With Open Doors

On my two mile walk to Capernaeum I remembered something the doctor told me in Jerusalem: take pain medication only if you really need it. Use the pain as an indicator. I think he meant that the pain will tell me what to do and what to avoid doing. Feeling the pain is actually part of the healing process. That is interesting for other moments in life, isn’t it? And besides, a slower walk allowed me to see more along the way. Today there was no cane, no pain (to speak of, that is). It was a good walk.

Father James Martin, S.J., in his book, “My Life with the Saints,” suggests that maybe we are attracted to a particular saint or fascinated by a particular saint because that saint has been praying for us all along. I took the name “George” as my Confirmation name not for any spiritual or thought-out reason, but only because it was my sponsor’s middle name, and I didn’t like the sound of his first name: Harold. St. George is real big here in the Holy Land among the Christians, which makes him big in my book. St. George is the protector of the Christians in the Holy Land. Many have his image carved in stone outside their house over the front door. Well, there is a little fellow staying here at the same pilgrim house on the Sea of Galilee, visiting with his mother and grandmother. He is Jordanian by birth and by way of his father. His mom is Bolivian. His eyes are beautiful. You see his eyes in the photo above. If you look closely you will see me (taking the photo) and his mother and grandmother reflected in his eyes. Finding out that the family is living in Jordan, I asked mom, as we happened, by accident, to be walking together on the path to the Church of the Multiplication of Loaves and Fish how the “crossing” works on the northern bridge from Israel to Jordan. I am used to crossing by the southern bridge, and have never crossed up north. My last question was about how easy it might be to find transportation from the border to Fuheis, the town where I am going for the ordination. Her response was, “We’ll send a driver from Amman to pick you up and take you the two hours to Fuheis, and if the driver is not available, we will book a taxi for you. Someone will be waiting for you when get across the border. Don’t worry. Here is my cell phone number, here is my husband’s cell phone number. If anything changes in your plans, or if you have difficulty of any kind, call one of us and we will sort things out for you. It will be a pleasure for us to do this for you. And if you get bored in Fuheis, give us a call and we will introduce you to the family. They are quite a bunch! You will have lunch with us.” What a surprise and huge blessing for me! Oh, by the way, the little guy’s name is … George. He is now my Jordanian George. My intercessor. My protector. God is so good to me.

Put everything down … and put yourself down … and breathe.

Warm chocolate cake, ice cream and black, really black, coffee after supper.

It is Friday. I have been walking all day without (note: without a cane, thanks, God)  a cane. Tomorrow I might try the two mile walk from the Tabgha Pilgerhaus to Capernaeum.

Father Juan is the Director of the Notre Dame Center where I stayed in Jerusalem. Last night, in asking me about my knee and getting me absolutely convinced that I should be worried about blood clots in my leg and that I should not get on a plane without seeing a doctor, I agreed to allow him to call the house doctor for me, and set up an appointment for me for one hour before the taxi was to pick me up to drive me north to the Sea of Galilee. Dr. John showed up and took me to my hotel room for some questions and an exam. A youngish, nice looking man with perfect English and a British accent, casually dressed and wearing sandals, he pushed and pulled my left leg and left knee in different directions, and knew exactly where to press on the ball of my right foot to get a reaction from that side of my walking problems. He decided it was probably just something strained within the knee itself. He was satisfied that there was no need to worry about clots, assured me that I was doing everything right with resting the knee and elevating it, and gave me his cell phone number in case anything were to change. Doctor John charged me nothing, as a favor to his friend Father Juan. “Consider it done for God and for the Church and for a priest,” he said. I am so well taken care of. When I gave him abundant thanks with, “It is more than I deserve,” he came back with, “We all get more than we deserve, don’t we?” As I shook his hand, he wished me well and kissed my hand.

See the previous post.

My last supper in Jerusalem was lovely. The biggest surprise was that I thought I had taken some pasta from among the cold salads. It was white asparagus in a white sauce, tasty! The carved- on-the-spot lamb was delicious. Turkey schnitzel is always fun for me. Among the other salads that I chose were eggplant and stuffed artichokes. I ate outside in the cool air. A great way to end my stay in Jerusalem.