Dear Jerusalem

Dear Jerusalem,

I miss you.

I miss your narrow streets paved with ancient stones. I miss the tall apartment buildings and the street-level shops. I miss the walls and arches that are centuries old.

I miss seeing signs for Biblical sites at every corner. I miss stepping off a busy road into the heavenly garden of a church or nunnery. I miss the gates and the stones and the buildings and the laundry hanging from balconies and roofs.

I miss seeing the soldiers- "those beautiful soldiers" that the lady on the plane went on and on about.

I miss the Hebrew; I miss the Arabic. I miss seeing and hearing them every time I turn around. I miss the salaam and the shalom and that one consonant that sounds like gagging when I try to imitate it.

I miss the sites, the beautiful places: the perfectly symmetrical Dome of the Rock that glittered in the sunshine, the incredibly ornate Church of the Holy Sepulcher that left me totally speechless, the refreshingly simple section of the Church of St. Peter in Gallicantu that showed me the story of Peter in a new light.  These and all the others- I miss them.

I miss the markets we visited. I miss Muristan Square where I had the Most Glorious Shawarma. I miss the Muslim Quarter market where Dad and I got lost. I miss the rugs hanging on the walls, and the beautiful dresses and scarves and jewelry, and the soccer jerseys, and the t-shirts with American sports logos written in Hebrew or Arabic. I miss the freshly squeezed pomegranate juice that I could only drink in small sips because it was so strong. I miss the shouting vendors and the pressing crowd.

I miss all the music, from Hebrew pop songs on a radio to Catholic hymns and Orthodox chants to the Muslim prayer call echoing through the city. I miss hearing shouting and laughing and talking in languages not my own.

I miss the sense of awe I felt. Seeing those tiny rolls of paper- scrawled petitions and pleas pushed in the cracks of the ancient, enormous stones of the Western Wall. Walking through a vast Jewish cemetery where every stone has a little window facing east- waiting for the Messiah Who already came. Looking out across the city at sunrise, listening to prayer call split the morning, and being overwhelmed by the lost-ness of this city. The flood of unworthiness when I realized I was standing where Jesus stood. Those were moments of awe.

I miss the people I saw; I wish I could see them again. I miss Sam, our wonderful tour guide and brother whom God has used so much in my life. I wish I could see those adorable children who ran past while we ate lunch one day. I wish I could see that kind shopkeeper who showed me the (important) difference between a 10-cent coin and a 10 shekel coin, then gave me a small souvenir for free. I wish I could see all the people again- the beautiful people with olive skin and dark eyes and wonderful accents and lost souls. I miss them. I wish I could help them.

I miss shawarma. Very much.

I miss you, Jerusalem. O Jerusalem, Jerusalem... You and your people are always in my prayers and forever in my heart. I hope I can see you again before too long.

Love,
Danielle