As I sit here writing this, I'm on our balcony off the kitchen. The school kids are breaking for recess and kicking around a soccer ball, their shrieks coming from the middle school across the street. I have laundry pinned to the line – linens and pillowcases. The October noontime sun is strong enough to dry them quickly. The fall weather has come to Turkey but the concrete sides of our apartment building still radiate the heat of the day.
Every night during Ramadan (or Ramazan as it's called in Turkey), our town is awakened by the steady beating of a drum. Dressed in traditional Ottoman attire, the drummer weaves his way up and down the neighborhood streets with a stick in one hand and a drum in the other.
I’ve never been one to be afraid of the ocean. Okay, that’s not entirely true. There was that one time, as a 4-year-old where I lost one of my new water shoes while playing in the low tide, sucked off of me by the slurping waves of the Atlantic. With one foot bare and one foot covered and feeling sorry for myself, my mother assured me a nice fish probably made her home out of my shoe. It was scary to have the ocean take something away from me.
The bus stop overhang offers a feeble attempt at shade from the arid Middle East sun, but I arrived too late to snag a spot underneath it. The stop is filled with locals on their way to work for the day, sitting on the small metal bench, and a few adventurous tourists keen on taking local transportation while visiting.
We can make plans and lists and to-dos all we want. We can research and highlight and post-it note to our heart's content. Yet, at the end of the day, God's plan prevails. The Lord is the one who establishes our steps.