Maybe God knew a better country would set them free

Annie Dillard: "All at once, something wonderful happened, although at first it seemed perfectly ordinary."

This is true of so many things in life. It's always the things that appear insignificant that matter. Insignificance is where we find God, the most Significant of all.

I am swinging my purse around in circles in the streets of Athens, because I know I will never fit in here, will never be the assertive, unmovable woman this culture finds desirable, and this is somehow liberating. A man walking toward me puts out his hand in an effort to prohibit an attack from a violent, flying purse, and says something in Greek. I stop, momentarily. After he's passed, I start swinging my purse again.

Hebrews, Chapter 11: They were longing for a better country, foreigners and strangers in the land. Maybe God knew this is what would set them free, why he uprooted them and moved them and kept them moving, waiting, yearning. Do I know what this means now?

A friend of mine said every place except one has felt like home, and I am thinking about the time in college when I realized God is my home. I can go wherever I will go.

Jeannie, a teacher with whom I work, is taking us to lunch and we are rounding a mountain, looking down to the city below. At first I don't notice the sea is there, that we're near it. I don't notice the light illuminating a circle in the city like I'm looking through a telescope.

Kelsey, from the back seat, says something about the light and all at once I see it -- the sea and the sun, the mountains blocking some of the rays into a circle patch reflecting off the white of the houses. What surprises me most is how I didn't see it before, how, all of a sudden, it appeared.

The waiter is bringing delicious-looking desserts to the table, and I am about to make an exception to my Lenten sweets fast. "No, Mee, it's not worth it," Missy says, clutching my arm. She holds me to it. I would've done the opposite.

After, the Greeks in the restaurant, dancing to traditional music, get us from our table and take us to the dance floor, making us a part of their dance. I am so bad, and several of the Greek women break in the line to dance next to me, to take pity on me, to show this poor American who's throwing off their circle dance how to move her feet. To no avail. Just before we leave, the Greeks wave goodbye to us like we are a one of their own, and we wave back.

Again, Dillard writes, "Yes, it's tough, it's tough, that goes without saying. But isn't waiting itself and longing a wonder, being played on by wind, sun and shade?"

My mom sent me a picture the other day. At home, my cactus is blooming. Pink blooms against long needles and tough green skin.

All breathe holy, holy, holy.