The Squooshy

Day 6 : Tues, Apr 1

Tuesday was started Psalm-lessly as we had a flight to catch from Istanbul to Kayseri (Caeserea) so that we could visit the Cappadocia region (not to worry—the Psalm would be forthcoming). 

Cappadocia is a visually stunning and interesting part of Türkiye; known for its fairy chimneys (a type of geological formation), underground cities that offered protection during periods of persecution, cave homes, and early churches / monastic communities like Göreme.

Tuesday’s airport adventcha set the tone for Rhonda and lo—it was a grumpy one. We had a group airline reservation for the 34 pilgrims and I had a hard time letting go of my comforts to be able to go with the flow. My list of discomforts, itemized:

• No seat assignments
• Unfamiliar airport
• A tour guide who was trying his dead-level best to be 34 places at once, but was incapable of self-cloning
• No control over the things I wanted to control
• No one reminding me it was going to be okay and that I could be still and show grace
• Trying to stay together with a group of 34
• Where did they say to go next?  
• Sure sure, but none of the signs are in English, so…where?
• Oh, and the spouse is an Enneagram 8, so he’s triggered
• Have I mentioned the no control part?
• And also, I’m a (n enneagram)  9 who absorbs everyone’s feelings, so I’m also triggered

From the Groping to the Gospel

The grand finale of the chaotic morning was an up-close-and-personal interlude with a Turkish airline security agent and (what I am certain ended in) a committed monogamous relationship—because where else do we go after 3rd base?  

She checked all of my parts for contraband and came up empty-handed (save for … well … my parts).  I was frustrated and somewhat humiliated; this felt a bit like I had one straw left and she groped it.  My tantrum-meter was beeping, so, I went inward and caught a mood. That mood was not a good mood. 

Once again, though, weeping may stay for the night…but wait, do I see joy in community?  It seems as though these lows do prime the pumps for meaningful connections. One of my fellow pilgrims saw me in my near-meltdown distress after the “great Turkish Airport grope-down” and shared with me a mini-homily about Matthew 5:40 that spoke of Jesus’ desire for us to treat each other with the dignity called for as image bearers. And: #HeActuallyIsATheologian

#IAmNotATheologian

Here’s the recap statement from a blog that I was able to find that shares similar context: 

“The scenario depicted by Christ is about the shaming of the unjust and greedy and inhumane. The poor man shines a spotlight on the inhumanity of it all, forcing the plaintiff – shaming the plaintiff – into acknowledging his own basic human dignity.”

I was not handling the demands of the day all that well.  But a simple gesture like his helped me just enough to bear the weight of the load.  This is the wonderful thing about community. We aren’t meant do do this alone. Thanks Bryce.  

Water for the Wounded

After the morning shenanigans, we did have that reading of the 91st Psalm on our bus ride from the airport.  But, since this psalm still has many grief entanglements for me, as one of my sister’s favorite passages of comfort as she battled a terminal illness, my poor squooshy heart had to go back and draw from the well.  

As I write these words, this brings to mind another gift provided to me by a pilgrim during our travels. Nate, the 28 year old pastor, gave me a word about the Samaritan woman who also drew from the well. He pointed out that it was Jesus’ need—and allowing the Samaritan woman at the well an opportunity to fill that need—that made a way for her redemption and the redemption of her town: 

⁷ When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?”

³⁹ Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I ever did.”

John 4:7, 39

I think I see some themes emerging here:

1. You can probably see how up and down things were for me, particularly on the first half of this trip.  
2. If you are paying close attention, you can likely also see how hard I am on myself for this.  I am carrying with me a narrative that says: “Get it together, Rhonda, why are you so broken?”  
3. Look closer still, and you see the compassion of Christ, (through community) saying: Why don’t you try embracing your needs, Rhonda—instead of the shame?
4. I think there is an invitation, here, too, to embrace the natural ebbs and flows of my spiritual disposition.
5. Bonus points if you picked up on how stubborn I am and that God has to show me a thing about 3-4 times for me to ‘get it’.

Day 7: Wed, Apr 2

Wednesday was a special day—probably my favorite highlight of the entire trip to-date.  But before I get too far, I should explain that the rest of my photos will contain a new friend.

Face First into Adventcha!

On Wednesday, we were given the option for an extra off-roading “Jeep Safari” adventure. Daniel and I opted in.

Yes, I smacked the bajeezus out of my face on the door of my ride before we even left the hotel (and after my tour guide said to ‘be careful’). Yes, it hurt, but I lived. And it made for a funny story. What this off-road adventure afforded us was an opportunity to get closer to some of the geological formations that make Cappadocia so special. What I expected was to be able to get out and snap some cool pics; I did not expect to be able to go into caves and such.

Naturally, I cried in a cave

The highlight of the morning, was coming to a 4th century women’s monastery and finding a chapel carved into the side of a mountain. I don’t know that I have the right words to describe why (except “squooshy”) but as soon as I entered that space, I was overcome with emotion.

It was a dark place—no one had ‘curated’ the space—so there was no electricity for lighting etc. I was immediately struck with the effort it took to carve a chapel out of stone in the 4th century. Prior to this church, we had visited a space for living quarters carved out of the rock. By comparison, that excavation included very rudimentary carve-outs for sleeping and a separate fire pit for cooking.

But this cave-church had arches and a domed ceiling and paintings. I was struck with how much effort went in to each component to create this place of worship. I thought about how desperate one must be for communal worship to carve out a stone mountain. And I thought about the freedom to worship that I enjoy today that is so dispensable.

So squooshy.

I came outside to pull myself together, only to hear a worship song coming out of the cave next to me. I just stood there and let the sound wash over me and I cried a bit more. It was a holy moment.

Göreme

When we rejoined the rest of the group that morning after the “Jeep Safari” (and after some basic first aid provisions for my “mountain lion” injury), we visited the Göreme Open Air Museum.

Göreme is a district in Cappadocia with monastic communities that were inspired by the teachings of Basil the Great. We were able to see several more churches carved out of the mountains with varying degrees of sophistication to their architecture and art work.

The Potters Hands

The day also included a trip to the studio of Galip Körükçü, a Turkish master potter who also kind of looks like Albert Einstein. Galip’s family has been making pottery for 5 generations with clay sourced locally from the Red River. The work is beautiful. Also. He collects ladies hair—maybe don’t ask?

We watched a master potter craft a Hittite wine decanter. It was really quite cool. I saw these decanters around everywhere and when we got to their studio and saw how they actually worked I very much wanted to come home with one. But. $800 seemed like a lot for a pitcher.

For the master potter doing the demonstration, the (potter’s) wheel rested on the floor between his legs but was 100% manually powered with his feet. Wait. Does that make it “pedally” powered?

The demo was fascinating. This gentleman was very tall, dark, and handsome and he had very large hands. In other, unrelated news, I have decided that Dave Morales will take up pottery as his next hobby. No discussion needed. 🤭

For those of you wondering, yes, my inner 12 year old is still alive and well. She giggled like crazy on the inside while watching this pottery-making demonstration. But it was too early with this group of traveling pilgrims to introduce them to that side of me. And I was in the front row! Center!

At one point, when the potter was crafting the handle for the pitcher, he made a shape so…”heh heh heh” … that I nearly had to place one hand on each side of my head to prevent it from turning around and looking for my people so that we could exchange a knowing glance of immaturity.

But that bus ride back to the hotel…heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh. I got it all out of my system. Okay, I’ll never get all of it out of my system. But I got enough of it out of my system so as to avoid any Tourette’s-like outbursts in the studio.

Oh. And my inner 12 year old wasn’t alone either. She had sisters in the pilgrimage. 🤣🤪