Give us this day our daily dust. I DO live in the Middle East, where winds from the east are stirred from barren desert stretches and, regardless of whether the doors and windows are closed, the dust (Hebrew, aphar, dry earth) finds a way of intruding through crack or crevice with a calling card.

 

Besides glass and wooden surfaces like coffee tables, desks, and bookshelves scattered throughout my house, the ebony grand piano, ensconced very near the front entry, becomes the pre-eminent welcome mat for the daily dust—that is, until the ostrich feather duster comes out of the bomb shelter, a.k.a. the storage room (this IS Israel), and I whisk it away with a flick of my wrist before unexpected guests drop by for a morning coffee.

 

According to the dictionary the feather duster was considered a status symbol in the 19th and 20th centuries. Now, still breathing in the 21st century, I can’t say that I feel any sense of privilege emanating from that wispy cleaning assistant; however, there is a sense of privilege, I must admit, from having a home which receives the blessing, yes—BLESSING, and symbolic reminder inherent in dust from this Land of the Bible. “For your servants take pleasure in her stones and love her dust (Psalm 102:14).” The Hebrew word for “love” used here implies a longing for, favor, have pity upon, have compassion for the dust of this strategic land bridge at the intersection of faith and history.

 

Dust…that daily flashback to our origins then flashforward to our transitory nature when the truth of, “For you are dust, and to dust you shall return” plays out as it does for all generations of mankind. The game-changer was God’s nephesh or living soul, breathed into Adam. It was a vitally precious thing from heaven to forever connect the Creator with His creation and imbue each of us with the imprint of “His own image.”

Ancient symbols of summer in Israel,
fresh figs and grapes adorn Jerusalem’s Old City market

During these very parched summer months when rain is out of character here, lush crops of figs and grapes with roots in the dust flourish due to what Moses termed, “the precious (valuable, choice) things of heaven (Deut. 33:13-15).” He is referring to the dew, or in Hebrew, tal, which sustains unirrigated fields and trees, but also enhances quality and taste of crops throughout the land of Israel.

I awoke this morning at 4:45 as dawn began to paint the horizon of the Golan Heights in pastel brushstrokes. Mt. Hermon, silhouetted in a mango sherbet layer of dusty haze, announced the cusp of another season to soak in sounds, smells, synergy, and spiritual perspectives this favored land releases into my bloodstream. They become a heartbeat which strengthens me daily. Having recently returned from a six-week furlough abroad, it is crucial to sit and listen for whispers of direction and purpose. I don’t want to miss my destiny, nor fail to discover and live out my defining role.

Daybreak–God’s mercies are new every morning

Through a western window above a Bedouin-style sofa in the room at The Place of Stories I call “Abraham’s Tent,” morning breezes, heavy with remnants of evening dew distilled from the Mediterranean, softly brush my back and shoulders as they rush past me to meet the intensity of the sun, only to become a summer sauna as the day unfolds in triple digit temperatures. I capture the moments of cool, knowing that they are fleeting.

Turquoise waters and well-loved stories of the Sea of Galilee
call to my heart as I sit in “Abraham’s Tent”

Just eight weeks ago where I reclined against this same window, intoxicating orange blossoms within my reach robed the clementine tree like a bridal gown. The fragrance of orange blossoms has faded along with springtime, which has rolled into summer’s cadence. Jerusalem doves coo to their mates from a lattice pergola as delicate palm fronds dance to the music of the sunrise. Branches filled with small blushing pomegranates arch over my second-floor terrace ledge like hopes and dreams for this season awaiting maturity and harvest.

Pomegranates are a symbol of fruitfulness

Some of those hopes and dreams are in the form of friendships to nourish, creative projects to pursue, offering The Place of Stories as a brief, yet needed, retreat for weary hospital staff and embattled cancer patients, finding solutions for how I remain “at home” in this land as a foreigner, and writing—yes, unlocking words and emotions which need to be distilled like the dew. I want to flourish in that fruitful place between dust and dew where my harvest overflows for others.

You don’t have to live in this axis mundi, or center of the world, to “take pleasure in her stones and long for her dust,” but many of you who have walked this soil will agree that there is a palpable sense that this sacred land is a connection point between earth and heaven—dust and dew. Maybe it is time to visit or re-visit the birthplace of creativity. Where is your fruitful place and how are your passions being stirred for the challenge of your destiny? Come and soak in it!

Enjoying the walk home,
Cindy