Dreams of a Saudi Princess

Mystical and faraway places had cast alluring spells over me from my youth. In daydreams and fantasies, I explored the Great Wall of China, touched gilded icons in a Greek Orthodox Church, and climbed to the top of Big Ben. I rode camels across sand dunes and watched sunsets from the capstones of pyramids. Where others shivered at the thought of bitter cold winters in northern lands, I saw palaces of glittering ice nestled in soft blankets of snow. Where others saw only blistering, barren deserts, I had visions of shimmering mirages arising from golden sands. No matter where I went, I knew that every spring would bring pink cherry blossoms in China and purple irises in the deserts of Arabia. The beauty of God’s creation would be enough cause to forgive any winter its harshness or any summer its searing heat. In 1995 these dreams, and the stress of living in the Los Angeles area, led me to convince my husband, Mark, to consider teaching overseas. My brother and his wife had lived and taught overseas—three years in Saudi Arabia, three in Moscow, and two in South Africa. During our summer get-togethers, they brought exotic gifts from their travels. I loved the Russian eggs, the Bahraini pottery, and the weavings from Nepal, but Mark thought they made our house look like a museum. He just didn’t have the heart of an adventurer. While Mark tolerated his job as an elementary teacher, it was a career he had never planned upon. A sincere Christian, he had attended an ecumenical seminary after college. We met and married during our seminary years and after graduating assumed we’d find a position within a church setting. Our theological beliefs were a mixture of moderate and conservative, and unfortunately, every denomination we tried to affiliate with seemed an uncomfortable fit. The decision to teach was disparaging for Mark, but I believed God had a greater purpose. Mark coped by developing a love for his life away from work. Day trips throughout the Southwest in his old Porsche, workouts on his home gym in a corner of the patio, dinners and movies out with me—these were all reasons to stay. I knew he had reasons to go too. We had the Volvo, the Porsche, and the townhome in Pasadena. We also had the debt to go along with them. We kept current, but Mark talked more and more of his teaching career with Los Angeles Unified Schools as “the golden handcuffs.” He felt trapped and questioned God’s purpose in his teaching career. While attending university in Canada, I decided to become a teacher. My many teachers had instilled in me a love for learning, especially my high school English and history teachers. Perhaps because I grew up in small rural towns and wanted to see the world, I had decided the world was a magical and awe-inspiring place. I hoped to empower and equip young people to discover its many wonders as well. Regardless of the low esteem our contemporary culture seemed to express toward education, I thought teaching was a noble career. For me, teaching a child to read and think was one of the more important social contributions that could be made. One evening after dinner, Mark and I talked seriously about the direction our lives were taking. Mark stretched out on the sofa, and I sat across from him. Lakota and Aslan, our beautiful golden retrievers, curled up calmly at our feet. “My brother paid off his mortgage with the money he made in Saudi Arabia,” I said. Mark tilted his head. “But Jon lived in Temecula. He owed half what we owe.” “Still,” I persisted, “their school paid a good salary, provided housing and transportation, benefits, round-trip air travel home once a year—and it was all tax exempt.” “Housing and transportation? What’d they give them? A tent and a camel?” “Oh, please.” He knew how to annoy me. My brother, Jon, and his wife, Loren, enjoyed their time in Saudi. It surprised me really. Loren was quite the feminist, and the Sharia law, or religious law, governed every aspect of Arabian life. I had trouble picturing Loren on the streets of Dhahran draped in the mandatory black covering known as the abaya. She couldn’t drive either, but she said that the financial security made personal sacrifices worthwhile. Mark paused briefly. “How much did they make again?” “About one hundred thousand dollars a year. They paid off their house and built up their retirement.” “There are job fairs in the United States for overseas teaching jobs, right?” “There’s one every year in Monterey,” I said, praying silently that God would give Mark a willing heart to attend. “Well, let’s go … just to see what God might open up. But no promises!” he said. Trying not to look too excited, I promised to call Jon and get information on the next fair. We decided to keep the matter in prayer and see how events unfolded, and by the end of the month, Mark and I were driving up the winding coastal highway of California. The beautiful Monterey Inn lay nestled among the tall pines at the foot of coastal mountains. Its red-tile roof crowned white stucco walls and mission-style archways. Towering palms lined the long driveway, and the branches of lazy bougainvilleas fell over walls and arbors. Geraniums, petunias, and pansies splashed a rainbow of yellow, pink, and blue along windowsills and doorways from a variety of Mexican clay pots. The ocean lay just the other side of the freeway, granting the breeze its desire to blow inland.