Ramadan is here and for my home that means another month of hunger pains, headaches and aching kidneys. And every lunar cycle for the last two years, I’ve struggled with how to handle fasting in a mixed marriage. I’m Christian and my husband is Muslim and Ramadan is the great void in our marriage.  Last year, I went gung-ho. This year, well, I’ve not been as good as I should have been and a bad case of allergies the last week have forced me to sip water and soup. But I still believe in the spirit of fasting (and as Christians fasting isn’t foreign to our faith: see Nehemiah 1:4, Psalms 69:10, Matthew 4:2, etc.) and in today’s cover story I ask believers of all faith one simple question:  Can you skip fried chicken after Sunday services or is your pants size the measure of your faith?

The thing about great women is that they’re great and then they fade away and we slowly start to forget about them. One woman we shouldn’t forget is Joni Eareckson Tada who became a quadriplegic after a diving accident in 1967. She’s also one of the longest living quadriplegics on record. I read her autobiography Joni as a little girl and it was the first time I thought of paralyzed people in a different way, in a human way. Like most little kids, wheelchairs and equipment and non-movement scared me. My aunt is also paralyzed and though I a grew up seeing her in a wheelchair and helping her through doors or upstairs, it wasn’t until I read Joni that I understood what paralyzed meant and how hard my aunt had to work through rehabilitation, through college, at work and as a mother with a disablity. Sometimes making a child used to paralysis doesn’t mean that they understand it. Even now I sometimes have to remind myself my aunt is disabled because I never realized the wheelchair attached to her bottom half was weird for some people. As a little kid, I saw it as an extension of her and never thought to ask, “What’s wrong?”  

But in her essay this month celebrating the 20th anniversary of the Americans With Disabilities Act, Joni points out that there’s still a long way to go, ”While I could now roll my wheelchair into buildings with ease, I still had a hard time getting people to look me in the eye and see me as a person rather than a condition. Even today, 20 years later, my wheelchair still makes people uncomfortable. Why is that? For the most part, able-bodied, “healthy” people still fear disability. As a nation, we treat disabled people more equally and humanely than any country in the world. However, most Americans, when they encounter a disabled person, first think of themselves, “I hope that never happens to me.” Joni remains an outspoken advocate for people with disabilities, a Christian and a woman whose open struggle and honesty has helped inspire millions. And she’s a reminder to us all that ramps and electric doors don’t always change how we see the people who roll through them.

I guess it’s only appropriate to end my Middle East vacation with a tour of holy Christian sites. First stop, a Greek orthodox church in Madaba where the remains of a sixth century mosaic can still be seen in the floor of the chapel. Today, we asked to take photos but somehow hearing the click echo in the church felt uncomfortable. They assured us it was fine and as we walked around believers praying and lighting candles, the sound of hymns echoed in the church. On every wall and pillar are the images of saints and history. Mentioned in Numbers 21:30 and Joshua 13:9, Madaba is a town that caters to believers. And the church itself is a living witness to history. Below the sanctuary floor is a room of treasures that we’re told were originally in the sanctuary but were moved here for safe keeping. Mosaics and photos are behind plexi glass that people have scratched their prayers into–at first it looks like vandalism but on close inspection you can make out Greek letters. One image of Mary behind glass has hand written prayers folded tightly and stuffed inside a wooden case where Mary’s image is surrounded by gold necklaces.

Later, we make our way to Mount Nebo, the place Moses is said to have died. In Deuteronomy 34: 1Moses’ death is explained, ”Then Moses climbed Mount Nebo from the plains of Moab to the top of Pisgah, across from Jericho. There the LORD showed him the whole land—from Gilead to Dan,  all of Naphtali, the territory of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the western sea, the Negev and the whole region from the Valley of Jericho, the City of Palms, as far as Zoar. Then the LORD said to him, “This is the land I promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob when I said, ‘I will give it to your descendants.’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you will not cross over into it.”  And Moses the servant of the LORD died there in Moab, as the LORD had said. He buried him in Moab, in the valley opposite Beth Peor, but to this day no one knows where his grave is.” From up here you get a panoramic view of the Holy Land. Pope John Paul II visited this site and a monastery was discovered here. They have huge mosaics laid under burlap tents and everywhere in a a building we spot a monk. They’re restoring a chapel here and it’s become one of the go-to places on the Holy Land bus tour–I know this because a massive bus of Colombians on tour were ahead of me. This place feels like the kind of place Moses would go to die. It’s high, peaceful and is a 360 degree view of the land below. It’s strange to be here in the same place where Moses’ remains are buried. And to know that his grave can’t be found makes it that much more Mosesy–if that makes sense. That he wouldn’t have wanted a shrine to himself or a place where worshippers could come to pay their respects. Here, you can only imagine and wonder, “Is he beneath me?”

Next, the site where John is said to have baptized Jesus. I really didn’t think about where we were going today. It wasn’t until we loaded up in the back of the tour truck that I realized (in what has to be the most awe inspiring hour and a half of my Christian life) we were going to see the place where Elijah is said to have ascended to Heaven, where Jesus was baptized and where visitors can step into the Jordan River. All three major religions acknowledge this place to be the baptismal site of Christ (see Matthew 3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22) and coming upon the now murky water hole (the course of the river has shifted since his baptism) you do feel a sense of surrealness. No, you can’t dip your feet in. They are excavating the area and have found the remains of at least three churches here. The Jordanians are very serious about maintaining the solemnity of this place and you have to respect them for that.  But you can picture disciples here, you can visualize followers walking through these paths, along the desert floor, baking in the heat much like me headed toward the river. Later, we walk to the edge of the Jordan where we’re mere feet from Israeli controlled Palestine. A border fence divides the river. It’s wrong somehow to do that–a subtle reminder that even Holy sites are plagued with politics. But a woman with the group emerges in a baptismal robe (with a bikini underneath) and jumps into the Jordan river. You are allowed to do this but you may not swim in the river. You may only soak and “baptize”. I wasn’t prepared to be this close to the Jordan but I did step down to the edge and filled my lens with photos. Somehow it felt un-holy of me to just jump into the water in a pair of khakis and tennis shoes. But they have purified water on the wooden landing from the Jordan too. I grabbed handfuls and washed my face. When you’re not prepared to take in so much religious history, it kind of takes you by surprise and the chance to walk where Jesus trod, where John and the disciples may have slept or laughed and ate, where Moses died catches up with you later as you blog about it. It makes all of those Sunday school lessons and all the Old and New Testament references seem so much more real now, and I almost feel guilty for not going in with a Holy Tour heart. I’m a person of faith all the time but seeing the core places that make up your faith mere feet in front of you certainly makes you reevaluate your daily walk.

Cologne mixed with cigarette smoke settled over the coffee table Sunday morning as we sat on the patio of Cafe Yunis near the Hamra district in Beirut. The persistent-honk, honk, honk, of car horns could be heard down the street. Beirut’s morning symphony was slowly beginning. Soon, children ran out of apartments and played in a downstairs courtyard. There are no parks, no green spaces to kick balls or horse around. Just cement. Everywhere. Hard cement. No drywall, no stucco. The cold, gray rock-like mixture is used in every building, ceiling and wall. It feels sturdy, impenetrable even until you see the buildings left in rubble that dot that serve as morbid memorials. They’re shells of what used to be before the war in 2006 they’ll tell you, before the war in the 1980s they’ll say with a tsk. Cement has the feeling of security Beirut has never achieved. It’s a city waiting for something to happen. It’s just a matter of when. What politician, what sect, what religious leader, what Israeli action will bring neighbors to blows and cause these building to tumble you wonder?  Let’s go protest at the U.S. Embassy Sunday, a friend suggests. It’s a city you think is on the brink of recovery until you realize it’s been recovering for decades. Here, you’ll find multi million dollar apartments near bullet pocked buildings. Mosques and cathedrals share the same blocks. Mullahs and Maronites share the same space.  It’s a contradiction in every sense. But one everyone enjoys until the next war, until they have to move to the mountains for six weeks, out of the country for work, or citizenship abroad. The first leg of my trip is over and I’m headed to Yemen now. Beirut was fun, congested, full of smoke and annoying French people but it doesn’t quite feel like the Middle East yet. Sure there are lots of Muslims and women in hijab (head covering) and mosques and calls to prayer, but there are so many foreigners here in Beirut it feels more like an American city. Even the Starbucks is better than mine back home. I wonder what it will feel like outside of this faux comfort?

Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar/People.com

Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar stars of the hit TLC series 19 Kids and Counting  just had their 19th child and baby Josie is currently in intensive care. The family has moved temporarily to Little Rock Arkansas to be closer to Josie but the Duggar’s say they aren’t ruling out having another child. In an interview with People magazine, the Duggar’s said they’re just grateful Josie is here and doing well, “We don’t know if there is going to be another big hill to go up,” said Michelle. “We are grateful for the wonderful days when she has been good. We know at any moment, things could change.” At 43, Michelle has been pregnant almost half her life. And the Duggarssay that children are a gift of God aka no birthcontrol. The obvious question we all have: when will she stop? I do understand that children are a gift of God, but God raised some of his children up to become doctors and chemists who created a thing called birthcontrol. Are we women who take birth control baby killers or messing with God’s plan for us? My husband and I want to have a child soon and I don’t feel I’m being a bad Christian for waiting until we’re ready. Are women who pop out baby after baby following God’s will by raising a ton of gifts at the expense of their own health? Blogger vyckie is a mom of multiples and says the spell of children is addictive, “You see, once a woman’s mind grasps the concept of “trusting the Lord” with her reproductive life ~ absolutely nothing is ever simple or obvious again. The Quiverfull philosophy is an alluring and powerful spell ~ and the woman so enchanted feels the euphoria of the “Big Happy Family,” she is seduced by a vision of chivalrous men and genteel ladies, tempted by the promise of God’s protection and provision, and she knows the sheer ecstasy of inhaling deeply the ambrosial smell of yet another newborn.” But she says Michelle and others similarly  brainwashed are being taught biblical practices that are centered on having more children, “So it’s no surprise that despite preeclampsia, gallstones, and a micro-preemie baby, Michelle’s still determined to leave it up to God whether there’ll be a twentieth Duggar baby or not. That she ought to stop now is glaringly obvious to everyone but Michelle and the Quiverfullers who are similarly beguiled.” I think the Duggars are good parents. I think they are good examples to their children but I do not understand their reproductive philosophy. The biblical principles the Duggars and other Quiverfull families–Christians raising large families–follow are not mainstream and frankly some of them I think have been subjected to conservative interpretation. I don’t agree with what the Duggars are doing but then again they wouldn’t think too highly of my “pop a pill stop a sperm” philosophy either.

Got a call from my mom this morning. She’s stuck in a snow storm near Brownwood and isn’t sure she’ll make it to Christmas. We’re celebrating Christmas Eve because my brother is scheduled to work Christmas Day. It’s a long standing tradition in my family to never, ever celebrate on Christmas Day. I can’t recall a Christmas it’s ever happened. We never got a Santa Claus because my parents are traditionalists and we grew up knowing what Christmas was really about–for years they wouldn’t let me participate in school Christmas pageants singing Santa Claus and sleigh bells. And I swore when I grew up I’d be the obnoxious Mrs. Claus down the street. And then I married a Muslim. And I don’t get any Christmas period. Well, from his side at least. My husband helps with decorations (and his family put up a tree when he was a child) but last night while I baked and cooked to prepare for this afternoon’s feast I had a Charlotte York moment. In the last season, Charlotte converted to Judaism to marry her divorce attorney Harry Goldenblatt and part of that conversion meant giving up Christmas entirely so she held her last Christmas in July. In the episode Charlotte realizes, the ”memories she was giving up might be nothing compared to the memories she was getting.” For a mixed religion couple, there are moments when being different can be hard. And the holidays only highlight those differences.

I never really got that episode until last night when I realized I will never get to have a normal Christmas. I won’t get Christmas cards or candy canes or gifts or eggnog from my in-laws. And the only celebratory “holiday” period I’ll share with my married family is Ramadan–where I starve for 29 days–I blogged about that experience earlier this year. I know it’s selfish but it just doesn’t seem like an equal trade. I’m a Christian and I like Christmas. I like decorating and cooking and parties and red and green and bells and etc. And I don’t like being hungry and starving for God. At the end of the Ramadan fasting period I did feel more enlightened. I’ll admit that. It did make the commercialization of Christmas seem sinful to me. Case in point:  at every commercial break of The Nativity Story on TNT a Santa Claus was shown running to Target at the last minute and happy? Wal Mart workers flicked lights reminding us there’s only a few shopping days left. It was a little disgusting to me. Wise men celebrated the birth of Christ one minute, Kay Jewelers flashed diamonds the next.

Maybe Christmas for me will always be a strange little holiday. Not ever celebrating on the day has become a tradition unique to my family. Sometimes we’ll bump it into January: I get great sale deals! And maybe I will never get a Christmas card from my in-laws but darn it, next year I’ll send them some anyway! Watching Charlotte putting up sad little Christmas balls in July was painful because I get it. Half of my lights didn’t even make it out of the box this year. When you are the only Christmas cheer in your house, it’s often a lonely world and you lose the jingle spirit a little more each season. I don’t want my kids to not celebrate the holiday. To not bake with me or shop with me or listen to Christmas choirs. And though my family and in-laws may never cherish the holiday season like I do and, yes, maybe I’ll never celebrate like “normal” people do, I never want to lose my Christmas spirit. Even if I’m the only one wrapping presents in my house and we’re toting them to Christmas dinner January 8th, I’m not ready to mourn Christmas, to give up on it. If Mary could ride pregnant on a donkey and deliver a baby with no epidural, I can make a Christmas of comfort and joy because, in the end, it’s not about the tinsel and tissue paper, it’s supposed to be about remembrance and God and cherishing what you have (this year many of us don’t have very much). So bah! humbug! to my Christmas mourning, it’s time for Christmas cheer!

Look out highways, I’m skidding over to Fort Worth with boxes of food and Christmas tunes blaring! Merry Christmas!

(c) Wire Image

That’s right. Get “Growing Pains” at First Baptist Church Dallas Sunday, Oct. 25 where child star turned born again super Christian Kirk Cameron (he has the theme song to Growing Pains on his web site) talk about–let me guess–being a Christian?

See Kirk Cameron at First Dallas, October 25 from First Dallas on Vimeo.

A Christian, a Jew and a Muslim walk into a Luby’s…ha! Figured I’d do something a little more light hearted. Today’s opinion piece is about my decision to fast during  Ramadan. That’s 29 days of no eating or drinking from sun up to sun down. Half way through the fasting period, I’m headed to the two-day  Just Give Me Jesus conference in Waco. A decree from my mother. And a flip through my calendar alerted to me to a couple of Jewish holidays– Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Why the sudden religious push? Well, I could learn a little more about myself and my neighbors by sharing experiences. And whether you’re polarized on one side of the cross, star or moon, our faiths collide in many ways and I’m interested in exploring something beyond a month of Santa Claus and reindeer. I’ll post daily updates, confess if I cheat and offer a “dinner request” form for folks who want to break fast with a very hungry, caffeine deprived Christian. I’m weening myself off food at the moment. It’s hard. My stomach is grumbling, but I don’t want the fasting to be a total shock to my system.