Meals, Music, and Memories



Last Saturday night we hosted a dinner for the folks in our area who went on the missions trip to Turkey. Like every good hostess, I cleaned my house (except for the teenager’s bedroom) and organized the meal, which was slightly more Greek than Turkish, but the middle-eastern flair was there. A staple in Turkish cooking, eggplant was on the menu most places we ate… so I looked up area Turkish restaurants online and found a common denominator: Moussaka. It’s delicious, and decidedly different. My friend Rita brought a wonderful soup that reminded all of us of the soup we ate on the terrace of the cave hotel. As in Turkey, our plates were heaped with sumptuous foods, and we reminisced over the fabulous meals we had eaten together on our trip.

The two photographers in our group brought slides to share and we all ooo’ed, ahhh’ed and made various funny comments about the pictures as they moved across the screen. I was unprepared to be stricken with heartache… my heart yearned to be back on the streets of Istanbul, to be climbing the golden hills of Cappadocia, and exploring the ruins of long ago civilizations. When pictures of those we’d met and come to love while there appeared on the screen I found myself whispering their names. Dear people—some brothers and sisters in faith, and some Muslim. I miss them.

Moving through my oh-so American life has seemed slightly surreal since our return. Days are filled with busyness… programs to plan and perform, choirs and ensembles to rehearse, meetings, meetings, and more meetings, and family. The days go by in a blur, and the stress to get everything done is tremendous. I miss the beauty and the mystique of Turkey.

I’ve tried to find a sense of balance by enjoying the beautiful music of the Middle East in my home and car. When our friends were over I played a cd in the background that I’ve not been able to stop listening to. I found the artist online while looking for Turkish music. The artist isn’t Turkish, but the music is a mix of Persian, Turkish, Iranian, and Bulgarian. It’s just beautiful. The singer’s voice is rich and warm, and her artistry is evident in her interpretation of 14th century chants and contemporary folk melodies. So, the music of Azam Ali plays in our home while I cook and work. Our daughter says it reminds her of Turkey, and my husband says it reminds him of the incredible vistas of Cappadocia. The other night he said that the melodies evoke memories of standing on a hill overlooking a golden valley… the very earth seemed to sing in a similar way.


Maybe I’m enamored with the country because it’s the location of my first missions trip. Maybe it’s because I’m an idealist and romantic who loves all things exotic. Maybe it’s just me being quirky, but I have to say I think I may never be the same. Something deep called to my spirit. Now, when I drift off to sleep my dreams are flavored with the scent of spice hanging in the air, interlaced by hauntingly beautiful melodies that seem to float up from a mystical landscape blurred with golden hills, ancient marble, caves, moonlight, and throngs of people.