Into the Mountains

Ok so I sent a little letter out about my most recent Birthday I had while living in Damascus (if you haven’t heard, sorry-- it happened fast. I’m the old city in Dama7scus tutoring a bunch of boys in English, living in an Ancient wonder of a Greek Catholic Church premises where they study, studying Arabic, and bonding with some locals.) Yes I know James and Robb if you are reading this that I am already dead for not telling you, but let’s just move past that point for now.

The afternoon before, I packed my backpack and walked through the old city of Damas7cus and on to the Abbasseen Garage—Which is a hub of the ridiculously cheap extended Minivan Transportation system that Syria boasts. I am convinced if we did this in the states we could really boost the “family community feel” father than everyone sittin gin their cars half dazed. Something about fitting 14 people in their new Prius Hybrid might throw a few Sprint Executives off the bandwagon—but its actually a good time (Priuses have a lot of trunk space, which we would never waste over here).
In Nebk, a small country town, I got off the bus where immediately a dude wanted to offer to take me places for astronomical prices. I told him “you know you’re ripping me off, that’s a crazy price,” to which he countered that gas was expensive. I had already gotten in his car to take the short trip into town, and after I asked him to let me out, he nearly had a heart attack until I gave him a buck for a ride that should have cost a quarter. As I shook my head and kept walking, a new Kia SUV pulled up and a young Arab man said in English, “Can I help you with anything?”
I said, “um . . . well yeah, I’m looking for a ride to Mar Musa.” He told me, no problem, hop in. I nervously hesitated, wondering what the catch was. “Listen--I’ll give you 150 Leera.” “I’m no Taxi.” He responded. “Just tell me a little about your culture.” He was true to his word! Nice guy.
I looked up at my destination; A winding 2 Kilometer Stair in the cleft between two Mountains led up to a bazillion year old Monastery called Mar Musa. Guests can come for free, and stay as long as they want, but are encouraged to help out with meals and other work. I walked into the thousand yr. old Church there an hour later, and under rocky Murals and candle light, sat in silence with a few priests and a lot of travelers. We sat and listened for an hour in the quiet after reciting some Arabic Acapella stuff. What a novel idea—let God speak a little. I kinda feel like our culture is doing everything they can to make sure he doesn’t get a, “’How are you doing down there?’ or ‘I know you can’t change on your heart your own, but with me anything’s possible’” in to us.
We all ate dinner afterwards together, a hodgepodge of Europeans, Syrians, and me. I got up to watch the sun rise the next morning. I sneakily snuck out to go up the Mountain at 5 AM, but accidentally set off the Big White Dog alarm. Sorry everybody. Up on the Mountain, I think there were more stars than night sky. Brisk wind was all that cut into the total silence as I stood on a high rocky crag. After a brilliant sunrise, the sun came up like the intro the Lion King.
So I got some good down time, good Arabic lessons from the 37 guys there that want to have me talk English with them, and GREAT fellowship with people, and nature. One guy who claims to be an Arab rapper and me almost got in a fight after he stole my shoes for the third time, but we ended up having some great talks. Afterwards. You know fights are like bonding time for twenty-thr . . . four yr old guys if they’re in good fun.