الله أكبر لااله الا اللهالحمد لله سبحان الله

“Subhan'Allāh Alhambulillah La ilaha illa-llah Allāhu Akbar…”

“God is pure, Thanks be to God, God is one, God is great…"

In Arabic, we stumbled through this prayer over and over, the 99 beads in our hands keeping track of the praise due to God.

For the past few weeks, life here has been defined, altered, and centered around Ramadan. This Holy Month celebrates the beginning of the revelation of the Koran, and is a time for Muslims around the world to refocus, dedicating their lives to fasting, charity, prayer, and devotion to God.

Last night my friend Arazoo invited us to accompany her to the mosque to pray. We left our sandals and preconceptions at the door, and attempted to mimic everything she did.

“Subhan'Allāh Alhambulillah La ilaha illa-llah Allāhu Akbar…”

Joining hundreds of women repeatedly standing, bowing, kneeling, and prostrating before our God, I’ve never experienced such a connection between my body and my prayers. I know in my heart that’s as it always should be; my actions in tune with my prayers. But would repeating these prayers and set motions over and over, hundreds of thousands of times throughout life cause these motions to become just that… going through the motions?

After prayer, and bombardment with welcomes and kind smiles from many women, we strolled to a nearby ice cream shop, discussing devotion over soft serve.

“When you say prayers 100 times, God adds a tree to your garden in heaven,” Arazoo told us. “And when you say them during Ramadan, he builds villa for you.”

Alex asked, “What color villa do you want?”

Arazoo laughed and smiled, “I don’t care about villa. I just want to more love for God. Because he loves me.”

Even though our prayers look different and sound different, we have the most important words in common; “because he loves me.” We both have so much to learn from each other… of different words we can use to praise God, and of how big he is, and of how patient he is when we think we have him figured out.

It is far, far from my place to judge if communal, organized prayer is “going through the motions.” More importantly, in whatever place I’m in, I hope both my words and my actions express adoring devotion like Arazoo’s, so that my life repeats,

“God is pure, Thanks be to God, God is one, God is Great…”

Mountain sunsets, birthday milkshakes, and Elvis pigeons

Prayer: 3 New Flavors

Broadcast prayer

The frequent melodic reminders echoing from mosques declare that God’s praise and adoration always trump the schedule of daily life. Radio stations sing the recitation of scripture 24/7. Although I understand no Arabic, I’m told that virtually every other sentence contains words that reference God. Perhaps this daily weaving of prayer into the fabric of life could be critiqued as too habitual, or commonplace. But cynicism aside, could there be a better habit?

Iphone prayer  

On the off chance that you are in a soundproof basement wearing earplugs and can’t hear the call to prayer, fear not, technology saves the day! The background of my friend Arazoo’s phone faithfully recounts each day’s times of prayer, outlining sunrise to sunset. I look at my phone and am reminded of places to be or tasks to do. I think I would live my day very differently if every cursory glance instead reminded me that my time is not my own. Prayer: there’s an app for that.

Climate Control prayer

Last week during the Remedy Mission, the AC went out in the OR.  A rotation of water bottles attempted to keep children’s body temperature under control, and if there already wasn’t enough to worry about, the doctors painstakingly fought to keep sweat out of the surgical field. Back in the office, we received a text asking for prayer, and shot up some recommendations to God regarding the AC.

“Why pray for this?” the logical half of my brain wondered. “I believe God works, but probably through a repairman’s skills more than my 5 second request.”

In our Saturday morning prayer time, I’m struggling to learn that prayer is a conversation, and even more than that, a partnership.

So here’s my latest guess at why it may not be so far-fetched that our prayers matter (just far-fetched enough to require the frustratingly wonderful thing call faith); We KNOW what God is doing in this world, big picture. At the end (or beginning, you could say) He will put things right, returning the world to its operation as intended. But we don’t have to wait around and twiddle our thumbs until the Apocalypse for Him to do something. God’s remaking NOW, and although he could do it much more efficiently without us, he invites us to join in. We already know the big picture of his Kingdom….so why not pray and ask for it to happen HERE and NOW, in our circumstances…in a fixed AC, and a fixed heart?

The AC almost instantly came back on, but my point is not to tell a cute story, demonstrating how my new understanding of prayer makes it “work.” That wouldn't be a conversation at all! I cheat God out of his side of the conversation when I only listen for “Yes” and “No” answers. And I also squander the gift of partnership he extends when I forget that prayer has more power than to just calm my heart, or bless this food. God allows a surgeon’s skill to accomplish His plan in real ways, repairing hearts to beat as intended. Why wouldn’t he also let prayer have tangible impact in this world?

I could write about 100 more “flavors” of prayer I've witnessed here that would involve more question marks than periods. And if anything I just wrote makes it seem like I have a handle on any of this, I apologize for having deceived you! Fortunately, God holds up his side of the conversation and partnership with incredible patience and grace…and sometimes, even timely AC repairs.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Minutes

Yesterday after work Alex and I met our friend Arazoo in a lovely park. By lovely, I mean it would be equally apt to be the set of a creepy horror film or a Pinterest-worthy, hipster photo shoot. Lots of chipped-paint amusement park rides, overgrown bushes, and ice cream stands in various states of disrepair.

On our way to one of these stands, Arazoo asked, “Acadia, my dear, may I ask a personality question of you?”

I’m pretty sure she meant personal, because when I assured her of course, that’s what friends do, she replied, “So you think you will marry Iraqi man?”

Cue frantic scramble to choose the words that could express the absolute impossibility of that situation without insulting her, Iraqi men, or her entire culture in general. “Uh….well I will be going home to America in three weeks, and I must finish university, and then medical school. So I won’t have time to be married for awhile, don’t you think?”

“But after, will you marry American man or Iraqi man? Because my friend, he ask if you marry him.”

*Brief explanation (as I attempt to understand) of the alternative to dating that occurs here:

1. Boy sees Girl in a public setting (in this case, the Life Center, where we help practice English). Boy likes Girl.

2. Boy talks to Girl’s friend (mandatory to go through at least one middleman, preferably more) to see if she’s interested in, you know, being married.

3. If Girl is convinced, her family and Boy’s family have a picnic, size up each other’s social standing, and tah dah, engaged! Then Boy and Girl can spend time together, in public.

That’s incredibly oversimplified, especially in this city, the most progressive in the country…but you get the picture, it’s a lot quicker of a process than in America. And I somehow found myself on step 2 of 3! I was suddenly in danger of violating on of our unbreakable female intern pacts we swore at the beginning of the summer: no engagements, and no leg-shaving. (Gotta defy the excessive gender roles we’re forced into in some stealthy way, you know).

 “Well Arazoo, before we get married in America, people usually know each other for a much longer time” (translation: AT ALL!).

I continued, “I will be going home soon, and though someday Insha’allah maybe I will return to Iraq, I won’t have enough time to get to know any men.  So you can tell your friend, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to get married.”

She shook her head a bit and handed me mostly melted ice cream as consolation for my loss. “Well, he will disappointed, my dear. I tell him.”

Disappointed??? I almost spit out my ice cream, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. I suppose the loss of a potential visa is disappointing, but the alternative would be the most disappointing Iraqi housewife ever to cook rice. Little does Mystery Proposer know that rice is approximately the only Iraqi food I could make…

Arazoo didn’t seem too phased by her friend's rejection, and we enjoyed the rest of the night still happily single ladies. Crisis averted in the park. And just to clarify, by crisis I don’t mean a sudden engagement to an Iraqi man I don’t know. Muuuuch more of a crisis would be what my mother would do to me if she found out :)

4th of July, Iraq edition

Happy 4th of July! Freedom pizza :)

Lately I’ve been lax on processing my thoughts to post-on-the-internet levels of organization. I’ve been meaning to write about one particular conversation from a few weeks ago, and there is no more fitting (or ironic?) day than this July 4th: let’s chat about freedom.

Occasionally we eat lunch with a local friend who works with PLC (and thanks to his well-known father’s name, allows us to have visas. I think that means that the government believes our last names are all Hassan). He was born here, but spent time in Europe, offering an interesting mix of East-West perspective.

“Freedom is a good thing, I think,” he told us, upon inquiry of his thoughts about America. “But also, freedom will destroy the world.”

I’m incredibly thankful for our country, but do not consider myself intensely patriotic. I’m not a fan of barbeque chicken, rodeos, or baseball. Nevertheless, I prickled a bit hearing his critical words.

“I will explain. Because of freedom, women in America are treated like a t-shirt…you change whenever you want. No respect.”

I would say that the most common stereotype of Muslim culture I’ve heard is that of abused, disrespected, imprisoned women. I am sure that that is a tragic reality for some women here and I don’t dismiss it, but I hadn’t ever placed it next to a critique of a closer-to-home alternative. Could he have something of a point?

“Just because you have the freedom to treat women with disrespect, it doesn’t mean you have to. Don’t you think the problem is the bad choice, and not the freedom itself?” I asked.

“No, the problem is the freedom.”

I wanted to argue, to defy the stereotype of American relationships, to remind him that people in this culture can also disregard commitment even if they’re not “free” by law or society. And what about the truth I’ve always been told, that love means so much more if you have the freedom to choose it?? It’s not my country that tells me that, but my faith!

I stewed in my begrudgingly respectful silence for a while, until I realized:

My local friend defines “freedom” very differently than I do.

According to my ridiculously oversimplified knowledge of Muslim theology, anything and everything that happens in the world does so only by God’s decree. His Law dictates how the world should work, and any ‘freedom’ outside of it opposes His will. By that definition, freedom is automatically synonymous with sin. In my American mind, freedom is synonymous with choice.

So although we disagree on some of our views about how the world works, and what words we use to describe it, I think our local friend and I agree on more than it seems. We both value commitment, we both know that sin (whether you call it a wrong choice or freedom) destroys the world, and we both desire to live as God intends. He is thankful to live in a country that encourages God’s Law, allowing religion and politics and career and life to overlap. I am thankful to live in a country (and with a Savior) in which I’m free to make choices that can glorify God.

There are pros and cons to both situations, but I cannot believe that only one is a pro and one a con. Sometimes all this mind-opening and perspective-broadening is exhausting! Who knows? Maybe next I’ll have to admit there are pros and cons to even baseball…