“Think globally, act locally” is a slogan that I wore as a child on my T-shirts. I have watched as over the course of my life the movements of environmentalism and localism have been picked up by the capitalistic mainstream. Now, local scenes are not only common they are popular.

When Lawrence of Arabia looked out across the desert at Wadi Rum he murmured that it was “vast, echoing, and god-like.” Those words whispered in the wind as my group ventured out into the empty land of sand and stark sandstone cliffs. The footprints of camels complemented the patterned whirls of the sand. In this place of great beauty, the silence was deep.Wadi Rum is the largest wadi, or valley, in the southern part of Jordan.

While I do not know what the Promised Land looks like, I believe that it is within each of us. The Promised Land is not separated from us or others by border crossings, checkpoints, or gated entrances. It is open to all and we are challenged to live into it; to make our experience of the world a reflection of it. When Moses stood up on top of Mt. Nebo and was shown the Promised Land, perhaps it was God’s way of telling the Israelites that not only their physical searching but also their spiritual searching was over. Rather than representing a land to be conquered, perhaps God was simply saying that it was time for suffering to be over. Unfortunately that was one message humanity just didn’t get right, so we built up walls and started fighting.

Six years later, I find myself walking through the grand canyon of the ancient city of Petra with the Associated Church Press tour. We entered the expanse and walked down to the treasure. I was struck by the genius of the ancient people who built elaborate water catchment systems and used the natural edifices for protection. From the outside, Petra looks like a series of uninhabited, unapproachable mountains. Inside, the canyon walls are riddled with caves, tombs, and ancient temples. Much of Petra has not been excavated. There is much mystery awaiting historians and archeologists.

My questions about sustainability and the local people were answered in several ways. Our bus drove up to the visitor center where four pickup trucks and their local drivers waited. We loaded our belongings and ourselves into the trucks and drove 25 minutes into the dark. This is the only way that visitors can access the lodge, thus reducing the impact of vehicles on the area. The local drivers are members of Bedouin tribes who live around the lodge. We drove into the darkness until we could see the faint lights of the lodge ahead. The Lodge does not have electricity (except a single light bulb in the bathroom) and uses candles at night. These candles are made by a women’s cooperative that the lodge started down the street. We arrived at the EcoLodge to find hundred’s of candles illuminating our path. These candles lit the hallways, our rooms, and our dinner table.

Six years ago I was moved to tears at the telling of the story of Elijah and the still, small voice (1 Kings 19:9–18). Deeply immersed in the Spirit, Deborah Saunders spoke at the 2005 World Gathering of Young Friends in Lancaster, England, and in telling the story of Elijah linked the Quaker practice of waiting worship with prophetic witness. While Elijah had been a prominent character in my First-day school education, Deborah’s portrayal of him as a flawed, carnal human listening and speaking to God called each of the us present to walk into God’s presence and surrender. What are you doing here Rachel? Which was the exact question I was asking myself today.

Walking through the front gates of the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf, we were immediately surrounded by children. The complex was built around a central courtyard, which at the time of our arrival was full of children. The normal sounds of laughter and chatter emanated from the different bunches. For foreigners such as ourselves, who spoke little to no Arabic, the sounds of the playground could be mistaken for some other spoken language that our ears were just not tuned to understand. A closer look revealed the movement of children’s hands jabbering away in Jordanian Sign Language.

Director Kamel Abu Jaber greeted me with a warm smile when I entered his office today. “So you’re with the Quakers?” he enthusiastically asked. “That’s good,” he stated after I had explained my credentials. “I was at Earlham last summer. It is a very good place. I hope to return some day. You know, I was educated by Quakers.”

I arrived in the Amman airport yesterday to discover that the Associated Church Press press tour was going to include for the week a film crew from a Christian TV show Travel with Spirit. Each of our groups consists of five people; there are ten of us in total. The other journalists in the press tour include two Canadian freelance writers; a journalist from CBS news; and Trish Edwards-Konic, Quaker pastor and previous editor of Quaker Life.

I walked into my professor’s office and crumbled into the sofa. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” I blurted. “Every time I travel I get sick or anxious or so angry at the world that I’m a miserable person.” My professor looked at me in his wise way and replied, “Well, Rachel, you know it’s not going to stop. You’re going to be traveling a lot on the path you’re on.” My only response to him was a deep sigh. I felt myself tearing up. I loved the work that I was being called to do but I hated getting there.