Nationality-Obligated Rice Cakes

When I go to the grocery store, and if I’m not in a hurry, I usually browse by the “special sales” rack where they have American and European products that are usually $12 marked down for something like $9. [Yeah, it’s a steal—watch out.] And a few weeks ago, [for reasons still unbeknownst to me], I got really excited and happy when I saw rice cakes. I don’t even know the brand—except it’s that old man of a Mr. Roger’s puppet—ya know, the one with long white hair, a beard and a blue hat? Anyways, I picked them up and, with a smile on my face, put them in my basket and kept walking, like I had just worked out with the Green Bay Packers or something.

When I got home and started unpacking my bags, my enthusiasm was still there. I even sent a text message to an American friend and was like, “Girl! I just bought rice cakes! J” [Seriously??]

The next day I woke up and threw some fruit together for my lunch for work [it’s all I ever take—my friends take care of the rest of hourly feedings] and I busted open that neat pillar of rice cakes, taking a few for work.

What a bad idea.

I don’t even like rice cakes. How did that slip my mind before I spent almost $4 on them?

As I was crunching into one at work, [trying to talk myself into eating it really naturally and nonchalantly], I was being watched. And of course, there was a conversation.

Muna: Sarah. What are you eating??? [She was eating a quieter sandwich of a pita, spreadable cheese and cucumber—way more delicious, too, I should add.]

Me: [with a smile on my face, trying to play it cool] A rice cake. *Crunch*

Muna: A RICE CAKE???! SARAH!!! WHY ARE YOU EATING A RICE CAKE?? Here, eat this. [She throws a tomato at me.] Or this. [She throws a sandwich of my favorite spices and oil across our desks.] Please don’t eat a rice cake. They’re so…. icky. Sarah, are you on a diet?? It won’t work here.

Me: Muna!!! [In my Arab whine—I’m still perfecting it.] It’s just a rice cake. And it’s good for you… and it just tastes so good… and….

I trailed off as we both started laughing. I get up to throw it in the garbage and of course, in walk four more friends, all clucking away like the sweet and noisy hens that they are. Muna [in Arabic] immediately recounts the snack situation and I’m forced to confess that I didn’t buy the rice cakes because I like them or even because they were such a good deal, but because they reminded me of America and there was something in me that made me just want them because they were familiar. And even greater than that, it seemed like none of the Arabs were buying them and since I want them to continue stocking American products, I should be buying them… “I was ‘nationality-obligated’ to buy them,” I said.

There was an explosion of laughter and that rapid-fire Arabic started up again, only to leave me a little ashamed, but mostly comforted by my zeit wu zataar sandwich Muna had thrown at me in her rescue attempts.

This last week I was in a little JACKPOT of a convenience store [seriously—check out all that American cereal!] and spotted a box of Lucky Charms. Like, REAL Lucky Charms cereal and as I was almost running over to them, I flashbacked to the whole rice cake incident. However, as a kid, when my mom would buy the sugary, expensive cereal, I would always want Lucky Charms, so I knew this was legitimate nostalgia setting in. But don’t worry—I saw the price—nearly $11. So instead of buying the box, I had my friend just take a picture of me with it. I don’t eat cereal here—this Wisconsin girl can’t handle the long-life, box milk.

Life Lesson: Even when you don’t think you are,
being homesick shows up in the most ridiculous ways.
You just gotta pay attention.

Thing for Love: I proved to be consistent in making my friends laugh.
[Even if it was at my expense.]

The Yellow Dress's Family Photo Album & Thoughts on Dads

I just read this week in the BBC news that the Prime Minister, David Cameron, is calling for absent fathers to be treated as drunk drivers, that they should feel the “full force of shame” for their actions. I kind of like this. The roles fathers play in society and family structure are profoundly awesome.

My parents have been married for 36 years and I have three younger brothers. My parents are just fantastic; I simply adore them. They have really shaped who I am, developed my values and, I think most importantly, my dad has shown me Who my heavenly Father is. I remember being in First Grade and walking in my parents’ bedroom to find my dad knelt by their bed, with his Book open, hands folded and head bowed. And while I haven’t been home for Father’s Day in America for… a few years, what with college, grad school & living overseas, it’s still a favorite for me.

Back in the day, my dad would do “Top Ten” lists like David Letterman at our home fellowship to promote different things: potlucks [why would we even need to promote these???], small groups, outings, etc. He would stand on stage, mic in hand, being so funny, making everyone laugh and want to join. He’s so great. And so, in his honor, I would like to do a Top Eleven for my sweet daddy.

1
He’s always made sure I totally rocked
school & everything academic—
even a Master’s degree.
[Not all dads do this. So I’m SUPER grateful.]

2
Christmas Presents 2010:
He’s a total goofball and the whole family follows suit.
He always plays with us. He’s either working or playing.
[I love this about him.]

3
He’s really handsome.
One of the first things my freshman college roommate said to me was,
“Your dad is so dreamy.”
[I kept my eye on her.]

4
He’s the hardest working guy I know.
And he just cares. All the time.

5
He loves my mom.
[With all his heart and strength.]

6
He’s supportive of everything I do.
[Unless I’m being a total dork.]

7
When I am being a dork, he sets me straight.
And sometimes he just yells at me in Finnish.
[I think that’s funny.]

8
He’s strong.
“A family that lifts together, stays together.”

9
He sings to me on the phone.
[I LOVE this.]

10
He’s the man I measure every other against.

11
When he hugs me, he always holds me about two seconds too long.
[This just makes my heart melt—because he’s my dad and I know he loves me.
And no matter how long he hugged me, it would never be enough.]

In all our human corruption and failings, with messed up gender attitudes and sometimes broken families, I think we can use a re-centering of what men of God are like. As a woman, sister, daughter, friend, I want to show the men in my life that I respect them and that I can follow and help them as they are running hard after God.

I really love men—they’re so funny. Sometimes living here makes it hard for me to love men—just yesterday I was glaring at and being sassy to an old man who wouldn’t stop staring at me and my friend on a bus ride to a refugee camp. Give us a break! I don’t want to be that person. I’m wrong to do that, but it also shows how sin perpetuates sin and it also displays what an intimate relationship the genders have with one another in any culture.

Something I really respect about my dad is that he’s let me leave—he’s let me be, in some aspects, an absent daughter. He knows I’m not his, but that I’ve been given to him, to protect, love, raise, nurture and poke fun at. Ha. My dad doesn’t live or operate in this culture, but he’s given me the tools and the example of a relationship with my Father Who does live and operate in this culture. It’s my hope that my friends here will one day know this Father, because He is Good. He is never absent. He is Faithful. He is Forgiving. And He is Love, Himself.