It has been over a year since Jerusalem Old City craftsmen, my “Betzalel Team,” completed their construction of my room addition to the tiny 400-square-foot apartment I had called home for twenty years. Their departure left me with a fabulous new space for writing inspiration and hosting others; however, the dust bombs created by wall demolition, construction challenges in a four-floor walkup apartment, and living in a work zone were nerve-wracking.  

Ironically, some of the worst events in our life can lead us to the “better than we could have ever imagined” realities. I repeatedly read in the Bible how God loves to show Himself faithful, and I am banking on that for my return to Israel from a season of visa exile. There have been many nights of sobbing and restlessly trying to figure out every detail, but I must remember past victories. Following is one of my own stories, which continues to build my confidence in uncertainty.

When mists and fog obscure the pathway forward. Choose to
reach for the unseen hand of God and believe He is always faithful.

September 11, 2020, I was soaking up the sunshine and savoring my morning devotional reading on the Old City terrace perched above the Via Dolorosa. That shared rooftop sanctuary was my de facto outdoor living room for eighteen years. Walking toward me that morning, the building manager broke the news that I needed to clear off my sunshade canopy, table, and chairs. The plants I had nurtured through the blazing Middle Eastern summer heat must find a new home. The Armenian Church’s long-range building plans were finally moving forward since the pandemic shuttered their guesthouse. City-approved architectural drawings called for another apartment or rooftop restaurant where I was seated. 

Jerusalem was experiencing a dearth of tourism in the throes of our modern-day plague, and suddenly an earthquake threatened to swallow up dreams of expanding my tent pegs. Well, that scenario is just one of the examples to me that God hears our most resounding cry. That day I got down on my knees, where earlier in the day, my table had been, and I symbolically laid that terrace space on the altar. Things die on altars. In this place, thousands of years ago, Abraham prepared to do what God had asked him to do, and there Abraham responded, “Hineni,” or “Here am I, Lord.” That September day, I offered up my dream room to Him, and He made way for that space to become mine.

Named “Hineni” and surrounded by walls awash with fiery colors,
the dream room that went on the altar is a visual reminder of hope.

More than a year after the room’s structural completion, sourcing light fixtures, cabinetry work, creating furnishings, personally transporting paint supplies by hand-cart into Jerusalem’s Old City, and many hours up and down a painting ladder, I was ready to host my first guests. 

There was an artist I knew who had a compelling story of seeing his entire studio of artwork go up in flames. An arsonist set fire to the hills of Beit Meir near Jerusalem in 2016, where Yoram Raanan watched as forty years of his life’s work turned to ashes. A flash drive storing many of the images he had painted survived. With that flash drive, he and his wife Meira created a coffee table book showcasing photographs of his artwork published by the Jerusalem Post newspaper years ago. Out of the ashes, he built a new studio and began to paint, this time with fresh urgency.

In 2021 I visited his studio, purchased his book, “The Art of Revelation,” and returned home, where I began leafing through the pages in search of a symbolic print to go above my new fireplace in “Hineni.”  Reading through the five books of The Torah in weekly portions during a calendar year has been a Jewish practice for millennia. Yoram’s book displays images he painted of each week’s story portion. I chose his imagining of “The Binding of Isaac,” from Genesis 22, or the Hebrew translation, “The Aqedah.” God made many promises to Abraham concerning his son, Isaac. When God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, Abraham responded, “Hineni.” Yoram’s painting captured the dramatic encounter when an angel intervened to stop the sacrifice, and God provided a ram as Isaac’s substitute on the altar.

In December 2021, I asked Yoram to prepare an embellished print of his painting entitled “Avraham, Avraham.” When I asked Yoram if anyone had ever purchased this painting or subsequent prints, he lifted his hand to the heavens with a flittering motion to indicate that it had gone up in smoke during the fire. “No one ever purchased a print,” he said. That day, we made an exchange. I had the honor of affirming this particular piece of his artwork, and he would be giving me a visual reminder that when we willingly give God what is precious to us, our faithful God will meet us in surprising ways. “Here I am, Lord.”

Months passed before the print was ready. During those months, I learned I must say goodbye to my beloved Israel for six months due to a visa issue. I was going to have to close up both the Galilee home and the apartment in Jerusalem, then depart. It meant I must lay my sanctuaries, friendships, life there, and my dream of Residency on the altar. 

Just after Passover this year, I got the call to pick up “Avraham, Avraham” from the artist and immediately took it to a framer in Tiberius who was able to complete the framing in a day! A few days later, I was back in Jerusalem to finally hang that symbolic painting over the fireplace and lock the door (for at least six months) to the space I had “laid on the altar” nearly two years prior. Emotions and tears overwhelmed me.

For a parting shot, I placed the jug and deed on my window sill with
Jerusalem’s Temple Mount creating the background. The potted violets sadly went in the trash.

The story of Jeremiah’s obedience (Jer. 32) to purchase the deed to a property near Jerusalem as the Babylonians advanced and to put that deed in a clay jug for future return inspired this tangible reminder I created from the title deed to a property I once owned in Missouri. Because of digital innovation, this form of ownership evidence is no longer necessary, but I chose to save it. When one of my clay flower jugs broke into pieces, I salvaged the handle portion and used it to cradle the old deed, symbolizing hope for my future return to Jerusalem. As Jeremiah wrote, “Ah Lord, God! Behold (Hineh), You have made the heavens and the earth by Your great power and by Your outstretched arm! Nothing is too difficult for You (Jeremiah 32:17 NASB).”  I can’t wait to see what God will do!

 

Enjoying the walk home,
Cindy