Then things really got weird. We weren’t primarily in Jordan to sightsee—we’d been looking forward to time with worshipping communities in Amman, so we were disappointed to Skype with our host that evening and hear him say, essentially, “Don’t come!” It was nothing personal; it was just that with the severe (and rare) series of snowstorms heading to Amman, he doubted we’d be able to navigate the city, which is understandably not equipped for clearing snow. He was almost certain all meetings this week would be cancelled.
So, like wandering pilgrims, we headed south to Aqaba instead of north to Amman, worrying that our rental car was due in Amman, and wondering how we’d get to Egypt, our next stop, given that flights out of Amman were predicted to be cancelled for several days. Arriving in Aqaba, we turned down two indoor internet cafes as way too smoky, and resignedly settled for an essentially outdoor one, hunkering down on travel websites in our jackets just before the dusty windstorm really picked up. A long, frustrating search finally yielded reasonably priced tickets for tomorrow from Eilat, Israel, across the border from Aqaba, to Tel Aviv, to Istanbul, to Cairo. If that doesn’t sound like a direct route to you, congrats on your knowledge of geography! We applied some frequent flier miles and booked the flights. We turned in the rental car, grateful for their understanding and lack of penalty, got a Jordanian taxi to the pedestrian border, walked across, had our luggage turned inside out and tediously searched, got an Israeli taxi to our hotel, and are now figuring out housing and transportation in Egypt such that we aren’t too big of a burden to the seminary that was expecting us to arrive four days from now.
All of which has me asking, “What are disasters for, anyway?” Well, one answer comes from basic narrative theory. In his delightful book, How to Write a Novel Using the Snowflake Method, Randy Ingermanson says that a good story must have, “big, horrible, hairy disasters.” Disasters do three things for a novel: they add excitement, they force decisions which reveal the true desires of main characters, and they send the story in a new direction. Don’t worry; I don’t actually think Rich and I have become characters in a book… but thinking about these principles helps me process the frustration of this day. I would add to Ingermanson’s list that disasters make characters tired. I’m exhausted! And hungry—though the dust storm that has turned the sky a reddish grey makes me really uneager to explore chilly Eilat in search of dinner.
But, as Ingermanson promised, the day did reveal a desire. We really do want to get to Egypt. At one point in the lengthy search for tickets, Rich sighed and wondered aloud if we needed to cancel Egypt and lose it along with Amman. If we had to wait nearly a week in Aqaba for the flights to resume up in Amman, our time in Egypt would become so short as not to be worth it. So we opted to work hard to get there, and in fact get there early. Why? We aren’t really exploring a possible call to Egypt. We guess that we are too old to learn all that would be needed to minister effectively in such a vastly different setting. But we care about the suffering of that nation, we’re intrigued by signs of God doing new things there in and through all the turmoil of the last two years, and we’re interested in what it looks like to train leaders in that context. We’ve not connected much with ministries of our denomination yet, and this is one great opportunity to do so. We’ll be hosted by a Presbyterian-affiliated seminary there, the Evangelical Theological Seminary in Cairo, which is doing really exciting work in equipping the church for radical faithfulness in extremely challenging times. In fact, as I sit nestled under my blanket in a peaceful town in Israel, blessed to have had the technology and resources to able to shift gears so quickly, reading blog posts like this one http://www.layman.org/newsb95b (not brand new but still relevant and insightful) about the challenges Christians face in Egypt, I’m reminded that my minor disasters pale in comparison. And, while I mentioned that we haven’t become characters in a book in the Inkheart sense, I do believe that God is writing a good story through his people. And we’re glad and grateful to be two minor characters, looking for his hand in the twists and turns of the plot as it unfolds.