Down Time

Yesterday I was on the Eastern Shore with two services in Berlin at the Ocean City Worship Center and a service in Pocomoke at Glad Tidings Assembly of God. When I made these bookings, I was pretty happy with my scheduling coup--two Eastern Shore churches right in a row saves me from having to make long trips again on more inconvenient days.

However, that meant I had six hours to kill between the two services. I planned ahead and brought stuff to work on. January weather meant that I wouldn't get to enjoy the beach at all, and most businesses are closed for the winter. But I figured that I could park myself at the Starbucks in West Ocean City with my laptop to work for a while.

But my plans had an unexpected change.

On Saturday night, the folks who hosted me mentioned that there were Palestinians living in Ocean City, working at Subway restaurant. I was intrigued and made a mental note to get the details about which Subway before I left town. Then, after the first service at OCWC, a young woman approached me to say that her husband was one of the Palestinians running a Subway restaurant on 27th St. Could I stop by and meet him? She was sure he would like to talk to me. I was thrilled to have that opportunity; I could honestly say I had nothing else to do and plenty of time to sit and talk.

I found the Subway on 27th, one of the only places with "Open" on the marquee. Abed and his wife Sarah were alone in the restaurant, so we sat down at a table and talked to two hours. He is from Ramallah, and he was very excited to meet someone who was so familiar with his hometown. He kept saying, "You know where the such-and-such building is? You know where the money changer street is? You know where the road turns toward Bir Zeit University, and the valley goes down toward the right?" Some of the places I wasn't that familiar with, but if I did know, and I said, "Yeah, across from the old airport property? Right down the street from Antonio's Pizza?" He would get so excited.

Some of the things we talked about were clearly points of discussion between him and his young American wife. He would say, "You see, baby, I told you!" to her, and she would look chagrined that his version of life in the Middle East had been verified. We laughed a lot at stories of stupid things I said and did when I lived in the Palestinian culture years ago, and we discussed politics at length with varying degrees of intensity.

The one thing we never discussed is why an 18-yr. old Christian young woman married a 26-yr. old Muslim Palestinian. She never said that I was a missionary, which I appreciated. I gave them a card with my email address on it, and he gave me a promise of a free sub if I was ever in Ocean City again.

I drove away thinking how thankful I was to have those hours to kill in the afternoon.