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In the past month I have neglected to write--allow me to catch up. A lot has happened.

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I wrote this as a draft when it was still freshly happening. Even though it is a couple weeks old now, I think it is valuable enough to read. It's written in the present tense:



Gilad Shalit. This name means nothing to some people, and everything to others.



He is an Israeli Sergeant who has been imprisoned by the Hamas in the Gaza Strip for the last 5 years. He was 19 years old when we was first captured. After years of negotiations and protesting (including his parents who have camped out in protest all these years) he is finally being set free.



In exchange for ONE THOUSAND Palestinian prisoners in Israel.



Their murderous crimes notwithstanding, their dispersed release regardless, whether some are shipped to Switzerland, or handed right back to the Hamas nonetheless--I sat around a dinner table and exchanged glances with my friends and coworkers as we heard this news, and allowed it sink in. None of us said a word.



Am I scared? I don't know. My husband looks at me with love and strength unable to do a thing about it for his wife. The remarkable thing is how none of us have really allowed fear to take over. My mother-in-law radiates strength and courage, and continues business as usual. In fact, everyone I know and work with, has continued business as usual. What are we supposed to do, leave the country? Didn't we know before we got here what we were getting into? And let's not forget what I previously stated: I STILL believe it was God's plan for me to be here.



Someone recently commented on the old hymn, Be Thou My Vision: "Vision is not just what we see, but also  how we see."



I can choose to see a despairing situation. Or I can choose to see haggard parents, desperate to have their imprisoned and tortured son safely back in their arms. I can choose to see through my own eyes, or I can choose to see through God's.



Be Thou My Vision is a prayer. A prayer to see what God sees and how God sees. And God sees me right now--regardless of what goes on in my surroundings. 



Fast-forward to today. Israel is seemingly on the brink of war with Iran. For those of you who may be shaken up by the prisoners story, now that several weeks has passed, I can tell you nothing has changed. Choosing where you go requires more discernment (I wouldn't go to the West Bank) but life in Jerusalem is unchanged and unaffected by the release of the prisoners.



Our morning staff meetings are a time of worship, prayer, and discussion. This morning we seriously discussed the implications of war between Israel and Iran. Some in our meeting have lived in the land a very long time. And they've heard rumors of war hundreds of times. But even they had to face that this was more than just a rumor. And the midst of war is no time to make decisions about leaving or staying. Now, when all is still quiet, and it's still only a possibility, is the time to decide.



The reality is that there is relatively little threat to Jerusalem. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, Jerusalem is home to holy sites for many people groups--and few would dare attack it for risk of destroying such places, and inciting an even bigger problem.

But the bottom line reality is the balance of two truths: We cannot live in fear. And we cannot live recklessly.



I know most of my loved ones would beg me to come home. But it's not that simple. Please know and trust that Josh and I are doing everything we can to abide by both of the aforementioned truths. And we will do what we have to do.



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"Heart of my own heart, whatever befall. Still be my vision, O Ruler of all."



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