A Glimmer Of an Answer

I spoke about the last 8 months of spiritual decline in my last post and have continued to think about it as I am not totally out of the woods yet. What I didn't mention in that post was that prior to our escape to the Black Sea, I was gripped with a terrible desire to escape it all for a weekend away... alone. I started to plan a trip, a spiritual retreat in solitude while G watched the girls and then G would get his turn.

It was my wise friend that I mentioned in my last post who dissuaded me against it. Her reasoning: when you and G married, you became one flesh. You are suffering together in one flesh; therefore, you need to retreat and pray together as one flesh. Go together. She was right. We took her advice for G and I to retreat together for a day. It was seriously the best thing for G and I do it together. It made all the difference in the world and solidified our marriage even more.

With comments from different people here and there, I recently came to the realization that I was simply stressed and that the desire to escape was a symptom of chronic stress for the last 8 months. I began to piece together what started it and why it has continued. It was the cause of the spiritual malaise I suffered. I had blamed myself for the spiritual dryness, searching for sin, trying to repent, struggling against pessimism and complaining. It was stress that had driven me into the spiritual dryness, I am ashamed to admit. Maybe it doesn't happen to other people but it has happened and continue to happen to me.

The stress was caused by the language study workload combined with the end of our term looming nearer and nearer. We cannot go home until we have completed our language requirements. I won't go into detail about it all because I would essentially be complaining. Workload + deadline = stress. That's simple enough. Compound that with the relentless day in and day out of parenting, chores, and living in a foreign culture...and the lack of a real church fellowship.

There's a light at the end of the tunnel because we're nearly finished. I hope to finish by the end of May, by God's mercy and grace. Maybe then, I will pull out of the spiritual dryness. I look forward to going stateside, to be with friends and people who speak truth and shine with Jesus' light, to worship with a church.

God is faithful, though, in the meantime. I feel like my faith has withered down to a spark and that my view of him have grown dim and cloudy. I asked for a better vision of him and recently through a conversation with someone about spiritual warfare, chapter 10 of the book of Daniel popped into my head (by the Holy Spirit, no doubt) about the angel who was detained by spiritual warfare for three weeks before coming to Daniel. I looked it up and was struck by what I read. What I forgot about Daniel 10 was that he had a terrifying vision of the pre-incarnate Jesus:  

I was standing on the bank of the great river (that is, Tigris) I lifted up my eyes and looked, and behold, a man clothed in linen, with a belt of fine gold from Uphaz around his waist. His body was like beryl, his face like the appearance of lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs lil the gleam of burnished bronze, and the sound of his words like the sound of a multitude. And I, Daniel, alone saw the vision... and no strength was left in me. My radiant appearance was fearfully changed and I retained no strength. Then I heard the sound of his words, and as I heard the sound of his words, I fell on my face in deep sleep with my face to the ground.

Daniel went into a dead faint at the sight and sound of the terrifying pre-incarnate Jesus. Glory! John Gill, one of my favorite biblical scholars, expanded this description of the pre-incarnate Jesus as terrifying, majestic, awful, full of strength, whose brilliance denotes knowledge and truth, peace, joy, grace and glory, his eyes of fire showing omniscience, and so forth. The expanded description only served to further fan the flames of glory. He is the "Prince of angels, the first of chief princes, the Head of all principality and power, superior to angels in nature, nature, office, wisdom, and strength, the General and Lord of hosts of heaven and earth." This is the Commander of the Lord's hosts -- imagine the hosts of angels, hundreds upon thousands, military might. He wages battle even now as his enemies have not yet been put under his feet. Jesus is mighty, strength itself. He is glorious and terrifying.

Jesus is not the mild homeboy, your buddy who pats your back in sympathy when you're struggling. He is Lord and the demons fear him. He fights in power and glory. This is the vision of Jesus that I am treasuring in my heart right now. It strengthens me, bolsters me, propels me onward.

And it takes my eyes of myself and my woes onto my glorious Jesus. That's how it ought to be.

I Have No Answers

Things have been hard the last 8 months. Last week, I was in tears talking to my friend at a busy Starbucks, sitting and shivering outside in the cold at a wrought-iron patio table. She was sipping hot tea and I told her, "I feel as if God is relentlessly smashing and crushing me and all I can do in response is hold out my arms and say, 'hold me, hold me.'" The last 8 months had led me to this rock bottom confession to my friend.

I don't know how to describe it. I was just....declining spiritually. Struggling. Even my friend noticed this over the last several months. I was in a constant state of being overwhelmed and stressed. I felt as if I was stumbling, trying to keep up with everything that was happening, the worries I was harboring in my heart, burning with resentment against my organization who I felt had put a millstone around my neck and thrown me out to sea to drown (which is not true), frustrated with being quick to sin, in a constant storm of pessimism and complaining. The last 8 months pushed me relentlessly to the point where I was reaching the very end of me and I was quivering at the sight of beyond. 

I know I have this pattern of rubbing a genie lamp, trying to earn rewards from God. I have a habit of forgetting what grace means. When G lost his job, I kept feeling that if we were super diligent in honoring God with our money, God would be pleased and give G a new job. As a friend reminded me, that's not what grace is. I keep trying hard to be perfect with my quiet time, being in prayer and in the Word, thinking that God will give me relief from this mounting pressure inside of me. I knew I could not control my circumstances but I could at least control the state of my spirit by clinging to God. I tried to think of what sin could've caused me to fall into such a spiritual malaise and tried to repent, not sure what the sin was. I got rid of possible idols in my life (cutting out TV, movies, etc) that could be filling me up with happiness before I go to God. I had periods of time, as long as a few weeks, when I didn't have my quiet time, didn't pray or read. I had periods of time when I was regular with it. I recently had days when I couldn't even read the Word. It was as if the Bible was in another language. I had no comprehension. My prayers were rambling and jumbled, half-hearted. I couldn't see anything clearly. I couldn't remember anything about who God was. I was losing sight of everything.

I'm not so sure that all this effort (or works?) to earn relief or joy or peace is the response God wants. If God changes my circumstances to give me relief, it's grace. If He supplies strength, it's grace. If He chooses to bring me out of this spiritual dryness, it's grace. I think, more than anything, God wants me to believe Him and continue to believe in spite of all the discouragement, despair, and setbacks. More than anything, He wants my faith. 

When I choked back my tears of despair at Starbucks, my friend looked at me. She made me an offer that G and I could not refuse. She and her family would watch our girls so we could get away from the city to meet God at the Black Sea. It didn't sound so great because I was shivering in the cold when she made the offer and the thought of spending the day at the windy Black Sea wasn't appealing. 

"I don't need to get away from the city. It's not bothering me," I said. "It bothers you more than you think. You won't know until you get away," my wise friend countered.

So, G and I went. It was a lovely, dark, wintry afternoon...a moody day that reminded me of a Charlotte Bronte novel. We sat on the bluff above the beach, bundled up in blankets, and watched the roaring waves roll in and out, constant and dependable, as they have always done for ages past. The simplicity of the tree-covered bluffs, the wide beach, the waves crashing far out from shore, the dark gray clouds over the dark gray water, some birds flying by periodically presented a picture of peace. We were not bombarded with stimulus of the city, kids, computers, phones, guests, chores. Stress rolled away. We finally began to pray together and met God in a sweet way, with confession and supplication. Contentment filled us and we fell strangely silent, His Spirit confirming in our spirits that He had heard and we need say no more but to rest in Him while we gazed on His beautiful, wild creation. Nature is definitely meant to be soothing to our souls, as necessary as breath is to the body. 

Maybe one day, I can better articulate why I think believing is more important than doing in your spiritual dryness and hard times. For now, I'm getting through one day at a time, waiting for God. 

Thailand 2

A new blog post is definitely due. It's been a while. For some reason, I thought I'd already posted about Thanksgiving. I'll do a catch-up and then tell about our vacation in more detail.

Well, I really did not get into the holiday spirit at all. When fall rolled around, I forced myself to go and buy a pumpkin. I usually love pumpkin but I had to make myself carve the pumpkin open and roast it in the oven. I don't think I baked anything with pumpkin at all but I did make a delicious curried pumpkin soup with coconut milk. Man, I slurped on that all day long. Otherwise, there is still frozen pumpkin in my freezer and I'm tempted to toss it out.

Then Thanksgiving rolled around. I was less enthused. It was a good celebration with fellow American expats (36 total, 11 of that number were children). I did not have a spirit of thanksgiving.

The day after Thanksgiving, I looked at my calendar and realized I would be at home only 13 days out of the whole month of December. I became even less enthused about Christmas. I made myself drag out the footlocker of Christmas decorations and I put up some decorations in the living room. I didn't plan on putting up a tree. That's right, folks, no tree. I was not excited about anything. G and I agreed not to exchange gifts since we were taking a solo vacation later on in the month and I bought three gifts for each girl in one shopping trip.

Just a few days into December, I went on a trip out to the eastern part of the country, leaving G behind with the girls who were sick. I spent time with my sisters there, encouraging them and sharing stories from the Word. I had so much fun with them, discussing some deep things, wrestling over challenging issues, and doing ordinary things like hanging out at the mall watching ice skaters on the ice rink. The ladies there encouraged me tremendously and it helped me to remember why we came overseas at all. While I was gone, G put up the tree with the lights, strings of silver balls streaming around the tree, and some red ball ornaments. Nothing else. It was a nice surprise.

Soon after returning from the trip, I was knocked down with a horrific cold accompanied by fever and chills, just days before leaving for our vacation. G and I agreed that he would take care of everything while I hunkered down in bed and slept for 4 days so I could get well quicker before vacation. It worked. I was able to pack the day before we flew out and all that lingered from the cold was a bit of a runny nose that was slowly drying up.

We got bumped from our flight to Thailand to visit G's parents. Bumped. The flight had been overbooked. It was a 8pm flight and we would have landed in Bangkok the follow morning and be in Chiangmai by lunchtime. Would've been easy peasy, but no...no, we were bumped. The next flight was at 1 am. I won't go into all the gory details because it's a long story but let me tell you what "stand by" means here in Turkey. It means you have your tickets booked for the next flight but you can go to the gate of the flight from which you were bumped. They load everyone on the plane and if they see an empty seat (say someone has missed his connecting flight), you might get it. It doesn't work like in America when airliners ask passengers to volunteer and give up their seats and receive vouchers. Anyway, of course the flight was full and we watched the plane take off. We were compensated very well: a big wad of cash that is going to pay for a new pair of hearing aids, free pass to the VIP lounge where we could eat for free and rest in comfort (I got both girls to sleep on the couches), and they took care of our connecting flight in Bangkok to Chiangmai, which we insisted on, because obviously, we missed our original connecting flight.

Anyway, we arrived in Chiagmai at 11pm the next night, tired but happy. It was so wonderful to see G's parents. We got over jet lag and did some fun things like going to an elephant camp one day and a zoo called Night Safari the next. The girls had a blast.

Nonna and the girls - you can't ever get the girls to BOTH look at the camera

Day after arriving - so happy!

Wide awake in the middle of the night from jet lag and playing

Meeting a couple of elephants. I was laughing nervously. A had just fed an elephant.

An elephant performed a trick by putting a hat on my head (as they did to John, too).

Cleaning service  

A was brave enough to sit on an elephant knee while I laughed hysterically as another "kissed" me.

We saw a group of baby elephants walking by and the trainers called us over and had A sit on one elephant's knee. I was surprised that she was willing to do it. Then one elephant started sucking on G's face with his trunk and he acted unfazed by it, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. The trainers called me over to stand with them and I said no at first and then relented. John was taking a picture and a trainer snuck his elephant's trunk to my face and surprised me. I began laughing hysterically out of nervousness.

I was surprised by the the elephant's skin. I knew it would be rough but it was also bristly with hair. They seem like sweet, gentle giants and they are well fed and taken care of. They do tricks during a show like paint pictures, kick a soccer ball while another guards the goal, pick up logs, throw darts at balloons, etc. It was a nice day, especially to help get over jet lag. Poor D was falling asleep at random times during the day while we went sightseeing and such.

Then we went to Night Safari. We did a walking tour of the zoo, looking at various animals. Then we had lunch next to a floor to ceiling glass wall through which we could watch zebras and giraffes eat their lunch. Then A fed some giraffes outside the restaurant, on a raised platform so we were level with their heads.

Pop and D, after the safari ride around the zoo

Baby giraffe at the restaurant 

On the safari ride around the zoo and animals came up to our train and ate from our hands or what we threw out

D was so brave watching a huge giraffe come up and eat from her mommy's hand

At the end our time at the zoo, we fed a baby tiger. Yeah, a baby tiger. Whoo. 

Actually, it was Christmas Day when we went to Night Safari. We really enjoyed a different Christmas day in warm sunshine, animals, and feeding a baby tiger. G's parents were so good to us, spoiling us and showing us around. Then they were especially good to us by letting us leave the girls with them and going on a shot trip, just the two of us.

Went to Phuket in southern Thailand where it was warm enough to swim. Phuket has a reputation of being a party town but we got a tip that Karon Beach had a more family atmosphere. We arrived at our hotel that afternoon and walked around, sightseeing and doing a bit of shopping. We bought a tour package to the Phi Phi Islands (sounds like Pee Pee Islands - A laughed at the name later when we told her where we were). Then the next day was nothing but relaxing on the beach and then out to eat at night. The day after was when we went to Phi Phi Islands.

The harbor where we got on the boat to Phi Phi Island

We got on the a high-speed boat with a group of 30 people. The ride out to the islands was fast and very rough and pretty soon, we were all throughly drenched and dripping from the waves splashing over the boat. I was covered with gooseflesh by the time we arrived to the first island. And it was so gorgeous. Like Hollywood-movie-gorgeous.

We arrived! Soaking wet but happy!

Pictures don't do this justice - can you see the little boat?

We got off the boat to explore the island and saw some amazing views. Much to my regret, I left my phone on the boat and I wish I could've taken pictures of the island as we walked through it to the other side. The sand was white, the foliage beautiful, the cliffs rugged, and the water...you can see for yourself in the pictures. Just breathtakingly lovely. Apparently, the movie The Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio was filmed here. I have never seen the movie, though.

A cave they said was used by pirates hundred years ago

We left the first island and went to another island where there were monkeys. We didn't disembark and explore this one but we could see the monkeys hanging out on the beach. They were fat, presumably from tourists tossing treats onto the beach for them to eat.

It was getting close to lunchtime so we stopped close to the island where we would lunch and we went snorkeling on the coral reefs. It'd been a long time since I'd been on the reefs. This reef wasn't as colorful as others I have seen but the fish were. Everything underwater always appear closer and larger than it really is when you're snorkeling so it gave me the heebie jeebies when I saw an eel slithering in the reef. Too close for my comfort but it was probably far enough.

Think G would have married me if he'd met me like this the first time?

Lunch was a simple affair. It was a buffet. We ate and then relaxed on the sand for a few minutes before being shepherded onto the boat for the final island. It was a tiny island with a few huts selling ice cream and rental lounge chairs and umbrellas. We spent an hour and half there, dozing, and then headed back to Phuket.

It was a wonderful day.

Island where we lunched and relaxed

Panoramic of the above picture

Tiniest crab I have ever seen, on that final island

And the day after the island tour, we just stayed on the beach all. day. long. We didn't even go in for lunch. Greg sketched, dozed, and relaxed. I started and finished Unbroken in one sitting. I can't remember the last time I did that. It was a great book, a true story about a courageous POW in the Pacific war theater of WWII.

Vegging on the beach with a book. I could have stayed there for weeks and weeks and....

In the picture above, there were mountains dropping into the sea to the right and left. For a girl who grew up going to the beaches in a state flat as a pancake, the view of tropical mountains rising out of the green-blue sea is absolutely breathtaking and exotic.

We did some things like get mani/pedi (in my case), fish spa (G, see pictures below), get Thai massages (those hurt!), eat a lot, and shop. We walked through a beautiful Swedish resort so large that you felt like you were on an island all by yourself. It looked terribly expensive and we got lost walking around in the dense tropical foliage, pools, low lighting, cabins, etc. We managed to get out of the resort and find our way back to our hotel.

Ick - I wasn't brave enough

Supposedly eating dead skin off

We spent a couple more days back in Chiangmai with G's parents. We saw a Thai silk place where they grow silkworms and spin, weave, and dye their own silk. They had a shop attached where they sold yards of gorgeous Thai silk, various garments, beautiful scarves, household items (like bedding), etc. I could've spent hours in that store.

Thai silk

Then, sadly, it was the end of our stay. We thoroughly enjoyed the break from the Turkish culture, the warm and sunny climate, the laid-back Thai culture, the various food (lots of American-style food in Chiangmai and we picked up American treats that are unavailable in Turkey), G's parents' company and their help in caring and entertaining the girls. I became exceedingly lazy by the end of vacation.

Riding a luggage cart at the airport in Bangkok on the way back to Turkey

We arrived at the Chiangmai airport at 5:30am (groan) on New Year's Day to catch our flight and picked up Starbucks mugs in the Bangkok airport. We don't collect Starbucks mugs from different countries but we had a gift card from G's parents so we decided to pick up a Chiangmai cup, Phuket cup, and Bangkok cup. We didn't spend any time in Bangkok this trip but I wanted the mug because I enjoyed my time in Bangkok the last trip. The Phuket mug is our favorite and we fight over who's going to drink coffee out of it each morning. We have really great memories and I'm sad that we may never go back there again.

That's it, folks. Sorry if you see typos, grammar mistakes, any sentences that may end abruptly, run-on sentences, etc. I did a perfunctory once-over to edit but no finessing. It's 10 pm and off to bed I go.

Race Or Joke?

A few posts back, I wrote that I'd started running again and planned to run a race this month, hoping a public announcement will keep me accountable. Well, I am here to say that I followed through with a 10k (6.2 miles).

The intercontinental race had been newly formulated to include a 10k, in addition to the 8k (5 miles), 15k (9 miles), and 42k (26 miles). The 8k is a fun run, not timed; in other words, it's a walk. The course starts on the Asian side, where we live, and continues over the bridge to the European side, the only race course in the world to span two continents. The suspension bridge with its spectacular view of the strait is the biggest draw of the 8k participants and the race is the only time of the year that people are allowed to walk on the bridge. About 80,000 people were in the 8k and 20,000 in the 10, 15, 42k. The 8k started half hour after the others.

Side note: In a previous post, I said I tried to sign up for the 10k originally but it was full so I signed up for the 8k instead. A friend told me that the race is so lax that I could run the 10k anyway. No one would be checking my racing bib (different colors for each race). Sure enough, she was right. No one was checking so I was able to run the 10k.

The day was sunny and about 50 degrees so I had on running tights and running jacket (which I took off later, even though I was alternated between hot and cold throughout the race) over a short-sleeve shirt, anticipating cold winds at the bridge. I arrived with four friends and got separated from them in the crush. It was chaotic, to the say the least. After searching high and low for them and dealing with the disappointment at the prospect of running without a friend, I lined up for the 10k, praying that I would find my friends along the race. The 15k and 42k participants were lined up ahead, closer to the bridge, while the 10k was higher up the hill so I could see down the hill and watched the huge mass spill over the starting line and up the bridge. After that group was mostly gone, we started 20 minutes later.

To say the race was enormous and therefore a madhouse is to make an understatement. While there were many competitive runners in the 10k, there were also a great deal of walkers. And bystanders. I dodged and weaved around the walkers leading up to the bridge but as soon as I arrived on the bridge, I began to see people at a standstill in groups....in the middle of the course. Like I said, people just wanted to be on the bridge. They were taking photos of themselves with the view behind them, chatting with one another. People were walking in all directions, even towards the starting line. I encountered people walking shoulder to shoulder in a line across the course with no way for anyone to run past. I spied a small opening and gently shoved a man aside so I could run past. It was just chaos and I was aghast. I was told to expect this but it still didn't stop the surprise and subsequent rise of irritation in me. I kept thinking, this race is a joke, I'll never do this again.

Once I got across the bridge, the chaos lessened and thinned out. People remained on the bridge and mostly runners now surrounded me, although many walked later on in the race so I continued to dodge and weave. I was happy to get off the bridge. I was expecting to enjoy running across the bridge but it wasn't exhilarating in itself. It didn't strike me as surreal to be crossing from one continent to another on foot. I was simply running a race, with some glimpses of the same view I've seen many times from the comfort of a car.

The course wound from the bridge, uphill on the highway, down an off-ramp and then up another hill. I ran halfway up this hill (the third, the steepest, on the course so I was already feeling the hills) and losing my breath, I stopped to walk for about a minute. I spied the top of the hill which inspired me to run the rest of the way up and as I did so, I approached a redheaded woman from behind who was walking, fatigued. I thought I recognized her but I ran a bit past her to see her face for confirmation, said hi, and began to drag her along. She's a friend of mine, also a co-worker who lives in another city, who had come to my city for the race. I didn't know this but she had a goal to finish the 10k in 1:15:00 and apparently, as she told me later, my dragging her along and running together helped her to achieve her goal. We ran together at the same pace (slow) and finished together in 1:13:00. Except for a one-minute walk up a hill, I was happy that I ran the entire race, even though I wanted to stop and walk so many times but having a running buddy kept me motivated. I was especially happy to have a buddy to run with - the Father had answered my prayers with this girl, not the friends that I arrived with.

Beside the bridge fiasco, I had fun running the race :-). Races are fun with the energy and excitement and crossing the finish line is exhilarating. No one was there to cheer me at the finishing line but maybe next time G and the girls can be there.

(pictures from the Internet):

The 8k - thank goodness I wasn't running in that

Bridge - facing European side

I'm pretty sore right now. I'd fallen behind on my training schedule, sidelined with a stomach bug for a week and subsequent 2-mile rut with leaden legs for a week or two. I broke out of the rut by changing my route a week before the race and jumped from 2 miles to 4 miles, which was just two days prior to the race. The 2-mile jump to 6 miles on race day put a strain on my ITB (illiotibial band), my old nemesis, so I had some pain afterward. I've been working on my ITB so I don't think I have an injury. I guess the 4-mile increase in 1.5 week (from 2 to 6) is enough to bother a less experienced runner like me and I was probably unwise to run the 10k but I was stubborn :-)

Maybe next time, I can work on my speed and run a 10k in 60 minutes.

A Wedding

I have to say that we were surprised by how weddings are done here. Here's what happened:

First, we received an invitation. It had the usual information: who, what, where, and when. The location was a wedding salon as it is called here. When we arrived at the wedding salon, I was surprised to see several brides and grooms coming and going. It wasn't until we went through the ceremony that we realized why. The wedding salon is a government building devoted to weddings. This particular building has several salons so each bride and groom is assigned a salon by appointment. So, all the salons are being used at the same time -- in other words, there are several brides in the building at the same time, coming and going all day long. I said several because the civil ceremony itself is quite short, about 15 minutes long. So a salon is up and ready to go for the next couple when one ceremony is over and all the guests have filed out.

One part of me was fascinated because I got to see brides coming and going in their wedding splendor in a variety of styles. That's just fun! Another part of me was aghast because…well, I'm an American who grew up in a culture that the bride (and groom) is the center of attention for one day and for another bride to show up would be a horror. Here, it's normal for brides to see other brides on their wedding day and they don't have the sense of entitlement that they must be the only bride present and all attention must be on them alone. 

Just arrived

Before entering the building

Notice the lack of traditional garb? The civil ceremony is very Western in dress and ceremony.

The bride and groom disappeared into the building and the guests went to the assigned salon (as indicated on the invitation) and sat in the stadium seats, facing a platform in the front. The bride and groom were announced and they appeared from the center of the platform and sat down at the table. In the picture below, you can see the entrance behind them which they appeared from.

Then the marriage official showed up (in red gown on the right), there was a bit of dialogue and laughter. Two witnesses were present at the table to the left, some friends of theirs, I guess. I think there were some vows said. The marriage certificate was handed to them and they signed. The witnesses signed. That was it. The wedding ceremony was done. From the time they sat down until they were pronounced married was probably only 15 minutes. Very civil, indeed.

Signing the marriage certificate

Married!

Then people from outside in the hallway began filing in to grab seats for the next ceremony while we all filed out. The wedding couple stood in the hallway while we got in line to shake hands and congratulate them. You can pin money or gold coins to their clothes or stick the money in her cute little satchel on her wrist.

Their families couldn't afford much so no reception was given (if a reception is given, I believe they are similar to Western wedding receptions - food, music, dancing). The couple went out to dinner with some of their friends to celebrate at a restaurant. We went home. Short and simple, huh?

After having seen a civil ceremony, I was curious as to whether a religious ceremony is normally held. I wasn't expecting one with this couple who are pretty secular but I was wondering what a religious ceremony looked like. I couldn't find much on the Internet but it seems that when the Ottoman Empire disintegrated and the republic of TKY was founded in 1923, a law was passed that religious marriage ceremonies were not recognized by the government. The law immediately created millions of illegitimate children. People began to have civil marriages in order to protect themselves and their children and receive the benefits of the law (inheritance, etc). I think the religious ceremony fell to the wayside but as far as I can tell, the religious ceremony is not much different from ours in America - the bride and groom are present, an imam may have them repeat vows and maybe deliver a short sermon, and witnesses for both sides must be present.

As to any sort of cultural traditions in a ceremony, it probably varies from country to country. In America, we have the song, unity candle, bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girl, ring bearer, etc. I'm not sure what they do here but the only thing I know is that in the rural areas, the wedding party hires a man to beat a drum and follow them about. I think that the groom's family show up at the bride's family home (while the drummer is outside continuing to beat away) to escort the bride to the groom's home where the religious ceremony is held and a feast after. When we were visiting out east (rural), we listened to a drum beat all day and all night. I watched a car full of dressed up people show up at our building and escort the bride out and go somewhere close because we could still hear the drum. It doesn't play a nice beat or anything; it's just a monotonous boom-boom-boom.

There you have it. I think the henna night is supposed to be the most important ritual (as explained in a previous post) and the marriage itself is just a social contract.

Henna Night

My language teacher's niece (hearing) recently got married. My teacher invited me, knowing I was curious about the culture and traditions here. I am thankful that I got to observe.

Here, a couple days before the wedding, the women have what is called "henna night." It is ceremony in which the family of the bride give her away to the family of the groom. It is an ancient ritual (some say it dates back to prophet Muhammed), celebrated in the Middle East, North Africa, and India. From what I understand, the ritual had fallen out of favor after the founding of TKY in 1923, returned in recent years, and evolved quite a bit in the large cities (where the wealthier, secular urbanites had originally viewed the ritual as archaic and backwards) while the rural class never stopped holding the ritual, especially in the traditional way. So, the henna night that I saw was probably not very close to the traditional henna night from centuries past. From what I have read, the traditional henna night is heavy with symbolism and religious meaning.

On with the story.

I showed up on a Thursday night at the bride's mother home. I think henna night party is normally held in a rented salon (or what we would call a reception hall or ballroom) if you can afford it. After socializing and dancing, the bride went and changed into a traditional costume in another room with red veil over her head. Her outfit consisted of a blouse, long coat, and pantaloons type of pants that gathered at the ankle cuffs. Her shoes were the traditional slippers with toes that curled up to a point (very classic Middle Eastern). Her clothes were maroon with ornate gold embroidery and her veil was a bright red.

The lights were turned out and some ladies filed in with a square of sequined cloth in one hand and a candle in another. One of the ladies held a tray with four candles and a tray of henna paste. The bride came in, sat in a chair, and the ladies holding the candles walked in a circle around her. They are supposed to be unmarried so I assume they were. The tray with the henna was held over the bride's head for the duration. I can't remember if they were singing or if there was simply music. After the music or singing was done, everyone in the room began to sing a song, which to my ears sounded sad even though I didn't know the words. Later, I looked up the translation of the song:

"They shouldn't build homes on the high hills
They shouldn't give girls to faraway cities
They shouldn't upset the mother's one and only

May the birds carry the message
I miss my mother
Both my mother and father
I miss my village

I wish my father had a horse, he could jump on it and come
I wish my mother had a sail, she could open it and come
I wish my siblings knew the way, they could come

May the birds carry the message
I miss my mother
Both my mother and father
I miss my village"

Circling the bride

Tray over bride's head

At this point, the bride is supposed to cry. The mother cries, too. Later, when the lights were turned on, I noticed many other women crying. Anyway, during this song, the mother-in-law (in this case, the mother-in-law had passed away some years earlier so it was another relative) came to the bride while the other ladies continued to circle around. The mother-in-law is supposed to try and apply henna to the bride's hand (more on the henna in a moment) and the bride is supposed to refuse to open her hand. Then the mother-in-law puts a gold coin (more on the symbolism in a moment) and then applies henna. She closes the bride's hand and puts a scarf around both hands or gloves.

Coin in the bride's hand and applying henna 

Putting on gloves

Then after this was done, the lights were turned on, the bride began to kiss and hug everyone, starting with her teary mother. Those who were older and deserved honor, she held their hand and tapped the back of their hand on her chin and then her forehead (it's a sign of respect for elders).

Traditional garb with red veil 

The bride

 Refreshments and snacks were passed around and all the guests received henna in their palm.

Henna - it left an orange stain on my hand for nearly two weeks.

The symbolism of henna seems to be varied. From the research I've done, it is rooted in an old myth that henna started back in the days of the prophet Muhammed when he would put henna in the palms of his soldiers just before battle, to represent blood and sacrifice. There are other interpretations of henna. I have an excerpt from a research article and it's long so feel free to skip it. The excerpt also explains why the bride is expected to initially reject the mother-in-law's application of henna until she receives a gold coin.

"The dominant symbol in this traditional henna-night is the henna. It not only serves as a "means to the fulfillment of the avowed purposes" of the ritual, "but also more importantly refer values that are regarded as ends in themselves" (Turner 1967: 20). Both the attendees of the traditional and the new henna-nights comment that the red henna stands for blood. Some provide a further interpretation that blood implies the transformation of the bride from girlhood to womanhood. This interpretation voices a very strict traditional and religious norm, which defines the woman’s body as an object belonging to the husband. It dictates that females can transform from girlhood to womanhood only through marriage and that premarital sexual intercourse is not only forbidden, but also unquestionable. With this rite-of-passage the adult women are symbolically re-establishing a religious and traditional norm, which is considered by the conservatives as one of the basic principles that holds the Turkish society together. Through the female social solidarity in this women-only ritual, the traditional henna-night reproduces patriarchal relations, reifying their collective acceptance of male domination.

Other than explaining henna as the blood of the virgin, we can also interpret it as the blood of the warrior. Blood of the warrior refers to struggle, resoluteness, and sacrifice. As mentioned above, after the bride’s palms are colored, the attendees of the ritual, like the soldiers of the prophet, also color their palms with henna, establishing the collective understanding of marriage as a struggle in which the woman is responsible for its survival and "success" (i.e., keeping the family together and raising honest, moral and respectful children). Many folk poems and sayings convey the sacredness of blood. Blood implies dedication, honor and pride, and indicates the presence of sacred values to which people can devote their lives. Within this framework, the use of henna grants sacred properties to the institution of marriage. Unlike modern conceptions of marriage, it does not imply sacredness in terms of an intimate bond between man and woman. Rather marriage becomes an entity for raising children and an institution in which the honor of women (but not of men) is constructed. The woman is assigned the responsibility to make the necessary compromises to ensure the continuity of the family. Through coloring only the woman’s palms, she (but not her husband) is symbolically accepting this responsibility to sacrifice for her family. However, via the symbol of the mother-in-law putting a gold coin into the palm of the bride, some kind of responsibility is assigned to the groom’s family, if not to the groom directly. When the bride initially rejects the mother-in-law’s offer of henna, she symbolically is asking for a commitment from the groom’s family. Putting a gold coin in her palm, the mother-in-law is symbolically communicating their acceptance of the responsibility to provide financial security for the new family. But, with the responsibility comes power. The bride belongs to the groom’s family. The henna night establishes the authority of the groom’s parents, as well as the groom himself, over the bride." (source)

Quite interesting.

After henna night, G and I went to the wedding ceremony which I will share about in the next post.

A Brilliant Bird

Living in a busy, crowded city like mine, you don't expect to see any wildlife. Well, the city isn't completely devoid of wildlife. Besides stray cats and dogs (there are no squirrels here), there are birds.

The birds we see all the time are pigeons, crows (they are gray with a black head and neck, as if wearing an executioner's hood), a couple of different types of seagulls, terns, and little brown, nondescript birds (larks, maybe?). There isn't a big variety and definitely not a colorful variety. There are no cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers, etc.

Besides seagulls and terns, there is a kind of black bird that swims half submerged and dives for fish from the surface. Its bill almost look like a duck's. They never fly inland as the seagulls do. I don't know what they are but I've seen birds similar to them in the marshes of Florida. 

One day recently, I was down by the water, a quieter part of the shoreline. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement and turned my head to catch a bird flying away from me. I saw a warm brown head with a bright turquoise back before he disappeared from my sight. After seeing birds in the white, brown, black, gray colors for two years, I was intrigued by the lovely turquoise. I thought about the bird often and decided to try googling it. To my surprise, I was able to identify it:

Source: Wikipedia

Source: Wikipeida

It is a white-throated kingfisher. Isn't it lovely? I was pretty stoked because kingfishers are some of my favorite birds in Florida. Near my hometown, there is a narrow beach of soft sand called Mashes Sands that lies between a shallow bay and saltwater marshes. You could wade out in the bay for a hundred yards or more and the water will barely reach above your thighs. There is a creek that flows out from the marshes into the bay. This complex, delicate ecosystem of marsh and bay is home to a great variety of animals from birds to crabs to fishes, and even small sharks. The saltwater is probably more brackish than true blue saltwater. Here, I used to watch the kingfishers beat their wings, hovering high in the air above the marshes for several minutes, with their heads pointed straight down and then suddenly dive-bomb into the water to catch their prey. I was always amazed at how long they kept this fixed position in the air, hardly wavering from it. I have to admit that the kingfishers of Mashes Sands don't have anything on these beautiful white-throated kingfishers with the brilliant blue/turquoise wings and tails.

Well, I'm getting homesick writing about Mashes Sands. The next post should contain a description of a cultural tradition that I got to experience recently. Stay tuned.