Worship, Yogurt, and Kabobs




Sunday, October 8, 2006

Day 3

Sunday morning we all met in the lobby to start our journey to the other side of Istanbul. I wish I could detail the worship events, but don’t want to jeopardize the work there, so it must suffice to say that we worshipped with others of like faith in at least 4 languages, and it was a humbling experience. Don and I both shared the same feelings about that worship service. We’ll never forget it. The sermon had been printed as a handout in English, so we could follow along. The most amazing thing was that its subject would set up the women’s teaching later that day. Funny how God does that…

Rita and Gena arrived in time for worship from the airport—it was great to see them there. After the service it was time to grab a quick lunch of dumplings and yogurt (not my favorite combination) and hurry back for the Women’s teaching sessions. The dumplings were a little like tortellini, and had a mysterious little meat in them. The sauce was a tart yogurt sauce with the tiniest bit of garlic in it. The Turks are famous for their yogurt, and I’m sure that if you eat it daily, you might acquire a taste for it, but it was just a little strong for me. I couldn’t help thinking this might be a great place to lose a little weight… After our quick meal we went back to the conference location and taught on Suffering and the Sovereignty of God. There were about 30 women present, and it seemed to go fairly well, although working with an interpreter was really a challenge, and it took a while to get into a good teaching rhythm. The Turkish language is a nomadic language in which words and phrases can have multiple meanings. English is a flowery language with complex grammar rules. We often had to stop and try to rephrase things in a way that would still convey the right idea but be easier to interpret. One of the women attending was a professional interpreter and often jumped in to help clarify statements, and several times another English speaking Turkish woman would jump in too, so it felt like a very cooperative effort. I felt very connected to our interpreter before the day was over.

The women were encouraging and promised to be back the next day, and some stayed after to talk with us for a bit about the frustrations and pain in their lives. This was a really sweet time for all of us. We finally headed back for the hotel around 4:30. Once again, we had to walk to and from the ferry, and work our way through the hungry crowds to the hotel. Here is a shot of the crowds breaking fast around the Hippodrome in Istanbul. As you can see, there’s not much room for pedestrian navigation. I found myself trying to say “excuse me” in a Turkish accent repeatedly. (I don’t know why… I guess I thought it was better than just shoving my way through.) The men were waiting on us when we got back. It was great to see their faces when we walked in. The men and Marla had toured that day and she had managed to run into a glass partition with her left cheek—she had quite a bruise, but her spirits were none the worse for wear. She was having a grand time, and proclaimed that she liked Turkey several times that evening.

Before dinner, we met on the hotel terrace to reflect on our day as a team. Sitting there in the twilight overlooking the Blue Mosque and the Bosporus was quite magical. Marla snapped this shot of Don and I as we waited for the others to join us. Who would think that a 4 year old would be so good with a camera?


Dinner was the Kabob place again. It was close and convenient, but was losing its appeal. With the city as crowded as it was, it was difficult to find a place that could accommodate our group and be within our budget, so it was Kabobs again, and while we ate, we heard the calls to prayer that would be the last for that day. We ate rather quickly and were anxious to get back to the hotel and to bed. It didn’t take us long at all to get Marla to sleep. We followed her quickly into dreams and slept hard all night. If I dreamed, it was of millions of people crowded together and the smell of kabobs hanging in the air.