I Know That My Redeemer Lives

This is a little late for Easter, I know. The days have come and gone without a thought for my writings heree--the days get filled up with school and exams and all the rest, and then here we are. Even though Easter is past, however, I wanted to bear my testimony here of my Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ.

I know my Savior lives. I know that He loves me with a love that cannot begin to fully understand, but that I feel and rely on every day. I know that He suffered and died so that I would not have to do so, but could live with Him again free of punishment or blame. I know that He rose from the grave on the third day, shattering forever death's hold upon the children of men. I know that He lives today--"the great king Immanuel, who stands... at the right hand of the Father." I know He will come to earth again and finish the great work that He and the Father began--the salvation of mankind. I know that work will succeed.

Some might ask how I know these things. I guess on some level I don't--not in the world's sense of knowing. I haven't seen the Savior. I have not felt the prints of the nails in His hands and feet. I was not there to hear the angels at the empty tomb announcing His resurrection on that first Easter Sunday. I don't have the sort of physical evidence that would prove the case in a courtroom--photographs, nails from the cross and the like.

Don't get me wrong--I have come as close to having that kind of evidence as most people ever get. I have stood in the Church of the Holy Seplechure, kneeling in the upstairs shrine and touching the place where the cross is believed by the Catholic faith to have stood. I have sat among the rocks and brush in the fields overlooking the hillside of Bethlehem, in a place where shepherds still "watch over their flocks by night." I have walked beneath the ancient olive trees of Gethsemane, the place where Jesus Christ took upon Himself the sins and pains of the world, and have marveled anew at the thought of such a great and infinite Atonement. I have sat on the shores of Galilee and watched the morning sun come up over the clear blue water whereon a band of fishermen-turned-apostles once toiled in a fishing boat. I have stood on the steps to the temple mount and in one of the most ancient synagogues in all the Holy Land--places where the Savior Himself stood. I have pondered and sung hymns in the places where He lived and healed--Bethesda, Capernaum, Nain, Jerusalem, and more. I have prayed  at the Western Wall for a new temple to be built. I have sat among the flowers and trees and gazed upon an empty tomb that may have been His, remembering those beautiful words, "Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen."

All of these were incredible experiences. I felt the spirit and was taught of God as I sojourned in the Holy Land and "walked the roads of Palestine" as Jesus did. But I did not need to go to Israel to know "the reality of His matchless life and the infinite virtue of His great Atoning sacrifice." I got to know those things better in Jerusalem--but I knew them before. I knew my Savior before.

The dictionary defines "knowing"something as "to perceive or understand as fact or truth; to be acquainted with, as by sight, experience, or report." I think this defines very well the way I know Jesus Christ. I know Him by understanding. I know Him by acquaintance--by associating with Him. The Greek "know" has two meanings--to know something in a factual sense, or to know by association. The latter is used in this sense: "And this is life eternal, that they might know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent." I know Jesus Christ in that way--by association, by being with Him. I know Him perhaps not by physical sight, but by "experience" and by "report." I know Him because He has been with me and because I have felt His presence.

I know Him by faith.Faith is "to hope for things which are not seen, which are true." It is "the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." It is to walk by complete trust, relying on more than sight alone. It is to act without knowing the end from the beginning, but knowing just enough. The Bible Dictionary says that "faith is a principle of action." That is very true, and I know the Savior that way, too--because my actions center so much around my belief that He lives and has a plan for me beyond what I could ever hope for myself.

I have felt the hand of Jesus Christ in my life. I have felt the Spirit testify to me of Him. I have felt with complete certainty the truth of His words as I have studied them in the scriptures. I have felt His comfort in times when I felt nothing could heal me--when my heart was broken, when I felt entirely alone, or when I felt I would never be enough to measure up in this world. In the times when I feel most worthless, He is there to tell me that I was worth everything. When I have been in the throes of pain and despair, He has provided healing and promises of happiness right around the corner. I  have felt His presence in the holy Temple--the House of the Lord. I know that He can bring "peace in this life," and I have great assurance and hope that He can bring all of us "eternal life in the world to come."

I know that my Redeemer lives--that "Jesus is the living Christ, the immortal Son of God." I know He loves me. I know He loves you, too. Because He loves you, He has blessed you and will continue to bless you, even when you aren't looking--now and always.

I write these words in His holy name--even the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My Valentine

This last week, it happened. That holiday. The one and only. The day that either gives you an excuse to share love with those around you (and maybe some individual in particular) or reminds you that you are painfully still single, depending on how you take it. The day of chocolates and bouquets and yummy little conversation hearts that flash such witty and romantic comments as "Dare Ya" and "Yes Dear" and "Marry Me" (how many people have been proposed to with these hearts, I wonder?). The day of pink and red hearts and chic flicks and dinner dates. The day of love.

Valentines Day.

I remember it being really fun in elementary school. Back then, we were all required to bring a valentine for everyone in the class. We all made boxes to hold them, some creative, some not. I remember being assisted by my parents in making a cardboard mailbox one year. Other years they were just cereal or shoe boxes covered in pink paper and cut out hearts or magic marker drawings with a slot cut in the stop. We would have a party in class, in which we would decorate valentines for our parents and play games and decorate heart shaped sugar cookies, all supervised by generous adult volunteers. Then we would collect our valentines and drop one into each person's delivery box, set out in anticipation on his or her desk. Generally they were just the little paper kind from the store, Disney princess, Power Rangers, super heroes, or otherwise. Sometimes they involved candy. Almost all were individually addressed to each person in big-lettered, grade school handwriting. Nothing real romantic or personal, but a valentine all the same.

When I went into sixth grade, my first year of middle school, I didn't realize how different things would be. There was no plan for a party in home room. We didn't make cutsie delivery boxes or decorate cookies. I think I wore something pink or otherwise holiday appropriate to school the day of, but that was about it as far as I can remember. Our homeroom teacher may have given us a little something, but I don't recall. Only one fact sticks out in my mind. I did not receive a single valentine.

I was so disappointed. I hadn't received anything. Perhaps my memory is amiss--perhaps I did get something from Hannah or Leann--but I didn't have a very tight circle of friends at the time and no boy was interested enough in my little sixth-grader-pencil-line-bangs self to do anything for me. I guess I really shouldn't have been expecting much in middle school, but I didn't know that at the time. I was crushed.

That night, however, I did receive a valentine. Someone left a bottle of orange-scented lotion on the front step, rang the doorbell, and ran. I answered it, found no one there, bent to pick up the bottle--and was both shocked and enthralled to see that my name was on the tag. My mother at first thought the gift was for her, until I showed her the paper--it most certainly said "To: Rachel." It was the first bottle of lotion I had ever owned. It was also the first of many gifts I would receive on February 14th over the years, all from the same person--my one and only Valentine.

It was from my dad.

As the years passed, Valentine's Day continued to be a disappointment as far as the boys in my life were concerned. Most were uninterested in dating, let alone bringing around flowers on the so-called "singles awareness day." I still passed out cards and conversations hearts to my friends every year, figuring it was as good an excuse as any to let them know I cared about them. Every year got a card apiece from my Grandma Pullan and Grandma Molen, sometimes with a couple dollars tucked inside. I must give my mother credit where credit is due as well. Every year she came up with ways to celebrate, from heart shaped pancakes in the morning to a beautiful Valentine's dinner that night. One year in junior high she bought a rose for me from the val-o-gram fundraiser the library was doing so that I could have a flower delivered to me on Valentine's day. I think I have the best mom in the world. She understands me more than I ever gave her credit for--especially where love is concerned.

The best valentines, though, were the ones I looked forward to from my father. One year it was a long-sleeved, v-neck purple shirt that I loved at once and wore for a long time afterwards. Another year he brought home a little heart shaped box of chocolates for each of the kids--red with Peanuts characters on the front. Another year it was a simple construction paper heart with a message written on the front which I now keep treasured in my doll cabinet, always reminding me that my father is proud of me and loves me dearly. Every year there was something. Every year, after yet another less-than-stellar Valentines Day at school, I would wait eagerly for my father to come home that evening, knowing that by the end of the day I would have at least one valentine. 

In recent years I have gotten pretty skilled at celebrating Valentine's Day on my own. I make sugar cookies, I invite friends over, I give my roommates and friends valentines, I do a nice dinner, I wear pink. This year I even went to the temple on Valentine's Day because it fell on a Thursday and thus coincided with my weekly Temple Night. These college years, I have seem my father at least once a week when he has work with the Provo courts--more some semesters when he taught at the law school. Every year I could count on a valentine and a beautiful, uplifting "I love you" and "I'm so proud of you, honey," though those are not Valentine's exclusive words--he says that almost every time he sees me. This year dad was in New Zealand with my brother Daniel for Daniel's graduation trip. But even though my dad was clear on the other side of the world, I still received my valentine.

"Just thought I would send you flowers and let you know how much I love you. Love, Dad."

I love you, too, Daddy. Thank you for always being my valentine.

There And Back Again

Hello again, friends! Yes, I am still here, still alive, still well, and still blogging. The delay was for many reasons--Christmas, homework, teaching, and so on--but the chiefest and simplest one is that I am no longer in Jerusalem and life has caught up with me again.

I am adjusting. I have moved into a new apartment with four other girls. The one who was going to be my roommate up and decided all at once to serve a mission, so she is now preparing to labor in London and I have the room to myself. The extra space is nice, but the truth is that I miss having someone else to live with. The other girls are fantastic and I have been grateful for their friendship. Right away they welcomed me into their lives and made me feel right at home. I am starting my teaching program, which has been an extremely overwhelming process. Few days go by when I don't say to myself "I don't know if I can do this..." I have also been taking Writings of Isaiah from Sister Ann Madsen (who, as it happens, taught my mother religion when she was in Jerusalem), contemporary dance, basic vocal technique, ASL 201, and harp (yes! I am finally learning to play!). My teaching course is only first block, so in a couple weeks I will start taking adolescent development and multicultural education classes in its place.

My favorite of all so far is probably harp. I've wanted to learn to play for so long--I still can hardly believe my eyes when I sit down behind one of the school harps to practice. I have played for Katie a couple times, and across the board the experience was both terrifying (which she doesn't seem to understand some how--"What? It's just me!") and very helpful. She's been doing this a long time--both playing and teaching--and I have benefited from her guidance. I have also had the opportunity this last week to sit and listen to her practicing. I didn't realize 'til then how much I had missed hearing her play.

I have seen some of my Jerusalem friends--the J-ru Crew, as we've started to call it. We've had a couple parties for different occasions. Not everyone can make it, of course--some are in Hawaii, Idaho, or are graduated--but we've had some good numbers, as many as forty or fifty at a time at the most. I've hung out with small groups as well from time to time (think balloon volleyball with a piece of waxed dental floss for a net with Andrew and McKenzi and Mary and Michael--it's a blast). It's good to know that I have so many good friends to call on whenever I want support or friendly company.

The J-ru crew has now received a sum total of seven mission calls, with more in process or on the way (including Katie). We'll have Jerusalem folks all over the world by summer's end--from Russia to Japan to Guatemala to New York to Texas and beyond. I would love to join their number, but I am not sure whether that is where Heavenly Father wants me to go right now. I always wanted to be a missionary, so I expected the choice would be plain and simple. I have been surprised at how how hard it has been. I am trying to be patient, though. As a friend of mine said, it seems that all these BYU girls feel like they need to decide whether to serve before next period. That is not the case, though--there is time. I have started some of my paperwork so that either way I will be ready.

I heard from so many people who went to Jerusalem before me that they thought about it every day thereafter. They were right. I think about it always. Any time someone even mentions Israel, Jerusalem, Arabic, Galilee, or anything within a hundred mile radius of the Center I perk up. As I told my JC peers, it's probably a good thing the Gospel Doctrine rotation is on D&C this year, otherwise we would all be completely impossible (Teacher: Alright class, we're going to talk about Jericho today... / Me: Excuse me, I've been there, and...) The news I hear about Israel, Gaza, the West Bank, Egypt, and Syria is suddenly personal. Every time I read my scriptures there is something that brings back a memory from the Holy Land. The first time I went to the temple to do baptisms back in January, my first thought was that the painting of Galilee was about spot on while the one of the River Jordan looked nothing like it at all (though the image is still lovely, don't get me wrong). Every time I think of the resurrection or atonement, a small part of me goes back to the Garden Tomb or the olive trees of the Garden of Gethsemane. I think a part of my heart is always there, walking the city streets and the Mount of Olives.

"Oh, Jerusalem, if I forget thee..."

Galilee: The Rest

Well, I am back to the JC and once again behind on my blog. I will be brief, seeing as I have much to do and not much time to do it in.

Day 10 was our trip to Akko and environs in West Galilee. We visited Chorazin and Sepphoris first. In Chorazin we talked about the Savior's teachings about the Pharisees--beams and motes, loving the uppermost rooms and best seats, all that sort of thing. There was a stone "Moses seat" in the synagogue. It was a replica (the real one is at the Israel Museum and I got to see it earlier this month) so we got to take turns sitting in it for a photo shoot. The highlight at Sepphoris was a lot of amazing tile mosaics, including one of a beautiful woman known as "the Mona Lisa of the Galilee." We hiked around there a fair bit, seeing the best of the buildings and mosaics, then had a full group picnic lunch (and I got white chocolate strawberry ice cream from the gift shop--I indulge sometimes). We also took a quick stop by a cistern, where we got out, saw the sights, and got back on in admirable paratrooper style.

Our last stop was the city of Akko--once an Israelite city, then a crusader capitol. We started out by watching a very... interesting... video of an animated bean pole sized knight and rather plump horse going around the crusader ruins and gift shops and tourist attractions and earning medals for it. Also, they called the city "Acre"--as in a piece of land--instead of Akko or even the French name Jean d'Acre (Ak-reh), and I must say this discrepency drove me a little crazy at the time. We then walked through the old crusader passages ourselves (sans crusader era cartoons), which was much better than watching the characters do it. We had free time to wander around the sea side before heading back. I bought some fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice, took some great pictures, and climbed around on the rocks and the ancient walls by the Mediterranean sea. Paul busied himself on the rocks taking glamour pictures on the rocks of a few of the girls who wanted them. "You have to choose your own rock. You have to own the rock." We hurried back to Galilee for our last night at Ein Gev, making it back with an hour to spare. Jackson and Bradley, my apartment's home teachers, gave us our lesson there by the sea. Bradley started out by asking us a question about Christmas traditions, which each of us then talked about--but that meant the topic of conversation was more interesting to passers by, it would seem, because we got two add-ons to our group who listened in on our lesson before finally scooting off when they realized we were being home taught.

That night we had our final bonfire, where we all talked and ate smores and and sang songs with Paul's guitar and just had a fantastic time. I sat and talked to Katie while Ashley Wright gave me a shoulder massage, laughed with Mary (including teasing her a little for accidentally missing the home teaching), sat on the sand and listened to Paul's playing, chatted around some, and talked with Aliseea down by the water about more personal and spiritual things. I love the people I am with on this program. I am going to miss them so much.

Day 11 started out with our trip to Mt. Carmel, where we had a devotional near a church commemorating Elijah's contest with the priests of Baal. We sat among the trees and stones in the cool morning air and read the story to ourselves, then had a discussion about it with Brother Schade. We talked about Elijah's faith and courage, standing up for the one true God of Israel, entirely alone against over four hundred priests of Baal. That story is one of my favorites in the Old Testament. We heard a bit of screaming and cheering from somewhere a ways off, which I for one shrugged off as being the other class doing their reenactment of the contest (because Brother Judd has a thing for skits). We then went into the little church and joined to other class in singing a few hymns. It was just after the singing that Katie informed me that the screaming was because Mary and Michael Stallings had kissed in front of the entire class. The last thing I had heard from Mary about the two of them was that she had let him know she wasn't as interested as he was. Therefore, my reaction was something along the lines of: "WHAT?!? Excuse me--WHAT?! Tell me--oh, never mind, I'll make you explain later." Which I did--and I'll get there later. We also enjoyed the beautiful view of the surrounding valleys from a platform atop the church. I can see why prophets from years past have come to mountain tops to be close to God.

Our next stop was Haifa. We paused for a few minutes to overlook the headquarters and temple of Baha'i, an offshoot religion of Islam that I had never heard of until about half an hour before we got there. The grounds we were looking at were gorgeous and the temple was lovely--no Salt Lake Temple, of course, but sort of Dome of the Rock reminiscent.

After that we had a really special stop--the old Templer cemetery in Haifa. Templer refers not to the Knight's Templar, but to a group of German Christians who came to the Holy Land to wait it out until a new temple could be built and the second coming could come about. There we saw not only the graves of the German immigrants, but also the tombstones of several latter day saint converts and two Mormon missionaries, Adolf Hagg and John Clarke. Adolf Hagg was called away from his wife and family in his late twenties to serve German speaking in southern Europe (Instanbul, etc.), then eventually was tranfered to Haifa. Before he arrived there, he saw a vision of a certain street and a man coming out to meet him. As soon as he got to Haifa, he walked thtrough the city, searching. At nightfall, he found the street--and there, out of one of the houses, came a German man rushing out to meet him. The man was a templer immigrant named Georg (last name escapes me--I'll look it up), a blacksmith, and he too had seen a vision in which Elder Hagg came to him and shared with him a message about God. He and his family became the first converts in the holy land since the days of Peter and Paul (and Georg became the first branch president). Elder Hagg succummed to illness while in Haifa and was burried at the cemetery there, not far from the family he baptized. The other missionary was Elder John Clarke, who left all his future plans and college education to answer a call to serve German speaking in Haifa. He was out only a year before also succumbing to illness. He and Elder Hagg are buried near one another, and both graves are marked with a broken collumn, representing a life cut short. We visited each tomb one by one and Brother Judd told us their stories. At his request, we stood near the missionaries' markers and sang "I'll go where you want me to go." I shamelessly admit that I cried--and I wasn't the only one. It was so moving to sing that hymn in honor of two missionaries who had answered Heavenly Father's every call and made every sacrifice--even into the next life. They are heroes to me--shining examples of following the Lord in all things, even to the last.

Our last site of the day and of our Galilee adventure was Caesarea Maritima--the same Caesarea where Paul the apostle was imprisoned and declared the gospel for Felix and Festus and King Agrippa. We watched a significantly better movie than Akko's, which gave a great scope for how the place has changed over the years, especially with the buildling of Herod's great retaining wall out at sea, which essentially created a man-made harbor. The idea was to provide a port for ships so that Caesarea's trade and commerce value would go up (it worked). We toured among the ruins, making a concentrated effort to stay ahead of the Judd class. We talked about Paul's message to King Agrippa and the things that had happened here in this city. We saw our last ancient theatre, a huge hippodrome (including a metal frame style model chariot, in which a couple girls did a picture in a Hunger Games pose), and a smattering of crusader ruins, which I explored with Hannah. We didn't stay long--an hour or so, perhaps--and there wasn't an awful lot to see. What there was, however, was amazing to me, if only because I love the stories of Paul--his testimony, his mission, his love for others, and his unfailing service to God--and it was a special experience to be in the place where some of it happened, as with Ephesus and Assos. It was good today to see the examples of so many missionaries--Adolf Hagg, John Clarke, and the apostle Paul.

After a quick wade in the Mediterranean (as well as seashell collecting and a picture of the nearby Roman aqueduct) we piled into the busses and headed home to Jerusalem. We got home to find a feast waiting for us in the Oasis. Our chef Ahmed and the rest of the JC kitchen crew (bless all their hearts) had made us a Thanksgiving dinner spread. It was rather different from the dinner my Grandma makes, but it was all delicious and all very much appreciated. Turkey is hard to come by in the middle east, so that in itself was a very rare treat indeed. Ahmed had also made potatoes, stuffing, rolls, pitas, hummus, yams, vegetables, and even a whole chilled salmon. There was also a whole variety of desserts--and knowing that it was our favorite, he had included pently of ice cream. It was a true feast for which we were all grateful. The whole group gave Ahmed and company standing ovation after dessert.

Galilee was an incredible experience. I learned so much and came closer to my Savior--though very much in His way and time. I am so grateful for the opportunity I had to live where the Savior lived for a little while. It made me see why He loved it so much and how it inspired some of His teachings. Galilee is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been and it will always be a treasure to me.

That said, I will say that we were all glad to be home. I was happy to get back to my own beds and my usual roommates that night. Annie and I cornered Mary after dinner and interrogated her about the kiss. We saw the recording (before I tell this story, you should know first that Mary sang a song for the informal talent show called "Let's Give Them Something to Talk About" with words about the JC. That is all). The reenactment involved a parody of the battle of wits from "The Princess Bride," with Jay as Vizzini/the priests of Baal, Michael as Wesley/Elijah, and Mary as Buttercup/the children of Israel ("I have to discern from what I know of Baal--is he the kind of god who would light his own bullock or his enemy's?" and also "Ha ha! You only think I lost! I lit my bullock on fire when your back was turned!"). The skit in itself was hillarious--but the best part was the end, when Michael removed Mary's blindfold and asked, "Well, Mary, what should we do now?" to which she responded, "Let's give them something to talk about, Michael," whereupon he kissed her full on the mouth. Whoever was holding the camera panned the crowd's reactions and it was a scream. Aparently they had gotten together and kissed for the first time in Galilee, and figured rather than keeping things secret or gradually integrating hand holding into their daily activities, they could show everybody their relationship status with a bang. No kidding--was it ever!

Thus ended the Galilee trip--with romantic fireworks and Thanksgiving dinner. What an adventure!

Galilee Day 9: Tels, Fortresses, and Testimony

As long as we’re doing field trip days, I’m just going to tell you the basics from site to site. It’s easier for me and more organized for you, so let’s do it.

Hazor was amazing. I did my site report on it, so I was terribly excited to see it, and it fulfilled my hopes. I was given the opportunity to tell everybody about the site when we first got there. The city is massive. The upper city, on which the citadel sits, encompasses about thirty acres, while the lower city sprawling out into the valley encompasses some 180 acres. Obviously very little of that is excavated, but it’s still amazing to think about. We walked among the ruins, looking at the water system and the watch tower and the six chambered Solomonic gate. I got to see a destruction layer in the citadel that may have been the layer left by the Israelites in their conquest of the north. Hazor then was one of the greatest cities the whole region, known in the Bible as “the head of all those kingdoms.” It was immense, heavily populated (some 25-30,000 people), well fortified, and very wealthy. Not much remains of it now, but what there is remains as a testament to its former glory. It just goes to show, I suppose, that the Lord’s will cannot be stopped by any one wall or city or kingdom, no matter how great.

Next Stop: Tel Dan. Dan was another great city, though primarily in its Israelite days. It held a very important position, being one of the strongest cities on the northern border, such that the kingdom of the people of Israel was said to stretch “from Dan to Beer Sheba.” Dan today is more of a wildlife park. Hiking the trails through the trees to get to the top of the tel was almost like hiking in Olympic National Park in Washington. The trails were cool and lush and shady, cris-crossing over a little stream from time to time. At the top we saw a steel outline of a massive altar, meant to give the viewer an idea of how big Jeroboam’s idolatrous altar might have been. It was huge, at least eight feet high—definitely meant for attention and intimidation. We talked about Jeroboam’s sin and Israel’s constant slide into idolatry from then on. Jesus Christ is constantly calling them back to Him all through the Old Testament. He never stopped giving them chances until there was nothing but punishment and consequence left. The way the Bible paints it makes it sound vengeful or angry sometimes, but that’s not how it is at all. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love their children and who them great mercy in giving them every opportunity to return and try again.

Thanks for letting me wax eloquent, there. Back to Tel Dan. We explored some more ruins (some restored and some not). The best part was seeing a gate that dates back to the days of Abraham. The scriptures say that Abraham came to Dan (which was then called Laish) to rescue his nephew Lot. If Abraham actually entered the city, that gate was the one he entered through. That was a very cool thing to see. It’s probably the most ancient piece of history I have come into contact with.

After we finally got down from the Tel, we had a lunch break with the other class. It was good to have time to sit in the shade and breathe some air and enjoy one another’s company. I talked with Brother and Sister Squires for a bit (the music couple from the center). They are one of the funnest couples I think I’ve ever met. Fifty-six years of marriage lets you get to know your companion very well indeed—and I think the Squires have fun with it.

Our next stop was Caesarea Phillipi (aka Banias), where Jesus promised Peter the keys of the kingdom. We weren't there very long, but the place was beautiful and I really enjoyed it. We saw a few remains of buildings and pagan temples in the area, as well as a beautiful little river that flowed down down through the site to the entrance. We sat in a little river by the river and talked about what had happened here in Caesarea--where, against a backdrop of pagan idol worship, Peter proclaimed to Jesus "Thou art the Christ, the son of the living God." Peter would eventually give his life standing up for that knowledge. He is a powerful example of testimony and of giving your all for the Lord, down to the very last. We sang a couple hymns there and enjoyed the warm day and the beautiful little river gleaming in the sun.

After Caesarea, we drove up many hills to get to the ruins of Nimrod’s Castle, a crusader-turned-Muslim fortress high on a hill. It was awesome. I got to explore secret passages and underground rooms and climb a watchtower to overlook the hill. It was cruel and unusual that we were only given twenty-five minutes there—we could have spent all day. I think my favorite moments were hiking with others who were pretending to be knights. Neil even had Mary make a video of him sprinting down from the tower, halting in front of the camera, and gasping “Dragons! In the East Tower! Couldn’t save them… we lost the entire Schade division…” and then collapsing on the ground. Neil is the best. He makes me laugh all the time.

Our last site was Har Bental, a mountain overlooking the border between Israel and Syria. Obviously we did not enter Syria, but I can now say that I have seen it. We looked at the road to Damascus and talked about Paul's miraculous conversion story. We got to walk at our leisure through the trenches at the top, which have been preserved in memorial of the Six Days War. We also were able to go down through a tunnel and into an underground bunker. I was down there by myself, and the stillness was eerie. It was hard to imagine the place filled with the sound of gunfire or echoing with distant explosions. It was very cold up there on the mountain, and my hands were officially numb for the first time since March, but the view was spectacular and Brother Judd's devotional was wonderful.

That night at Ein Gev, we enjoyed a delicious dinner highlighted by the dessert--chocolate and vanilla ice cream hearts (so yummy). That evening we had two bonfires (even and odd numbers according to your number on the bus count, just to mix things with the two classes) where we had testimony meetings. I have been able to bear my testimony a couple times while here in Israel, so I didn't bear mine on that occasion. It was good to listen to everyone else's, though. The spirit was present and I felt my own testimony confirmed by the experiences and examples of others.

I've been making a goal to read through one of the chapters in the Book of Mormon about Jesus Christ (as recommended by Preach My Gospel) every day. That evening I did some of the end of third Nephi. I love Nephi's testimony of Jesus Christ. He teaches the doctrine of Christ so clearly--in plainness, as he says--and he shows such love for those he is teaching. I love the Book of Mormon--I have come to know the Savior and my Heavenly Father from reading from its pages.

That's all for now--more soon!

Galilee Day 8: Mount Tabor, Meggido, and a Brief Dip

Monday was another field trip day—to Mt. Tabor (traditional site of the Transfiguration), Nain, Megiddo (or what’s left of it), and a good swimming spot.

Mt. Tabor: A beautiful spot, especially in the clear morning air. We talked a little about the Transfiguration, as well as the battle that took place with Barak and the prophetess Deborah somewhere around this area. The story of Barak is one I didn’t know very well, but one that I have come to love. Barak showed great faith in going out to battle against the Canaanites, knowing full well that he was outmatched and outnumbered from the start. Because of his faith, however, the Lord was able to work through him to accomplish His purposes and win the day.

We had a special treat at the Church of the Transfiguration. One of the monks there, Father Anton, gave us a tour of some of the generally unseen areas of the church and grounds. He did this for us because he met one of our students a few years back who served her mission in Poland, where he is from, and she made a good impression on him. I think he was particularly inclined to our group because Brother Schade also served in Poland, so they two were able to converse in Polish and Brother Schade was able to translate for us. Father Anton also says he likes to hear us sing. We sang “The Spirit of God” for him, and then he took us through some normally locked gates to see the area around back and underneath the church, where there were Byzantine and crusader era ruins to see. The area underneath was especially cool. It was cave-like and dim, and there were a few ancient tombs there, carved directly into the stone. At the far end there was a grate leading up to the church above, under which was a great pile of folded pieces of paper containing prayers and blessings scribbled down and pushed through the gaps. Father Anton gave us permission to look at them if we liked, and I did read one myself (the first one I found in English). It felt like touching something sacred, seeing all those prayers hidden away in the ancient caverns below.

We emerged from the depths and went back up into the church to observe the architecture and mosaics. Father Anton also took us to see a small building outside the church that housed relics from the Crusader and Muslim eras, including some clay grenades used by the crusaders (recipe: round clay container, carve with symbols of your cause, fill with gunpowder, insert wick, light ‘er up, and throw in a hurry). There was also an extensive collection of Muslim coinage, some from the days of famous rulers whose names I recognized—Chaliph Abu Bakr, Salah ad-din, and others. It was very neat and we felt extremely privileged to be able to see it. Thank you, Father Anton.

Nain: Here we stayed only briefly. There is a small church there dedicated to the miracle of a widow’s son being raised from the dead by the Savior. The trouble is that the church is in the middle of major renovations—which translated means that the groups who come five years from now may be able to enjoy it, but for us it was rather a lot of plaster. Still, we were allowed to see it, so we counted our blessings—the other group hadn’t got there at all the day before.

Meggido: This is the tel and ruins that remain of a once-great Canaanite city. Meggido was a major city for much of the Old Testament. When it was conquered by the Egyptians, the Pharoh wrote that “The taking of Meggido is as the taking of a thousand cities.” What we saw was the ruins of many buildings, including a large altar and a set of stables. My favorite part of the site, though, was the amazing view. Tel Meggido overlooks the lush green Jezreel valley, and I can honestly say it was one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. There were plains and rolling hills stretching out for miles, all bedecked in more shades of green than I could have imagined. My friend Lindsay from my singles ward told me the Jezreel Valley was one of her favorite places when she visited Israel a couple years back, so I was looking forward to it. It didn’t disappoint.

There also we talked about Jezebel and Ahab and Jehu and prophecies and dogs eating people and all of that (since we wouldn’t be going to Tel Jezreel where it actually happened). When it was time to leave we came down from the tel via the water system tunnels, which was very cool. I have really enjoyed exploring ancient tunnels and secret passageways.

The Swimming Hole: OK, it’s actually called ------, but I think my way sounds better and is frankly more accurate. Our last stop was to a river-like swimming area, complete with caves and waterfalls of various sizes (which we did not slide down or jump over because it would have hurt, but which we did play around and splash in). I swam around some, practiced synchronized swimming with some other girls, stood under the waterfall and let it give me a back massage (it also stole my hair tie—whoops) and stood around with some others and waited for the little fishies to nibble on our toes (they did—and it tickled! You could tell when somebody got a bite because they would squeal or laugh and jump all of a sudden). It was a lot of fun.

Back at Ein Gev: Something else I did today? I finished memorizing the Living Christ! I’ve been at it for two weeks or so, and today I finally did it. I sat on the beach by the Sea of Galilee, memorized the last paragraph, and recited the whole thing for the first time (with Mary checking me for accuracy on my now weather-worn copy). We had FHE that evening (Pictionary with another group. Because of general business and a lack of preparation, my group was doing “hobo FHE”—be homeless or get another group to adopt you). Afterwards I found Katie and we went down to the beach together. She was the one who got me inspired to do this whole project (she’s had it memorized for years from when she did it with her family), so I was very excited to say it for her. I recited it to her, only needing a little correction. We then sat and talked about things for a while, especially about Galilee and testimonies and boys and deciding whether to serve a mission. Katie is one of the few people in the world who I truly feel I can talk to about almost anything. I was so grateful to have a few minutes to confide in her and to hear her feelings as well. We both expressed interest in watching a movie, so we bundled up in blankets and watched “The Court Jester” on my back porch (taking a brief break for Laurann to teach us a quick missionary lesson). It was a perfect evening. What with the classes being so separate and there being so many people to be with, I haven’t had too many opportunities to talk with Katie one on one. I felt very blessed to have had those precious hours that night. There’s nothing like being with a good friend.

That’s all for now! More to come! Shalom and lots of love!

Galilee Days 5,6,&7: "And the Rain Was Upon The Earth..."

On Record: We’re not having a Great Flood here. It has been rainy, however, and it has been quite the adventure. Allow me to elaborate:

Friday dawned clear and wet. I went out to join my Hawaiian friends for the last time, as they would be heading to Jerusalem later that day (home sweet home!). As I approached, a little old oriental-like gentleman with whom I had conversed previously looked up at me from across the beach and called out “Oh, look! The Mormon’s here!” I think I like that label quite a bit. I stayed for the songs, then slipped away between music and Bible class to get ready for the day. The best part, however, was that a huge, bright, beautiful rainbow (with a faint double) had appeared in the sky, spanning all the lake that we could see. It was magnificent. I read the scriptures in Genesis regarding the rainbow and remembered the covenants Heavenly Father gave me.

Friday was a field trip day. The day had looked threatening when we left, and by the time to Gamla (which means Camel, because the hill looks like a camel’s hump) it was pouring. We all tumbled off of the bus and ran to a nearby picnic table shelter, where we huddled together to keep warm while we listened to Brother Schade tell us about the city. When he finished his devotional, we all stalwartly sang “There is Sunshine in My Soul Today” before charging out into the rain.

We hiked down the hill we were on and up the next hill to the ruins—in the rain. It was muddy and slippery and very, very cold. I only took an involuntary slide once, but my pants and once-white jacket did not survive unscathed. Gamla was still cool, though, despite the rain. I wandered about the ruins with Hannah and Stephen mostly, though we blended in and out with other groups. We saw a huge gap in the Eastern wall where Roman soldiers breached the Jewish fortifications after months of siege. We walked along the edges of the cliffs where hundreds of Jewish defenders had thrown themselves to their deaths rather than be slain by the Romans (earning Gamla the very appropriate title, “the Masada of the North”). We looked at a mikva (ritual bath) and took bathing/showering pictures in it—with wet hair and everything. We also sang a few hymns, since Hannah and Stephen also like to sing. The highlight, however, was the remains of a first century synagogue. The scriptures say that Jesus taught in the synagogues of Galilee. Gamla is not part of what was formally known in the Roman Empire as the Galilee, but it has always been considered part of the Galilee area. Conclusion: this may be our best bet for a synagogue that Jesus Christ taught in.

Our next two stops were shorter and less wet, though still cold since we were all now officially soaked. We stopped in at Kursi, where we saw the remains of a church dedicated to the miracle of Jesus casting the legion of devils into the swine (consequently we also took a class picture of everybody making pig faces, but we’ll leave that for another day). Brother Schade gave us a great devotional, and we wandered around a bit to see the lovely mosaics (many of which were conveniently defaced by the Muslim conquerors, who would not abide animal or human images in holy spots) and looking for frogs and tadpoles in one of the deeper puddles (they really were there). After that we also visited , where we walked through an old army tunnel from the Six Days War and saw many Roman remains—from columns fallen together in an earthquake to old dwelling places to the ruins of Byzantine churches.

When we got back we were very cold and very wet. Each of us girls in my apartment took it in turns to take a hot shower. A good lunch also did much to improve everyone’s spirits. Although we had the option to swim that afternoon and a group did invite me along to see the kibbutz, I ended up curling up in a warm blanket and joining Ellen and Katie and Abby and a few others in Ellen’s apartment to watch one of my favorite song-and-dance type shows, “Newsies”—a warm, wonderful way to spend a chilly afternoon. After that I did some homework, all the while wrapped in a blanket and attempting to maintain my coziness level. I know I sound like a complete wimp, and maybe it’s true. Maybe I’m downright spoiled and accustomed to being warm and should think of such amazing figures as the Martin handcart company and the Shackleton expedition and count my blessings—but darn it all, I was cold. So there.

Saturday was Sabbath, and the two classes took it in turns to bus over to the chapel in Tiberias for church services. My group was in the afternoon, so I spent most of the morning pouring over my scriptures and Preach My Gospel and enjoying the significantly improving weather. Stephen made me teach him street contact style with him playing and interested Catholic, and we made an appointment for Sunday night (I guess with the non-proselytizing agreement being what it is, this may be as good a practice run as I’m going to get).

Church was amazing, too, there in the little Tiberias chapel—we got there just as it started to rain again. The chapel was the top floor of a building overlooking the sea, the lower floors being used for classrooms and such. I got to see Katie’s great Aunt and Uncle, who are serving a mission in Galilee (Brother Graham presided over the meeting). The service was wonderful, featuring some really good talks about gratitude and one of my favorite hymns, “A Prayer of Thanksgiving.” Afterwards we stood on the balcony outside the chapel and enjoyed what I am convinced is the most beautiful view in all of Christendom. The storm had made the sky clear and the air sweet, and the sun was going down, bathing the Sea of Galilee in soft pink and gold light. I could have stood there looking forever. Unfortunately, though, we had places to be. We stopped off at the Jordan River on the way back, at a spot used as a baptismal site for anybody who wants to be baptized in the Jordan. There we took some great pictures and observed the tile copies of Jesus’ baptism story lining the walls in at least fifty different languages (Paul read aloud to us from the one in Hawaiian Pidgin—yes, they had it, true story) before going home to dinner. I also went to mission prep that evening, then went over to the Judds’ afterwards to tell a bedtime story to the girls (The Smile of a Rose, Lydia). Sister Judd gave me a bag of marshmallows and a water bottle-turned-vase containing three gerbera daisies as a thank you. Sister Judd is the best.

Sunday was once again a class day for us lucky Schades—though happily for us, from here on out our field trips are to be combined, so we will actually see something of each other. Hooray! I woke up very early to finish my paper for New Testament (handwritten—ugh. It made me very grateful for my fantastic word processor). I had good intentions about getting in some of my homework between class, but one look at the beach put all of that on the back burner. I spent the next two hours wading in the water, playing with the Judd and Stratford children, collecting sea shells, learning to skip rocks (thank you, Andrew) and making a turtle out of sand and shells with Lisa Judd. I did not want class to start again—but, dutiful student that I am, I managed to tear myself away from the sunshine and surf to go learn about Jesus’ teachings before the Last Supper.

I went out that afternoon as well and played some more. It was a swim day, and although it had become a wee bit cloudy I wanted to participate—but there was one small problem. No bathing suit. Yep—Rachel managed to be extremely intelligent once again and hand her swimming suit to the cleaning lady along with the dirty towels on Sabbath morning by accident. Brilliant, no? I did check in with housekeeping, but it hasn’t turned up yet, so instead I wade. Fortunately, however, Sister Judd had a spare swimming suit just in case, so I borrowed her spare (which fit very well, thank heaven) to use for our swimming time on the field trip the next day (about which I will write more later). In the meantime, however, I wore a skirt and t-shirt to play shallow water ultimate Frisbee and got thoroughly soaked and had a great time. 

That afternoon I caught up on a little homework and prepared for the lesson that Laurann and I were going to teach to our new “investigator,” Stephen. The session went quite well, I thought, and Stephen and McKay gave us really good feedback afterwards. Conclusions reached: I need to talk less, ask more questions, and make sure I’m checking for understanding. Additional conclusion: Companionships are awesome. Where I wasn’t very good at remembering to ask questions, Laurann had one handy almost every time she took a turn talking. Thank you, Laurann.

That night we had ANE in the basement of the main Ein Gev resort building, our second class this trip. I learned much about Constantine and Justinian and the Byzantine Emperor and early Christianity. I also learned that it is dangerous for me to sit with Katie on one side and Mary on the other because it means that 

I get very pleasantly distracted very quickly. I have some fun notes and messages to and from both of them written on a spare page in my notebook, right beside my surprisingly comprehensive notes on the Byzantine Empire.

All is well. Galilee continues to be one of the most (if not the most) beautiful place I have ever been. I love every minute, whether with my group or on my own. I have more adventures to tell about, so I will write again very soon. Love you all!

Galilee Day 4: Thanksgiving in Galilee

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Admittedly, at least half our group forgot that today was a holiday back in the states at all. In Utah all the leaves have changed and fallen and the snow is coming down. Mom is making cranberry jell-o, the thankful turkeys hang in the window, and in the department stores “it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.” Here, though, things look pretty much the same. The sun shines, the weather (though growing cooler and rainier as we go) is still fair and balmy. The sun shines, the sea rolls gently within its borders, the wind breathes, the grass is green… although it doesn't look like Thanksgiving at all, it is absolutely beautiful.

I started the day on a happy note with an email from my Grandma Pullan, wishing me a happy Thanksgiving and assuring me that I would be missed at the turkey dinner. It made me smile especially to hear that she had just finished making her orange “never fail” (except for that one time with a certain granddaughter) rolls and that she was now getting “the Big Bird all cozy in the oven.” I also heard from Grandma Molen that day, as it happens. I can’t wait to be able to talk to her in person about all the adventures I’ve had here. She responded to my earlier email to her, then added a note at the bottom: “When we sang ‘Master the Tempest is Raging’ on the Sea of Galilee, it was.’” I think I need to hear more about her adventures. I love my Grandmas so much. I also got emails from my mother and Aunt Melody. I was feeling very blessed and very loved indeed.

That day was a class day, so we spent several hours in the classroom before lunch. During the two hour break the weather was pleasant, so I sat outside with some others and we all reminisced about our favorite Thanksgiving traditions, most of which seemed to center around pie of many varieties (we actually started up a small debate—berry pies vs. pumpkin. I was stalwartly in favor of pumpkin.) We all said something we were grateful for while Alyssa filmed us, also pausing to snag interviews with innocent passersby (“Hannah! Quick! What are you grateful for?”)

The other class had our half-day Golan field trip that day, so we actually got to see them at lunch (YAY! We love you Judd class!). We were supposed to have a swimming day with them that afternoon. I played down at the beach with the little kids—fun activities like digging canals and burying little Emily Judd in the sand. I tried my hand at slack lining for the first time, with severely limited success (Jed and Jordan brought their slack line to Galilee, and we have been grateful indeed). I sat with Katie and Annie and some others on the grass as we made our thankful lists. President Schafer encouraged everyone to make a list of one hundred things they are grateful for in order to cultivate (as President Monson says) and “attitude of Gratitude.” I have been working on my list all month, as it happens. My personal tradition since the beginning of my college years has been to list four things I was grateful for every day starting on November 1^st. Ideally, this adds up to 100 by Thanksgiving. This year, however, when Thanksgiving fell on the 22^nd, I had some catching up to do (being only to #88 by that time). I actually ended up liking it better that way—it meant that in the end the last ten items constituted my testimony.

That evening it was the Schade class’s turn to go to dinner at the local fish restaurant. We all piled into the bus at 5:45 and motored off to the restaurant on a nearby part of the kibbutz. There I sat at the end of the table with Paul and Bradley and Jordan and Sophie and Lizzie (I know you don’t know any of these people, but I want to remember their names), and once again we went around saying things we were grateful for. I also had a stimulating discussion with Paul and Bradley about good movies and listened to Paul tell the story about why he decided study social work (which was really neat. Paul is just amazing). I enjoyed a highly unusual Thanksgiving dinner of pitas with hummus, various Eastern salads, St. Peter Fish (which I took a picture of with a one-shekel piece in its mouth just to be corny), French fries, and a few samplings from the people who decided to get pizza instead of fish. Desert was little sherbet cups that we also get every day at lunch in the cafeteria here in Galilee (same kibbutz, same sherbet I suppose). It was no turkey and stuffing, and there certainly was a part of me missing that dinner a bit, but it was still a fantastic meal.

After that we drove a few miles to Tiberias, where we were given free reign for about an hour to walk along the boardwalk and do what we would. Most people bought ice cream, but in the end I just wasn’t all that hungry. I did, however, buy a new skirt. It’s a layered, wrap-around style that I’ve seen all over the place here in Israel and that a lot of girls at the center have picked up on. I hadn’t got one yet because I couldn’t find one I like—most of the skirts I’ve seen in the old city have top and bottom layers that just plain don’t match in color or pattern. The ones on the boardwalk or a dollar or so more, but they did match and were very cute, so I got one I really liked and was thrilled with my purchase. I wore it to church yesterday, actually—but there will be more on that later. My roommate Cassie helped me pick it out because I was being indecisive (I tagged along with her and Dallin as we meandered back along the boardwalk towards the bus). I was quite proud of myself—the guy at the stand said it was seven dollars, then when I asked for the price in shekels he said thirty. I argued back that it absolutely was not thirty and made him check, and I was right—it was twenty-five. That only takes about a dollar off the total, but I was happy. No taking in this tourist—that’s right, buddy, I live here.

When we got home, we raced down to the beach to watch a splendid lightening storm flashing and crackling over the lake. Walking down the way some I came upon a group sitting behind the apartments to watch, singing “Master the Tempest is Raging.” I stopped and sang with them, finding the group to consist of Katie, Stephen, McKay, Kate, Mary, and a couple others. When we had finished the song, we stayed there another half hour at least, talking and singing songs and giving each other back massages and gasping with awe every time another lightening bolt crackled across the night sky. Eventually, though Mother Nature decided to rain on our parade—literally. The storm reached us and the sky began to pour torrents on our little set up. Katie and Stephen and I ran to the nearest porch for shelter. A few people came around the corner and started dancing on the lawn, so I took off my jacket and kicked off my shoes and joined them for a little while. By the time I got back to my apartment I was nearly soaked through—including my shoes and jacket, despite my valiant efforts to keep them dry. A hot shower and dry pajamas were a welcome comfort, and thereafter I got to enjoy the coziness of being warm and comfortable while hearing the rain pound on the window and the wind howling its way thought the palm trees outside.

It was surely the most unique Thanksgiving I have ever experienced. One thing is very much the same between here at Utah, however. I still have more blessings to be grateful for than I could possibly count, and 

I still thanked my Heavenly Father for all of them. I missed my family very much, but I know I will see them again soon. For now I get to enjoy living for a while in what I truly believe to be one of the most beautiful places on earth and to learn about my Savior Jesus Christ, who loves me more than anyone and who has brought all mankind the greatest blessings they will ever know. I truly am blessed beyond measure.

I want you to know that I am grateful for each and every one of you. One of my greatest blessings is the tremendous amount of love I feel in my life—both in the sense of the love my family and friends give to me, and in the love I feel for them and so many others, including my friends here in Galilee. I don’t think there is any greater blessing than that.

Shalom, my friends! Happy Thanksgiving!