The Cracks of Our Lives
Peeking through a crack in Shatila Camp. August 8, 2019. Beirut, Lebanon. Photo Credit: Shelby Mathis
I was sitting in church on a beautiful fall day in Denver, Colorado, which is weird to me because just a week earlier I was in Beirut. I was packing up my Middle East life into one 50lb suitcase and feeling very emotional about saying goodbye to Beirut for the 100th time.
The day before I left, I wrote a Facebook post about how I was feeling and how homesick I was and at the same time, didn’t want to leave Beirut, the work that I am so passionate about, and my friends. I described it as a tightrope I walk in between my two lives and multiple countries. It’s painful because it feels like I am being split in two, and maybe it can’t be anything but painful.
I took the post down a few hours later because I felt too raw and didn’t want that hanging out there on the cold harsh expanse of the internet. I think I just needed to hold the pain of the transition in a private, sacred space to be able to move through it.
Sitting in church a week later, the priest mentioned this brief phrase in his sermon, “the cracks of our lives.” My eyes welled up and I thought, “that’s it, the crack of my life.”
The Middle East has brought me a great deal of joy – it has made my life beautiful. When I found out I had cancer 22 years ago, I had less than 12 hours to process before I was wheeled into surgery. I didn’t sleep that night. Instead, I spent that night on my knees, utterly confused and terrified. I remember specifically begging (not asking) God to grant me health so I could make something beautiful out of my life -- so my life would mean something.
When I look back on that night and that desperate prayer, I can’t help but be in awe of how God answered and the path my life has taken since then. I found so much meaning and purpose in serving and fighting for Palestinian refugees’ rights. Despite everything happening in the Middle East, including the current situation in Beirut* (it’s pretty bad) and the situation for Palestinian refugees (it’s really bad) I am still committed to this place and people. Why? Because I have seen too much goodness in the midst of really harsh and unjust situations. I have seen so many young people (refugees themselves without their own rights) fighting for their communities by serving others. It would be very easy for them to give up, try to find a way out for themselves, or get stuck in their own pain. But, they don’t. Talk about giving meaning to your life!
After seeing that up close, how can I not join in and support them? This is where I found meaning. This is how I found something real and true. This is why I am excited to wake up in the morning. This is joy to find yourself in something bigger than yourself.
As much joy and purpose that the Middle East brought me, it equally brought pain on multiple levels, it has put a crack the size of the Grand Canyon in my life.
I have experienced violence and war. I have trauma from it. I have seen injustice up close. I struggle with my own privilege and rights while I serve those without them. I felt betrayed and used by those I trusted. My rose-colored glasses are permanently removed on how the world works-- on power, class, privilege, and poverty. Sometimes, I wish I could un-see what I have seen and be blissfully ignorant about the pain of the world and how suffering connects us all.
Then comes the pain of living on that tightrope in between two completely different cultures and never really fitting in anywhere. I will never be Arab, but when I am in America, I am pretty dang Arabish for an American. That brings loneliness and isolation.
Maybe the biggest crack of my life has been Thyroid cancer. Cancer has brought me much pain over the past 23 years – the testing, the reoccurrences, the surgeries, treatments, and sleepless nights. I face another round of testing this month which always brings up a certain amount of anxiety. As I type this, I am overwhelmed with the feeling of gratitude and not worry. If it wasn’t for dealing with cancer at age 27, I wouldn’t be doing this work.
Cancer is a good teacher; it teaches you the value of life and the value of your own poverty. It makes you compassionate to others who suffer and angry at how we disrespect life – the life in our fellow human beings. Which makes you want to fight for others who hurt and have been devalued and marginalized.
Maybe that’s the thing about the cracks of our lives, when you stare down into the depths, if you look closely enough, you see the light shining out of the darkness.
It’s our healing.
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in
-excerpt from Leonard Cohen’s Anthem