The edges of my shirt whipped around me from the hot Israeli wind. The sun burned my face as the flame of an oven would, and yet I made no attempt to shield myself from it. I could not bear to look away from what lay before me: the Sea of Galilee.
Many who have been to Israel come back with stories of how their lives were transformed when they "walked where Jesus walked." Though I had many times discounted those stories as byproducts of religious theatrics, the ache to stand on the holy ground of the Chosen Land had always gripped me. Now, here I was, studying abroad with twenty-nine other college seniors from America. Now, we all stood in awe of the gentle waves, which in their anger Jesus had hushed with three words: "Peace, be still." Now, I realized the stories were true.
Native Jews smirked at us, just another passel of tourists gaping at a sight they themselves beheld every day with little celebration. After a brief summary of the characteristics and history of these waters, our tour guide motioned for us to follow him to the next destination. Barely hearing him, I lingered behind, longing to stay forever in this place. The air still seemed to carry His voice. From behind me came the voice of Professor Grayson.
"Grace...are you coming?" His words seemed to carry understanding, even a common longing; yet the professor's first priority was to watch over the students he had been entrusted to lead. I turned and met his eyes; the aging man had paused to wait for me, the rest of the group climbing back up the slope toward the heart of the city. Sympathy emanated from his eyes; so it was true, then. He too ached for more than just a glimpse of history, and he seemed to realize that he had found a kindred spirit in me.
I sighed. "Yes, sir."
I came alongside him, and he momentarily put his arm lightly around my shoulder, characteristic of the kind teacher he was. From there, we followed the others. After visiting each stop planned for the tour of Galilee, we all returned to our sponsoring families' homes, I with four other girls of various majors and backgrounds.
Entering through the wooden door, our "house ma-ma" greeted us with open arms. Naomi, as she was called, kissed each one of our cheeks and bustled us over to a low table set with simple foods and narrow glasses of wine. Though we showed Naomi as much gratitude as we possibly could, she saw our hesitant glances toward the wine and laughed heartily.
"There is nothing to worry about, daughters. It would take a barrel of this wine to intoxicate even those who've never tasted wine before. If it is not to your liking, however, we have clean well-water stored up in the back room."
Hoping not to come across as ungrateful, Cheryl, Karrington, Alannah, and I assured her that what she had placed before us was wonderful. We sat down amongst the woman's family and partook of a traditional Hebrew meal: fresh figs, warm pitas with olive oil to dip them in, black and green olives, and even a small helping of lamb for each of us. During this time, I laughed with the others at the children’s behavior: little Bahman using his lamb chop to fight off imaginary villains; ten-year-old Babak’s fatherly attempts to calm him down; and teenage daughter Gilah’s hilarious mistakes in trying to speak to Karrington in English.
And yet...Often I glanced out the open window in the direction of the sea, still nearly brought to tears with longing. Avigail, the oldest daughter of the family, must have observed my frequent wanderings, because as we cleaned dishes later in the night, she leaned close to me and whispered, "You want to be near the sea again?"
I glanced up from drying a plate, reddening with embarrassment. "Is it that obvious?"
Avigail gave a small smile that lit up her brown face and said, "We too are followers of Yeshua. I can feel His closeness there, as you also seem to. I will take you in the morning, early."
Delight and then, just as quickly, disappointment fell over me. "I can't go anywhere without the others."
"I shall ask for you. My brother and I will take you, and you have your portable telephone, do you not?"
I cracked a grin at her terminology but didn't point out. "Yes, I do. That would be wonderful, Avigail. Thank you so much."
She nodded in acknowledgement and whispered as she dried her hands on my towel, "In the morning, then.”
"Grace? Grace...wake up, it is time to go. We musn't miss the sunrise."
My eyes popped open at the soft words to see Avigail's wavy black hair hanging in my face, and her hazel eyes seeming to bid me to get up. It took me a moment to understand.
"Go where..." I mumbled.
"To the sea! The sun over the water there is the most beautiful you will find in Israel. Come; we must hurry."
I gasped with realization. "The sea! Yes, the sea! I'll be right there!" Blankets sailed back and my suitcase flew open; soon, neatly-folded clothes were rumpled and tossed. Before I knew it myself, I was dressed and ready.
Avigail was waiting for me in the front room, and we both stepped out into the darkness together. Suddenly, in the light of the lamp hanging near the door, I saw a man come alongside my friend, and I gasped and froze.
Avigail looked at me with concern. "What is it--oh, this is my brother, Yosef! He is going to escort us."
I slowly relaxed and smiled at Yosef, who seemed much older than both Avigail and me, both in appearance and maturity. I could only make out the basic features of his dark face. He matched Avigail in many ways--the strong nose, the unruly black hair, and the curious eyes. His build and manner, however, opposed her completely. While Avigail was close to my height, average for a woman, Yosef stood at least a half-foot taller; combined with the broadness of his chest and large arms, he cut an intimidating figure by any means. Stoic and unwelcoming, he only glanced at me in response to my smile, then advanced ahead of us in the direction of the sea. I was tempted to be miffed, but the thought that he probably never woke up this early made me more understanding, and gratefulness for someone to protect us in this dangerous place made my anger subside. Avigail leaned near me and whispered, "Forgive him; he is struggling in his faith right now. He says he has given up on Yeshua, and so he stays away from the Sea as much as possible to avoid reminders of Him. But I know he will find his way home."
We followed him, or should I say, Avigail followed him--I followed her because Yosef disappeared too many times--toward the Sea of Galilee. The town we slipped through was astonishingly quiet; only the sounds of early morning birds and horses stamping in their sleep broke the almost holy hush. Faint streaks of colored light began to appear on the horizon.
"Yosef, we must hurry!" Avigail whispered as loudly as she dared. Her brother gave no indication of hearing her, except that he picked up his pace a bit.
We ducked under awnings and skirted around tied-up donkeys, still barely able to see each other. Then finally, we arrived at the beach of the Sea of Galilee just as the sun broke into view.
Avigail was right.
That sunrise was the most stunning I had ever seen. The sun itself was only a speck above the horizon, but its effects created a magnificent display, as rays of light the color of fire spread across the sky like an outstretched hand. Subtle pink clouds curled their way through each finger, rubbing up against them as a cat would greet a friend. The water reflected back the sun's image, making the great light appear to smile and rise a little higher. As it rose, the world was illuminated even more, bathed in rose- and amber-colored light. Weathered little fishing boats began to become visible, rising and falling gently on the slight waves. The stirring of fishermen and their calls to one another as they pulled their boats in for the morning created a familiar atmosphere.
I turned my head to look at Avigail. She smiled back knowingly, reading the awed expression on my face. Facing the sea again, we both closed our eyes and breathed deeply of the warm, salty air. When I opened my eyes, I glanced back over toward my friend to find her beaming at someone in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, I glimpsed a dark young man whose smile was just about as bright as the sunrise as he approached Avigail. Both of them becomingly increasingly shy as they came closer to one another, they often glanced down at the sand beneath their feet—but they did not look away for long. Finally Avigail turned to me.
"Grace, this is my...friend, David. He is a fisherman. We have known each other since we were able to walk. David, this is my friend Grace, a college student from America visiting with her classmates and professors."
With an amiable grin that showed white teeth, David reached out to shake my hand. I took it, and he grasped mine with both of his. "Welcome, sister, welcome to our country," he said, enthusiasm in his voice and sincerity in his eyes. "I hope you find it as beautiful as we do."
I nodded fiercely. "There are no words, except that I'm in awe. Thank you for your welcome; I'm already feeling as though I don't want to leave."
David and Avigail both grinned again, saying, "Then don't!"
I laughed, though I knew this wish was nearly impossible.
Soon, awkwardness settled over the four of us; to relieve us a bit, Avigail and David parted to stroll along the beach a little way—but that did little good. Yosef and I were left standing next to each other in uncomfortable silence. Soon, as if sensing the tenseness in the air, Yosef parted from me and sloshed into the sea a few feet; his doing that made me long to feel the waters just as Jesus had, but I didn't want him to think I was following him, or encroaching on his privacy. Thus, I walked a few yards down the beach and sat down on the sand with the waves lapping against my toes. The sensation of the warm Galilee water sent a chill of wonder up the back of my neck, making me close my eyes with a trembling sigh. In this reverie, I didn't hear the person pushing through the shallows toward me.
Sensing that someone was nearby, I looked up with a sharp breath, expecting to see Yosef or Avigail. The man who stood before me, however, was neither. This man was Jewish, as evidenced by the kippah on his head, and his black mop of hair, tanned skin, and twisted walking staff indicated that he was a native Israeli. He seemed to be about thirty-one or -two in appearance, but the mixture of his childlike smile and air of maturity confused me. My heart began to tingle in fear; Jewish men did not normally approach young women unless their intentions were lewd. I said nothing, attempting to look past him to find Yosef, ready to scream for help.
"Hello," he greeted me, his smile effecting creases around his dark eyes.
Forcing the corners of my lips to turn up a bit, I returned, "Hello."
The man took the liberty to seat himself next to me in the sand, completely going against the traditions of Judaism. Removing his worn sandals, he stuck his feet in the water, just as I did. My heart sped up a bit more; his closeness unnerved me. Why had Yosef or Avigail or even David not come to my rescue by now?
For a few moments, neither of us said a word, but somehow I sensed that my new "friend" was much more peaceful than I. His loose gray button-down shirt flapped in the salty breeze, and he seemed to breathe it in with the same contentment I had felt a few minutes ago. The longer I sat beside him, the harder it was for me to hold onto the anxiety I had been harboring about him. He finally looked over at me with an amiable smile and spoke.
"They are fine friends you have, my dear," the man said warmly. My nerves eased a bit at his fatherly tone--but my guard still remained high.
"Avigail is a precious one, who loves Yahweh with all of her heart, as the Torah commands. David--just like the warrior of old. He is very passionate about those he loves: his God, his family...Avigail." He said this with a small smile, eyebrows raised knowingly. I chuckled softly.
"And Yosef--the boy has much bottled inside him that has trouble coming out. So much potential, so much courage, so much kindness and love. But past hurts and confusion have caused him to hide within himself." I followed the man's gaze toward Yosef, who stood in the water shin-deep, staring silently into the golden sky--then toward Avigail and David walking along the beach to our left. Then I turned to this man, who looked back at me with an amused countenance, as if he anticipated the questions I had. I asked one anyway.
"Are you a friend of theirs?" I quickly caught myself, remembering my manners. "Adon?" This word means "sir" in the Hebrew tongue.
"Oh yes," he emphasized, looking over my mistake, "I've known those children since longer than they can remember." He chuckled, leaving me to wonder why he referred to them as "children." I fell silent for a while, not wanting to continue a conversation with a man I did not know, yet strangely drawn to his words. He suddenly brought me out of my reverie.
"Grace."
My eyes darted over to his, questioning. His were full of joy...and love, as I had never known. What he said next changed my life forever.
"Just as I calmed the storm on this very sea, so I will calm the storm in your heart. My child, that is My promise to you, and I am a Man of My Word."
Slowly my hand made its way to my mouth as I stared at this Man Who was much more than a man. Before I could gather my thoughts, my arms were around His neck, my chin on His shoulder, my tears soaking His black hair. He pressed his bearded cheek into my hair and held me, being silent but strong for a girl who had been silent for so long, but was all the weaker for it. When we finally pulled back, I gazed into eyes that still emanated such joy that hope within me soared. Without saying anything, He conveyed to me that my heart had been healed.
Then He cupped my chin in His hand and rubbed my jawline with His thumb, peering past my eyes into my spirit, the deepest, truest part of me. "
I closed my eyes as I nodded, knowing in my heart of hearts that all would be well, and overflowing with the joy I wanted to share with my friends. When I opened my eyes, He was gone. But no--He was still there. I could feel His breath wrap around me in the warm Galilean breeze. I could hear His voice rush through me in the sound of the lapping waves. I could see the glory coming from His eyes when I beheld the dazzling sunrise.
After He had physically departed, I had hurried to Yosef, the nearest friend, and called to Avigail and David to join us. I could hardly put my heart into words; no human tongue can truly describe an encounter like that. But my effort was enough to carry Yeshua's glory with it; all three of my friends were transformed. Avigail's love for her Father was set ablaze; never until the day she died did her emboldened spirit stop spreading Yeshua's message to those who were hopeless and in darkness. David remembered the stories of the calling of the first apostles and gave up his career as a fisherman to go catch people; as a married couple, he and Avigail were a team so strong together that no one could deny there was something different about them.
But Yosef--I've never seen a man so changed. After escorting Avigail and me back to the house, he disappeared for the rest of the day, going off by himself to a quiet place where he could think. When he finally came back after the evening meal was eaten and cleaned up, he motioned from the doorway for his sister and me to follow him outside. The door wasn't even shut before his eyes began to spill over with tears; he crumpled to his knees and begged us to show him the way to Yeshua. We knelt and wept with him, encouraging him with the words that Yeshua had said about him and leading him to allow the Messiah to fill his heart. After an hour of rejoicing and tears, we said our goodnights and parted.
The next morning was the day of our departure; thirty seniors and three teachers packed onto a rusted bus that would take us to the nearest airport. I was the last to get on.
Naomi scooped each of her house daughters up in a tight squeeze, and placing her hand on our heads, she said a Hebrew blessing over us in the name of Yeshua. When she came to me, she first grasped my face and thanked me with deep sincerity for helping bring her son back to Yeshua. But I knew it was not of my own doing; only Yeshua can change a man's heart. Avigail then hugged and fare-welled all of us, saying something special to each one. Her whisper in my ear was simple, yet remained with me to this very day: "Remember."
Each of the siblings came up to say goodbye, the younger ones making us promise to write and the older boys shaking our hands warmly. We turned to climb the stairs into the bus, I the last in the line. Suddenly I felt a hand take mine, and I turned to see Yosef standing there, saying nothing, yet conveying his heartfelt well-wishes to me through the solemnity and sincerity of his eyes. Nodding my understanding, I squeezed his hand and gently let it go. Never had letting go of a hand hurt my heart so much. I stepped up into the bus that would separate me from Yosef--from Avigail--from Israel--forever.
Or so I thought.
That was twenty-seven years ago. Now, with my fiftieth birthday only days away, my husband Yosef and I stand hand in hand on the very spot where I met the Messiah. I will choose not to share the details of our story with you, because they are irrelevant; what matters is that they happened. What matters is that we are together, having lived full and adventurous lives basking in the love of Yeshua and pouring it out on everyone we could. Even now, as I remember that fateful day, I can still feel Him, pressing me close to His chest and assuring me that I would never have another broken heart; my heart was healed forever.