Prayer shawls, fringes fluttering in the breeze, envelop Jewish Orthodox men streaming through Damascus Gate, as they flow toward the Western Wall on this Sabbath morning, lips muttering in silent prayer. God’s care and protection are figuratively described by the Psalmist as being “in the shelter of His wings,” or kanapheka, which includes references to the edges of those prayer garments. “In the shelter of His wings” is a place of refuge, of intimacy. I want to live daily in that protected place.

This morning His wings are overwhelmingly embracing me as I read words about those living in Jerusalem past and those foretold in her future. Daybreak nears, reducing me to tears, touching deeper than any physical mantle laid upon me, with feathers of love reaching inward to caress my very soul, nudging me forward on the branch to soar.

The Lover of My Soul knows how to call my thoughts upward by creating a heart-compress—a healing balm rich in vibrant natural images drawn from the very soil of this holy land and then moistened by my own thankful and grieving tears. Did you read of the blind man at the Pool of Siloam? He received his sight, not far from where I now sit, when moistened soil was applied to his eyes on a Sabbath day of ages past. I am ever thirsty for new eyes which are full of hope.

Sunrise breaks over the Mount of Olives

THIS is my “Hope Place,” defying an international sense of hopelessness for peace on this sacred real estate. Over the millennia—prophets, priests, kings, as well as regular people like you and me have held onto seemingly impossible promises in the face of dire predictions, disappointment, dispersion, destruction, and even perceived desolation.

The waves of a gloriously expectant dawn break over the Mount of Olives, rushing into the Kidron Valley which has absorbed the blood and tears of generational sacrifices from the Temple Mount above it. The Artist’s brushes of sunlight now trace across the ancient jumble of stones, warmly kissing my forehead, and soon painting Jerusalem’s Old City canvas of limestone with a resplendent golden glow.

The Old City awakens for another day as
light and shadow play leap frog from walls
to domes to fragrant secret courtyards.

Music beckons me to soar this morning when past losses, present uncertainty, and mountain-sized challenges ahead attempt to clip my wings and confine me to waiting in the nest at “The Dovecote,” my endearing term for the tiny “sanctuary with a story” where I reside.

King David said, “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem,” and I do, but sitting here on my Old City terrace on the very fringes (same root word for wings, kanaph) of the Temple Mount compound, a metaphorical sacral garment spread over the navel of the earth, I also grieve as those who wept over this city like Jeremiah, Yeshua, and generations.

From the heights of the city, doves enjoy
the freedom of flight before settling back into
their shanty-shack dovecote. (middle left in photo)

White and speckled homing doves, kanaphaim outstretched, artfully swoop in formation, pouring out an aerial libation of praise around domes, synagogues, crosses, solar panels, and satellite dishes. Since the days of Noah the dove has symbolized peace and hope—new beginnings. These feathered messengers always know where to return for sustenance and shelter in their dovecote, regardless of how shabbily constructed or lacking in charm those dovecotes may be.

My “Dovecote” terrace garden attracts guests
who share the shade, music, and a majestic view

Are you looking at situations in your own life or around you, which cause your heart to hurt? Are you, too, thirsty for new eyes which are full of hope? He who feeds the birds cares SO much more for us and, just like the sun rose gloriously on Jerusalem this morning, God’s promise is, “The Sun of Righteousness will arise with healing in His wings.” Feel His kiss on your forehead. Wear well His mantle of destiny upon your shoulders. Soar in the shelter of His wings and pour out your own libation of praise wherever the winds take you.

Enjoying the walk home,
Cindy