Home

Sitting by the old stone church surrounded by family and friends, I watched the sunset behind the alter as the choir sang the movingly melancholic songs of a Maronite mass honoring St. John. I feel a sense of peace in the midst of this chaotic land of conflict and prejudice. Why is it that I feel so comfortable in a place full of so many problems? I feel at home. I feel a sense of belonging that is somewhat inexplicable. Three generations before me, my great-grandfather left this land to find a better life. I am so far removed from this place, and yet it is a part of me that I can't escape. Whatever part of Lebanon flows through my blood, its influence over me grows stronger with every moment I am here.

Despite the innumerable problems that Lebanon faces on a daily basis, there is something enchanting about this country and its people. They are a people that find it so easy to hate, both others and themselves, and yet they are a people so warm and hospitable that it is often difficult for an outsider to comprehend. Lebanon is a country of constant contradictions, but that is part of the intrigue.

I am a very lucky person because I feel as if I have so many homes. I was born and raised in North Carolina, and it is clearly my home by definition, but I feel at home in so many other places. After four years living in Austria, it is easy to understand why I feel at home there; I know my way around, I understand the language perfectly, I sometimes speak the language well, I have great friends there, and I feel comfortable there. I am also at home in Lebanon, the land of my ancestors. My family's history in Lebanon has brought the country close to my heart, and I will always consider it one of my homes. I have also spent over 10 years traveling regularly to Slovenia, Croatia, and Bosnia & Hercegovina. Despite having no real connections there other than some of my best friends, I feel at home in those far off countries.

I recognize how lucky I am to feel at home in so many places because I have seen the pain of those that are forced to live somewhere that they don't feel at home. On this visit to Lebanon, I have been working with an organization helping to resettle Iraqi refugees. I had the honor of interviewing a young woman from Iraq that is living here in Lebanon while waiting to be resettled with her husband in the states. Her life and the lives of her family were threatened in Iraq, so she has a genuine fear that may prevent her from ever seeing her real home again. She lives in Lebanon, a country that she admits is beautiful, but she does not have a home here. Many factors keep her from feeling any comfort or sense of belonging here. I wish I could explain the sadness that this woman feels living here, separated from her husband by bureaucracy, but it is something you can only appreciate by seeing it in her eyes and hearing it in her voice.

There are so many people in this world that have no home or have been forced out of their homes. I am thankful in so many ways that I have been blessed with so many homes.

Feast of St. John

I'm still enjoying a relaxing week in Roumieh with very little activity, and I have embraced it knowing that my friend Patrick is arriving on Friday night, so we'll have lots of touring to do together. Yesterday, I did make it down to Beirut for coffee with a classmate from the LFB program at IMD in Switzerland, which was great. We got caught up a little bit, discussed business and family, enjoyed some refreshing drinks and agreed to meet up again before I leave Lebanon.

Today is the feast of St. John the Baptist (Mar Youhanna), and he happens to be one of the patron saints of Roumieh, so every year they have a big mass down at the old Mar Youhanna church down the mountain. I went down with some of the cousins to celebrate the mass, and it was a beautiful way to spend the evening. People native to Roumieh from near and far came for the mass, and the choir had practiced for weeks for the occasion. Nassif and his fiancee were the star performers, and their voices were exquisite. Hearing the old style music, while the sun was setting in the distance and the priest honored St. John, was wonderful.

Following mass, everyone gathered to enjoy freshly baked cakes, sweets and manoushe. After a while, Mounira and I decided to walk back up to her place, which was a more intense hike than I had anticipated, but I suppose I had to make some sort of pilgrimage in reverence to St. John. Of course, half of the village stopped their cars on the way up to offer us a ride, but I, perhaps stupidly, insisted on walking. By the time we made it to Mounira's, I stopped for a glass of water and then continued home because I was in dire need of an ice cold shower. Only moments away from heat stroke, I was home, cooling off and preparing for an early night.