Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes


I arrived in Palestine one year ago today. And I was wondering just how I might quantify or measure this past year. So much has happened. So much has changed. People have come. People have gone. Things have remained the same. And sometimes it seems as if nothing is new under the sun.

Just over a year ago, Hurricane Katrina hit and my Grandmother Marjorie passed away. Just under a year ago my Grandma Emma passed as well. I find so much of my sense of home and self in the Gulf Coast and in my family… especially the beach and especially my grandmothers. Growing up on the water means you can always find yourself there – in your mind and in your heart. When I am lonely or feeling lost, I walk the shores in my mind at night. I feel the breeze and I taste that salt and I know that G-d is real. Growing up surrounded by family means you can always find yourself there – they are part of your mind and part of your heart. I always dreamed to be like my grandmothers. One beautiful and eloquent. The other simple and silly. And both had a gift for loving others with tenacity. Both had a sharp wit. Both had a passion for honesty and never seemed to be in want of anything but that which was right in front of them.

How I wish I could walk that ever-changing beach just now. How I wish I could share with them this year…

Learning to see history and people differently. Walking unknown streets till they became as familiar to me as the back of my hand. Welcoming babies and new life into this world. Mourning deeply the loss of those departed. I fell in love for the first time. And I felt a sadness and brokenness more acutely than I ever could have imagined… as I said good-bye to some and found myself in a place that feels forgotten. I saw walls go up around me and inside me. I saw walls fall down inside as well. My passport became my most important document. I watched children grow for an entire year inside an ever-shrinking prison. Sometimes I spoke. Sometimes I was quiet.

I saw Christ born in the hearts of people in Bethlehem… just as He is born again each year, each moment. I witnessed the paradox of Palm Sunday… pilgrims from all over the world processing together through Jerusalem, while my friends in Bethlehem waited till Monday to hear of the Hosannas. I saw pain and anguish… a passion and cross as painful as families dying on the beach at a picnic in Gaza… the ever increasing anxiety and tension of living inside a wall… trapped behind hate when all you want is to go to Jerusalem and feel with others the antithesis of all that is evil – Resurrection Love given to you by the grace of G-d.

My Grandmother Marjorie would have wept with me. Perhaps she would have sung a mournful song. My Grandma Emma would have sat by the Sea of Galilee with me. Perhaps she would have told me that Jesus loves me… that the Jesus she knows loves everyone.

I wonder how they would measure my year. I wonder how I will measure each year.

I never saw the play or the movie called “Rent.” But I have heard a song from it. It moves me to tears and smiles just now. And in this moment, I can call it nothing but appropriate. Sufficient. Honest. Enough.

I used to measure my years in semesters… in books… in summers and holidays. But now I know not how to measure time.

Seasons are appealing because seasons are always temporary. They will always come. And they will always go. You pass through seasons in nature. But you can also pass through seasons in your life, in your heart.

I wonder then, how should I measure time? How should I measure myself? If I measure my grandmothers, if I measure the time that I knew them and what others told me about them, then what I remember most clearly and certainly is the way they loved me… the way they loved others… the way they loved G-d…

So maybe for the next five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes I will measure my year in love.

How will you measure yours?

Peace from Palestine,
Ashley




Seasons of Love
Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes, Five hundred twenty-five thousandMoments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes, How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes, How do you measure A year in the life?

How about love? How about love? Measure in love.
Seasons of love. Seasons of love.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes! Five hundred twenty-five thousand Journeys to plan.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes. How do you measure the life Of a woman or a man? In truths that she learned, Or in times that he cried. In bridges he burned, Or the way that she died.
It's time now to sing out, Tho' the story never ends, Let's celebrate Remember a year in the life of friends.

Remember the love! Remember the love! Seasons of love!
Remember the love! Remember the love, You Measure in love.
Know that love is a gift from up above. Seasons of love.
Share love, give love, spread love.
Measure, measure your life in love.