Wednesday, October 25, 2006
That they may have life, and have it more abundantly.
You may know that I like to run. If you didn't know, well it is true. I run a few times a week down along the coast of the Mediterranean, at "The Marina" where most of the expensive yachts are docked. I always enjoy running there because there are many people.
These are no just any old run-of-the-mill folks, however. There is the biggest cross section of society and activities going on all along the 3 km stretch that I run, and each length that I do I can watch a different set of people.
There are fishermen all along in their little boats of on the rocks who are fishing so that they and their family can eat. There are fishermen who drive up in their Mercedes and sit for an hour relaxing with their fishing pole next to the man who walked there. There are joggers, walkers, people cycling all over the path (I swear they are TRYING to hit me...). There are friends smoking arguille and people with Arabic music blasting from their parked car 10 meters away. Then every 20 meters or so, along the short wall that separates the path from the rocks, there are the lovers, like clockwork, ever 20 meters they are there, doing their thing. There are people taking off in their $100,000 yachts for a cruise, and there are Syrian workers cleaning the very same docks for $4 per day. There are guys walking up and down with their little cart selling rose-water (traditional drink, and even nicer than lemonade) and there is my favorite guy, the cabby.
This guy drives a horse carriage, with two white horses and a carriage that looks like it will turn back into a pumpkin if you stick around long enough. But to top it off, he has a stereo in the back of the carriage, and he is blasting (we are talking really loud) Fairuz and Majida El Roumi as he trots down the road. Back and forth he goes, the same 3 km that I am running. We pass each other, and later again, a then again and each time it is a new song, but just as loud. I will never find a place again that is like Beirut. I doubt there is one. I know that the very things that frustrate or baffle me now will be the ones that I miss the most when I am gone. Yet, if we have eyes to see and ears to hear, wherever we go, we can see the hand of God, and we can hear in the cell of the world around us His voice.
You may know that I like to run. If you didn't know, well it is true. I run a few times a week down along the coast of the Mediterranean, at "The Marina" where most of the expensive yachts are docked. I always enjoy running there because there are many people.
These are no just any old run-of-the-mill folks, however. There is the biggest cross section of society and activities going on all along the 3 km stretch that I run, and each length that I do I can watch a different set of people.
There are fishermen all along in their little boats of on the rocks who are fishing so that they and their family can eat. There are fishermen who drive up in their Mercedes and sit for an hour relaxing with their fishing pole next to the man who walked there. There are joggers, walkers, people cycling all over the path (I swear they are TRYING to hit me...). There are friends smoking arguille and people with Arabic music blasting from their parked car 10 meters away. Then every 20 meters or so, along the short wall that separates the path from the rocks, there are the lovers, like clockwork, ever 20 meters they are there, doing their thing. There are people taking off in their $100,000 yachts for a cruise, and there are Syrian workers cleaning the very same docks for $4 per day. There are guys walking up and down with their little cart selling rose-water (traditional drink, and even nicer than lemonade) and there is my favorite guy, the cabby.
This guy drives a horse carriage, with two white horses and a carriage that looks like it will turn back into a pumpkin if you stick around long enough. But to top it off, he has a stereo in the back of the carriage, and he is blasting (we are talking really loud) Fairuz and Majida El Roumi as he trots down the road. Back and forth he goes, the same 3 km that I am running. We pass each other, and later again, a then again and each time it is a new song, but just as loud. I will never find a place again that is like Beirut. I doubt there is one. I know that the very things that frustrate or baffle me now will be the ones that I miss the most when I am gone. Yet, if we have eyes to see and ears to hear, wherever we go, we can see the hand of God, and we can hear in the cell of the world around us His voice.
# posted by Brian @ 11:47 PM 
