Not One More Stone or Hour

I stood there under the water thinking a new thought: If this is a drone… am I really the target?

I woke in the middle of the night covered in sweat.

Not from heat.

It was as if I had fallen asleep under a blanket sewn out of rocks. Some were real, others more imagination.

I pulled out an airpod and turned on the sound of low voices talking somewhere beyond me.

After a while, I fell back asleep.

Morning came with a strange kind of peace.

Soft light lay over the Jerusalem hills. Birds moved through the olive trees. I opened my camera to catch the morning light for a painting I’m working on.

Then the siren sounded. Matt grabbed his bag and headed out the gate not wanting to be late for the students. In his hand was the rental contract that would get him into the heavily guarded Old City.

I followed behind him.

The siren called us to shelter. Still I stood there studying the sky the way I might study a canvas. Above us, pale streaks of smoke crossed the morning sky, so soft they might have been brushstrokes.

Then a boom.

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After coffee and bible reading another siren sounded while I was in the shower.

I stood there under the running water, alone in the house, trying to decide whether to rush out or finish.

A news alert flashed across the screen - drone.

…but am I really the target? I thought, my hands still in my hair.

Later, when I went into the Old City, the gate opened for me and my car rolled over the familiar bumps of stone beneath my tires. This time there were no taxis or the usual insanity at the gate.

Then I felt the loneliness of it. Inside, the streets were nearly empty, the shops shuttered. The rolling of my tires over the stones brought back the memory of October 7th and the sad sound of suitcases bumping behind Dean Stott as he evacuated the students.

As I approached Christ Church, I could hear the students singing. Matt was already there. I joined the group and they seemed to look at us with a kind of trust that always made me uneasy.

It had been many dreary days of weather so the joy of the sun finally coming out inspired me to take the girls out for a short walk.

A few restaurants had opened without seating. So we bought tacos and found a place to sit in the grass along the wall.

One of the girls stretched out in the grass and said what we were all feeling.

“It feels so peaceful today.”

I knew what she meant.

We sat talking about the normal things and finding things to be grateful seemed to spill out without effort.

Then my watch vibrated.

A news alert.

Suspicious people had been caught inside my daughter’s base, filming.

I might not be the target of a drone, but her base was another matter.

The students kept on with their girl talk in the sun. I heard one of them laugh and for a moment imagined my daughter there among them, smiling, laughing, stretched out in the grass with her face turned to the sun, not carrying the burden of war.

I kept my face still and held the fear where they could not see it and asked the Lord to guard her.

By evening both Matt and I were tired.

A deep, used-up kind of tired.

Matt had been carrying the students, their safety, and the steady pull of everyone around us. Somewhere inside all that, carrying me too.

We talked for a bit and ate a little something. Then a text came from the landlord asking for the final payment. Matt looked at the screen and neither of us said much.

A little while later another message came in.

It was from Dean.

He and his wife are still with us, working behind the scenes, assessing our exact situation, tracking security information, and helping us discern what was wise. For now, with the airport not open, the wisest thing was to stay near shelter.

I thanked him for his daily check in and waited for a call from my son on the border of Lebanon, and then began to scroll social media.

The first thing I saw was my other son standing at the edge of a bomb site with a group of volunteers, clearing debris.

I hearted it and kept scrolling.

Videos of explosions.

AI images of cities burning.

People speaking urgently into cameras as if the world would soon be ending.

For a moment I could feel their fear trying to become mine.

I set the phone down. I didn’t need another stone in the blanket.

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Thank you for reading. There is so much grace over us and we thank you so much for covering us in your prayers.

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Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Luke 12:25