered that pretty much every tin can has an easy-open lid. Handy! And so my can opener sat idle in the drawer. Until the other day. I had found canned baked beans and was craving my mom´s three bean casserole. So I started browning the hamburger and got a can of baked beans down from the top shelf. Oh! No easy-open lid! Wait a minute, I´ve got a can opener around here somewhere....there! Wait! What the....? How does one use this thing?

I forgot to mention. When I went shopping there were two can opener options. One for 1€ and the other for 6€. Being the budget-conscience person that I am, I went for the cheaper. Never mind that I´d never seen one, much less used one like it before. I´d figure it out....right?

Yesterday I went to a garden supply store. It was amazing! Living in a concrete world deprived of greenery and life--one of these places makes you feel like a kid in a candy store! It had everything! And I mean everything! Seeds, herbs, flowers, vegetables, fertilizer, and wait....is that what I think it is? An advertisement for growing cannabis? Hmmm...and even all the materials needed to start one´s own special garden! I guess it´s legal to have up to three plants...

I decided that it would be best not to start that new hobby. I mean, my life´s interesting enough already. Frequently I find myself confused about things that should be quite simple. Like using a can opener. I never did figure it out. Ended up using a knife. Next time I´m at IKEA, I´m buying that 6€ opener even if it breaks me!