VIEW FROM MY ROOF

dream-weaver

ONLY A MARBLE

(Note:  With the Middle East prevalent in the news, I thought I would share

this story about everyday life that occurred while we lived there some years ago)

After donning the Arabic scarf and long black coat, I trudged up the steep stairs, wondering what new experience life on the roof would offer today. Coming from the dark, cool interior of the two-story stone house, I emerged through the blue metal door with a heaping basket of wet, clean laundry.

With the final piece of clothing pegged onto the line and heaving a sigh of relief, I glanced at the various shapes and colors of laundry flapping happily in the wind under a flawless blue sky, knowing they would soon be dry. I could take a few moments to leisurely observe the world around me from my airy vantage point on the roof. New and unusual happenings occurred on a regular basis in the mile-and-a-half high city of this ancient Middle-Eastern country of Yemen.

city of sanaa--the daily beast

Many sounds were carried to me on the wind that day as I squinted at the piercing light and searched for their origin: the stentorian rhythm of the call to prayer from the mosque down the alley; a mother pleading with an errant child below from her latticed third story window; and the ululation of goats being led through the dusty street by a wizened shepherdess, her cry in competition with the mosque.

I turned around to find a pair of dark eyes watching me. A partially-veiled woman on the roof opposite was also in process of pegging laundry on this sun-splashed day. I smiled. She shyly returned my smile and tentatively held up her hand in greeting.

sanaa news

Nearby on the roof across from us both, I heard the sound of much yelling and laughter and found the source to be a group of boys who were excitedly playing at a game. As I watched, they seemed to be throwing something against the wall, then retrieving it—they were playing with marbles! What fun they were having at such a simple game. These people never failed to amaze me by their ability to savor the basic pleasures of life. It seemed living in one of the poorest countries in the world caused them to appreciate what they had, no matter how small or insignificant the item might appear to others.

Hadn't I previously seen some marbles scattered here and there on our rooftop? A plan formed in my mind, one that hopefully would show my desire for friendship.

After retrieving four or five tiny marbles, I called across to the boys, held one up and began lobbing them across the chasm separating us. Grins covered their faces and giggles erupted as their eager hands were held out to receive what was rightfully theirs. They yelled, “Thank you!” in Arabic, returned to playing again and I thought no more about it. The fact that it had been a simple gesture on my part made what happened later all the more remarkable.

Several days had passed when my husband, son and I piled into the Land Cruiser and were making slow progress over the heavily-rutted alley on our way to teach English. All at once our vehicle was surrounded by a group of dusty little boys who were excitedly jumping into the air and saluting me. Their leader was holding something in his hand and came near for me to see. What could it be?

In a flash it dawned on me! These were the Rooftop Marble Players, and somehow by my artless act of returning their tiny glass toys I had become their heroine. Once again the childlike simplicity of these people touched me deeply, for it would be unusual for children in my country to respond in this exuberant fashion to so small a favor. We were the only westerners living in their part of the city, and just days before the faces of these boys had carried looks of distrust, and even hostility, possibly echoing the feelings of their parents toward the unknown foreign neighbors.

As I pondered this new unaffected openness, I realized God is not looking for His people to be especially gifted or highly educated in order to serve Him, no matter where we are. He desires that we walk in humility, and show kindness to those around us. Simple kindness; as simple as a marble finding it's rightful home.

REMEMBRANCE DAY IN CANADA: An Eyewitness Account

Lieut.-Col. John McCrae

The author of this poem, a member of the 

first Canadian contingent, died in France

on January 28, 1918, after four years

of service on the Western Front.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.  Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Precisely at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, there are ceremonies all across the vast land of Canada where heads are bowed and many remember those who died in war.  This date and time mark the exact moment in 1918 when the First World War officially ended on the Western Front.  It is also on this date that we in America have Veterans' Day coinciding with Remembrance Day in Canada.

During our recent visit with our daughter and her family, we had the privilege of attending one of these ceremonies with her, held in London, Ontario.  We have thought of the country to our north, not just as one who has welcomed our daughter, but as a cousin of sorts due to our close geographic relationship, and today this especially holds true when we think of how often we have been allies in times of war.

I would certainly not be heralded as a "hawk" in matters pertaining to war and it's attendant violence, but I must acknowledge that Scripture does not hesitate to list historic wars through the ages that were fought for righteous purposes.  It is, at best, a mysterious topic, and I cannot deny that many of our present day freedoms were cemented for us by men who were willing to go off to war rather than have those God-given liberties and privileges removed.

Due to the present state of our country and the tug-and-pull of various factions attempting to remove freedoms that we have long taken for granted, I came to this ceremony of remembrance desiring to see if the purpose would be taken seriously in another land by those participating and those observing.  I was deeply moved and humbled by all that I saw and heard.  It was both solemn and lifting to see the serious faces of the men and women marching with a purpose, the skirl of the bagpipes making our hearts race.

Nearly everyone I saw that day was wearing the red poppy of remembrance, something that I do not see in my own country anymore.  I was actually flabbergasted to see people on foot streaming to the ceremony from all directions in a freezing rain-- the weather alone would have given them the perfect excuse not to attend!  As we gathered closely together there was such an atmosphere of comradeship and resolve; such respect for why we were there that, if anyone spoke, others around them would hold a finger to their lips.

After the marching, after the flag saluting, after the speeches, before the wreath-laying, came the part that caused tears to flow from my eyes:  in this socialized country, often criticized by their neighbors to the south, a man whom I presumed was a Pastor, sang nobly and out in the open "Abide With Me".  And if that weren't enough, we all bowed our heads and he led us in the most touching, God-honoring prayer imaginable.  Having lived previously in Canada for three years, we were able to join in and sing  with them their national anthem, "O Canada".

The words came to me, "How are the mighty fallen!", and I grieved for my own beloved country.  We have attempted to remove God from our schools, from our courtrooms, from the workplace, and even now we cannot mention God or recite scripture in a funeral or memorial service at a Veterans' cemetery.  We all have witnessed recently the shameful act of the World War II Memorial in Washington, DC, being barred with chains to keep out the very veterans it was built to honor.  These dear brave men would not take "No" for an answer, and broke through the barriers--after all, they were the generation of men who took Normandy!  And just yesterday, as we commemorated one of the most sublime speeches ever made in America, the 150th Anniversary of the Gettysburg Address by President Abraham Lincoln, our President quoted the speech leaving out the all-vital, all-powerful words, "under God".

groomerphoto

How we must pray for our country losing it's bearings, it's purpose and inception "under God", for we have become a people who "do not know our right hand from our left".  We know in our hearts that to whom much is given, much will be required.  I personally have seen and heard the longing of those in other countries desiring to come to America, "the land of the free, home of the brave".  I stood before God humbled, and thanked Him for helping me remember as I stood with these men and women in Canada, a people who had not failed to honor their dead who had paid the ultimate price for the precious and precarious gift of freedom.  Let us pray for our children and grandchildren who follow after us, that they will always have the desire to live free, "under God", whether they be slave or free while living in this world's momentary, fluctuating system of governments.

groomerphoto