A deep morning breath.

Oh Lord let my soul rise up to meet you

As the day rises to meet the sun.

Days start early here as well. It is really too hot to sleep past the initial crash of exhaustion, so I am awake by the first sun glint. There is a neighborhood family of friendly white Shepherd strays who are also up, meeting the sun, perhaps not so quietly. Pipes squeak somewhere overhead. And clickity clack swamp coolers groan. The official weather station announces that today is “dust.” It is an official weather. Friday is the beginning of our weekend, and the plan is to take a taxi over to the house of Alan Wale’s mom for lunch. It is also the official mopping day and pouring bleach down the squat toilet day and we are drinking five gallons of water a day, so I might need to buy a couple more bottles at the neighborhood corner store. The background noise to these quiet pleasant routines will be Sunday’s opening lessons. As always, I have created some fairly complicated plans, all in the name of modeling inquiry-based learning and complex instruction and professional learning communities, so I am running them over in my thoughts, smoothing up the rough edges and making materials lists.

Other background noise is of course the tangled threads of American politics. We are awaiting the visit of the US AID director this week, sent by Vice President Pence to make sure that funds are going first to the internally displaced Christians of Iraq. And while I have deep emotional ties to this wonderful community of Chaldean and Assyrian Christians, and their stories are horrific, and they are indeed displaced and an ever-shrinking percentage of the population (because they are receiving top priority for refugee status both in Europe and the United States), in reality they have access to great many more resources than the more recent ISIS victims, the Shia Muslims and the Yazidis. “The Christians have been persecuted, yes, and they were forced to flee Isis territory,” Mansour told The Independent. “But for example, the Yazidis weren’t even given the option to flee – the women were taken as sex slaves and the men were massacred… Like other Sunni jihadist groups, Isis considers Shia Muslims to be heretical and has made its followers the main target of its attacks in Iraq.”

Sigh.

Tiny sparrow-like birds are dancing up and down the sheaves of electrical wires outside the window. The sky is truly golden, a glowing caldron of dust particles. I am drinking coffee from the very same orange polka dot mug from last summer, and it is impossible to not smile back at its innate cheeriness. Another day of baklavo sweetness.

Last night, after we watched Peru poorly pass away a game to the local favorite France, we wandered the family Shanidar park in Erbil, full of nicely dressed families shooting selfies in front of bubbling waterfalls and brightly flashing twinkle lights. The mostly empty cable cars dangled overhead, and after absorbing the bright poignancy of Kurdish art, we slid cautiously up marble steps to up some sort of edifice decorated with stone mountain goats to look out over the concentric circles which make up Erbil. The park gate is guarded by likewise rather creepy Neanderthal statues in celebration of the archeological discoveries in nearby caves. The depth and breadth of history weighs heavily here just north of the Nineveh plains, much like the golden dust, something that one can feel with every breath. And as the call to prayer rings out over the dark greenness, a deep peace settles around my soul.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.

As it was in the beginning, is now and will be forever. Amen