One step two step three step four
Step step step step
Is it really over?
All of us were there. Just us
Stepping the same
Endless paths before us
Somehow it would always be this way
Then I stepped there and you here
You and I
Different.
One step more and they are strangers to me
It hurts sometimes
A child ripped from her playthings
Hundreds of steps
Thousands of steps
Millions of steps
He stepped there
So many steps.
But not too many
I should have counted
I can’t
Lift my eyes to the stars
Hold my hand, touch my heart
Tell me the secret to make my eyes twinkle again
And then let go
I told you I wouldn’t forget this time
Step step
But I did
Tell me again will you?
My eyes averted I continue on
Step step
It hurts and I know it
Turn. Do it. I dare you
Don’t think. Remember
Step step step
M
30.1.09
29.1.09
microBIOLOGY
you know when you are a mircobiology major when:
you hear the words staphylcoccus aureus and your skin jumps with excitement and butterflies flit around in your stomach like kissing the boy of your dreams for the first time.
you climb the 10 flights of stairs to the eighth floor of the WIDB. every. day. .
the only pictures on your camera of late are ones of the bacteria you grew on your petri dish
you spend two hours harvesting and planting seeds so tiny you can barely see them
you spend all day with your hands in inoculated petri dishes full of bacteria ranging from salmonella to some strain that resembles cholera if it infects you and you like it
you start throwing words around like PCR, DNA extraction, inoculate, Agar, infectious, pili, interferon, lipopolysaccharide, and cytotoxic T cell like those were the first words you spoke as a toddler.
you've become a biohazard to the entire BYU campus.
This semester will be interesting,
M
you hear the words staphylcoccus aureus and your skin jumps with excitement and butterflies flit around in your stomach like kissing the boy of your dreams for the first time.
you climb the 10 flights of stairs to the eighth floor of the WIDB. every. day. .
the only pictures on your camera of late are ones of the bacteria you grew on your petri dish
you spend two hours harvesting and planting seeds so tiny you can barely see them
you spend all day with your hands in inoculated petri dishes full of bacteria ranging from salmonella to some strain that resembles cholera if it infects you and you like it
you start throwing words around like PCR, DNA extraction, inoculate, Agar, infectious, pili, interferon, lipopolysaccharide, and cytotoxic T cell like those were the first words you spoke as a toddler.
you've become a biohazard to the entire BYU campus.
This semester will be interesting,
M
22.1.09
wearing
do you ever put on an outfit and walking out the door thinking, why the heck am I wearing this?
Today is that day.
making poor fashion choices,
m
Today is that day.
making poor fashion choices,
m
5.1.09
pilgrimage
The Tel Aviv Airport
The Old City
Augusta Victoria Church
Model City: The Israel Museum
Tel Aviv
Tel Beer She'va
Wilderness of Zin overlook
The Pyramids
The Sphinx
Saqqara
The Camel Safari
Citadel of Salah Al-Din
Ibn Tulun Mosque
The Dome of the Rock
Valley of Elah (where David met Goliath)
Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Hezekiah's Tunnel
Dormission Abbey

The Church of the Nativity

The Red Sea
Caesarea Maritima
In Galilee, near the Golan Heights
Gamla (site of one of the first clashes in the Great Revolt)
Bet She'an
The bus where my tired feet spent many hours
Masada
The Dead Sea
walking on the usual route back to the Center from the City
home. 18 days. 12 hours. 37 minutes. 07 seconds and counting...
Each second it gets further away, memories become that much more distant, and the feeling that it was all a dream-an alternate universe-becomes more real. It once again feels like a distant land. When I think such a thought I immediately accompany it with several others. I force my mind to recall the palace that is the Center. I remind myself of the pain my legs felt as I walked up the hill to the Old City. I try to hearken the smells, the business, the faces back to my mind. I can hear the prayer call filling my ears with beauty. Most of all I try to summon that glow, that constant uplifting and power I didn’t know I had until it was gone. It was real. I know it. I know it.
Home is good. Home is hard. Home is here, but home is somewhere distant as well.
We sat around the oasis table eating our typical lunch of fruit, some questionable meat, egg and pasta concoction, pitas and more pitas. It was one of the first days and we were taking a break from our many orientations and were discussing our new lives and the journey we were about to embark on. One of the boys remarked, "I think more than anything this is a pilgrimage, that's what Brother Huntington said last night and that is how I'm going to treat it from now on."
His words struck me. At the time I did not fully understand how this journey was a pilgrimage, but now it is the best word, for lack of a better one, to describe the journey that I went on. Thousands of people make their own pilgrimage to Jerusalem. They sacrifice time, money, and the way of the world to come to this ancient place and pay their respects to the sacredness this land possesses. But the sacredness of this place does not just come from the places themselves, but from the value that the people put on them. From their goodness and devotion to God. From their yearning to become better, more like Him. From their pilgrimage.
I thought of the best way to document my journey in Jerusalem in a meaningful way. To me, this sums up my journey. A piece of me and a piece of the land. Just a small smattering of all the places were my feet walked. Evidence I passed through there, but really that the land passed through me, whispered it's secrets into my ear, and guided me as I learned to open my mind and heart.
A pilgrim's footsteps in Jerusalem.
You’ll find some glaring omissions in my collection. Where are the quintessential Jerusalem sights? Where is the Garden Tomb, the Garden of Gethsemane, Galilee?
My foot prints to do not appear in such places because I consider them sacred ground. I am one among thousands who have walked that hallowed ground and have been touched, my heart marked rather than my footprint left. Such an event is deemed sacred and deserves reverence, written upon the walls of my heart and kept close.
My last piece is at the Center. The white limestone characterizing the Center and the Eternal City. My empty, worn, walking shoes. These shoes contain so many memories, not only in Jerusalem, but they represent a whole life before my journey to that distant land. An old life I shed in Jerusalem to become a better person. And a piece of me I left in the land I love. Empty shoes to be filled by other students. Others who will love the land just as much as I do, who will feel the center is their home, and the people their people. And I, I will continue on.
my heart belongs in Jerusalem, and I pray for peace.
beginning a new kind of journey, but taking all I have learned from this monumental one,
m
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