Sunday
Well let's see I feel like I have a lot to say. First of all, I just woke up from a nap (you know Sundays were made for napping--and its raining in Upland), but during that nap I had a relatively disturbing dream. I dreamed that one of you died in a plane crash and that my roommates thought that I was joking. Sick. It was a really awful dream--I think I have a headache.
In other news, I've been experimenting with bileela in recent weeks (Andrew has partaken a couple times). While I'm thrilled to eat my breakfast treat I still can't get it to be the same exact consistency as the lovely and talented Kareema. Perhaps I'll have it perfected by New Years...
This morning I attended St. John's Orthodox Church about an hour up the interstate in Fort Wayne. It was this small building tucked away in a neighborhood that looked unimpressive from the outside, but the inside was just as beautiful as any Orthodox church we saw in the Middle East. I was thrilled to see icons of St. George and Simon Stylitus as my senses were flooded with that strong, familiar smell of incense. The liturgy was in English which was nice, but downstairs after the service the Arabic flew and it was wonderful. There are several Syrian families that attend the church (don't worry it wasn't difficult at all to explain to them why I'm Egyptian and don't speak Arabic) who were thrilled to hear that I've recently spent time in Syria. I almost laughed out loud at how awkward I felt at the "holy kiss" part of the service remembering how taken aback Dave was when Rachel suggested we exchange a holy kiss at our Easter service in the cave churches.
Here's the short version I've been thinking of you lately. I miss you. I love you.
I'm particularly interested to hear how our graduates are carrying on. We've heard from Liz, but what about Heather and Rachel?
That's all she wrote.
In other news, I've been experimenting with bileela in recent weeks (Andrew has partaken a couple times). While I'm thrilled to eat my breakfast treat I still can't get it to be the same exact consistency as the lovely and talented Kareema. Perhaps I'll have it perfected by New Years...
This morning I attended St. John's Orthodox Church about an hour up the interstate in Fort Wayne. It was this small building tucked away in a neighborhood that looked unimpressive from the outside, but the inside was just as beautiful as any Orthodox church we saw in the Middle East. I was thrilled to see icons of St. George and Simon Stylitus as my senses were flooded with that strong, familiar smell of incense. The liturgy was in English which was nice, but downstairs after the service the Arabic flew and it was wonderful. There are several Syrian families that attend the church (don't worry it wasn't difficult at all to explain to them why I'm Egyptian and don't speak Arabic) who were thrilled to hear that I've recently spent time in Syria. I almost laughed out loud at how awkward I felt at the "holy kiss" part of the service remembering how taken aback Dave was when Rachel suggested we exchange a holy kiss at our Easter service in the cave churches.
Here's the short version I've been thinking of you lately. I miss you. I love you.
I'm particularly interested to hear how our graduates are carrying on. We've heard from Liz, but what about Heather and Rachel?
That's all she wrote.
posted by Marcia M. Ghali at ١٢:٤٤ ص
1 Comments:
Marcia,
I went for coffee about a month ago with Margaret (that being the last time I saw our dear future president of Cuba) and we were discussing how brave you were with calling up that imam and all. Way to go. You've inspired me to do a little more searching around Sioux Center for mosques, orthodox churches, anyone who speaks arabic, etc. I wanted to try at home (because there's a sizable Muslim community in Edmonton)but because I wasn't home much this summer, I didn't get the chance. Thanks for the memory of Jerusalem. I have all my Israel pictures in an album (my Egypt pictures are still all in envelopes) and I look at the album at least twice a week. Oh memories. Remember Charlie?
Much love back to you . . .
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