Heaven on Earth

 I came to the right place. I just drank 750 ml of "leem," a divine lime juice and sugar and sweetened condensed milk concoction. Have I mentioned that I love lime juice? (I almost said "adore," but the spirit of Mrs. Godfrey checks me. Once she heard me say that I adored something and corrected me: "You do not. To adore is to worship.") My Nokia cell tels me that 750 ml is .1981291 gallons, which would be something under a quart. Yes, I've proofread enough math books to have the conversions memorized, but I don't. Myself is very happy.

I'm really more happy because I talked to five of my six family members for the first time since leaving home a week and a half ago. Skype is something else I ad—love. First Craig called me. Then Dad, and I called him back when I was finished talking with Craig. Then, just as I was wrapping up talking with Dad & Mom (with a special guest appearance by a hairy Clyde), Chad came online, so I called him. I shamelessly crunched falafel and ----- in front of my parents as I talked to them. Ah, family is good.

 

There's lots to love about living here. I look around at this dirty city and think, "I love this country." Okay, I readily admit being in the honeymoon stage. I know much of this will wear off. And I do also confess running conversations in my head akin to "Lebanese Automatic Bakery—oookay . . . You can stop staring at me now. . . If anyone tries to attack me [as I'm walking down a dark street at night], I'm going to thump him with my water bottle . . . I don't even want to think about what that is I'm stepping over." So I'm not seeing everything through rose-colored glasses. But I am enjoying myself now.

I have my homesick moments. The other day as I unpacked my suitcases, I thought, "Okay, it's time to stop playing house and go home." Except I'm not playing house. This is for real. I miss my family. I miss the familiar comfortable things of home. Sometimes I want to tell the constant horns and calls to prayer to shut up and want to call up someone and tell him to do something about the heaps of trash and pollution everywhere.

 

But last night I cried as I worshiped, listening to "A Debtor to Mercy Alone":
"The work which your goodness began the arm of your strength will complete,
Your promise is yet standing on and never was forfeited yet.
The future of things that are now, no power below or above
Can make you your purpose forego or sever my soul from your love. . . .
Forever and always secure, a debtor to mercy alone.

Because even though I'm far from home, I remembered that Father is here. I'm here with Him. He's the same as He is at home—no changes there, different as the world around me is. So the lime juice and the craggy mountains and the fascinating culture I live in are just perks on the journey. Heaven on earth is being with Him.