Rifqa Quotes

A woman tells him a pen is a sword. What’s a pen to a rifle? Another fed him a sonnet. If Shakespeare was from here he wouldn’t be writing.

I no longer feel the responsibility to give humans eyes for humanity.

What do you say to the children for whom the Red sea won't part?

Wherever the church has lost this passion and fervor, may stories like mine disturb the cobwebs that limit believers’ faith to a menu selection—when Jesus is truly the feast Himself.

A few years ago, my grandmother and I watched men preach about patience on TV. Be patient! For after patience comes relief! My grandmother responded, After patience comes the grave!

Forgiveness, by its nature, must often go into very hard places. I know. I’ve gone there. But forgiveness is not foolish and blind, an unthinking make-nice. Wisdom sometimes must tell even people who’ve genuinely forgiven to take ongoing steps that are hard to implement and apply and which to others may not look very forgiving. The heart of forgiveness can’t be judged in black-and-white, cookie-cutter dimensions that work fine in a spiritual lab but not in real life.

Birth lasts longer than death. In Palestine death is sudden, instant, constant, happens in between breaths.

In my brief twenty-two years of personhood, I have seen Palestine dwindle in size and spirit like a decaying loved one.

A Palestinian man cannot just die. For him to be mourned, he must be in a wheelchair or developmentally delayed, a medical professional, or noticeably elderly at the very least. Even then, there are questions about the validity of his victimhood.

Jesus is freedom and forgiveness, hope and love, peace and purpose, plain and simple.

life was not my own anymore, and my spirit found a way to be at rest with that. I would serve Him with joy for however much longer He allowed me to live, and I would love Him to the absolute fullest even if these were my last months on earth.

Sing me a song of home break a dish or two throw a stone or two because the screams make me nostalgic: I almost don't fear the sirens.

I’ll hold my word to one of the men’s heads, and he’ll tremble as I press against his temple and say, Say it. Say it. Say my name without spitting.

For the first time in my life, I felt I could truly see through God’s eyes and feel what He felt. I could see the homeless and feel the sting of reproach in which they lived their lives. I could see my brother striving for acceptance and love from my father and feeling the pain of his constant rejection. I could see the popular girls at school and feel their emptiness and desire to have more than outward beauty. I could see creation—the flowers, the birds in the air, the smell of the morning dew—and feel the joy of my Father in heaven delighting in His creation. This compassion was definitely something I had never experienced before until my commitment to follow Christ.

at least I was fully confident that it made perfect sense to Him.

What I was running away from was certain. But what I was running toward… God only knew.

Jesus, I can’t do this alone. Thank You that it’s You who holds all of creation. It’s You who made the stars. It’s You who put breath in my lungs. You are my King and Judge. Help me trust You, Lord. You are the one who makes the final call.

and downs. Highs and lows. These were seasons of real progress as well as moments when God painfully made clear to me again why popularity doesn’t satisfy, why others’ love doesn’t satisfy, why money and the things it can buy don’t satisfy, why fantasizing about a different set of circumstances doesn’t satisfy. Why nothing else satisfies except Jesus and whatever I allow Him to transform in my life to reflect His loving touch on my soul.

When you’re a Christian,” she told me, “you obey God because you want to, because He’s changing you, because He’s made you a new person on the inside. It’s not like you just go out and sin as much as you like and don’t worry about it. But at the same time, you don’t need to do anything to make God love you.

There’s death in the eyes of this newborn. I heard the baby complain about a treacherous defeat, called it the same old catastrophe. A storm in his ear says it’s raging for silence. Thunder erupts when he’s shushed. What a worsened scenario. He skipped ahead. What do you do when your destiny is predetermined?

Not breaking cycles if that’ll break her heart. She’s had a tough life. These are her years to rest.

American settlers find their way into the front yard, and their billionaires take us to court. Their laws are daggers. Their laws are hungry. Armed colonizers peacock around my street with impunity.

Some of us sleep in our shoes, others sleep through the waged war.

In 2009, Zionist settlers, adorned with backpacks as if going on a weekend camping trip, entered our homes in occupied Jerusalem, escorted by Israeli occupation forces. They claimed that our home was theirs. After a tumultuous battle with two colonial committees in Israeli occupation courts, the settlers seized half of our home. Their takeover was part of a broader effort to ethnically cleanse the entirety of the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood. We were among 180 Palestinian families facing dispossession orders from Israeli courts that claimed that our homes were built on Jewish lands.

Invaders​came back once again, ​​​claimed the land with​​​fists and fire​excuses​beliefs of the chosen and the promised as if God is a real-estate agent.