Gratitude In Motion
The train was packed that morning as I managed to get the last seat next to a young Orthodox woman my age. As I sat down, I noticed a Siddur (Jewish prayer book) was open on her lap. Her fingers were moving across the page, touching each word as she prayed through the tattered pages. My eyes were drawn to the beautiful Hebrew letters and the English translation next to them.
I didn’t want to be reading over her shoulder, but I couldn’t believe the words I was reading were the same ones I had memorized as a child in Sunday School. Psalm 36 nearly leapt off the page. In this Psalm, David sings of Adonai’s faithfulness being like the mountains and His steadfast love a place where one can find security and protection. I was brought back to that Sunday school room, where the cold metal chair against my arm sealed the memory of the verse put to a song; where God’s love was planted deep within my being.
I chuckled at the juxtaposition of the situation. Me, a gentile Siddur-stalker, peeking over the shoulder of my new Orthodox friend reading her morning prayers. Both of us being reminded of the steadfast love of the Lord... His word illuminating our individual steps.
We could not have grown up more differently.
For a young Jewish Orthodox girl, she would have learned Hebrew at an early age so she could read the Siddur verbatim. Her childhood would have been filled with Hebrew school, Kosher food, gender separation, strong family ties, long skirts, and seclusion from much of the secular world.
In contrast, I struggled just to learn the English alphabet, let alone another language. I grew up in a small farming community with a love for skiing, Kraft mac and cheese, and Nintendo games. A long skirt would have impeded my tree climbing, sword fighting, and tomboy ways.
My love for Scripture began as early as twelve years old when I received my first Bible. I could not remember the facts and dates from a history lesson at school, but was somehow able to memorize and retain the Scripture that I read daily from my now tattered Bible. I was transformed by the Spirit of God through His Word.
Sitting there next to her, I felt gratitude well up in my heart as I was overwhelmed with the realization that the Jewish people have been used of God to preserve the Scriptures that have anchored me. There is a lot of Jewish blood, sweat, and tears on parchment.
They are the physical brethren of the Messiah Jesus, whose power transformed my family and brought new life into my very being.
“Thank you!” was on the tip of my tongue as the train lurched to a stop and she stepped out the door. Yet, I missed my chance to express my gratitude.
My hopes in writing this experience is that it will spur the Christian community to move forward in gratitude and to remember the roots of our faith. And even more so, to act in thanksgiving toward the Jewish people by returning the Good News of their Messiah.
I missed my chance to thank my Orthodox friend that day, but I’m confident I will get another chance to express my thanks in the future.
Perhaps my next opportunity will be seated next to me on the bus.
Written by Kori, LIFE Staff
