Mariah Proctor is currently a student at the BYU Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies.

Note: all images can be clicked to enlarge.

This past week has been the stuff of legends, even though there were moments when I felt like I needed to write how miserable and hard an experience I'm having in my journal, so that when it inevitably gets better I can have a record for happy contrast. Of course, those moments also featured stinging sunburn, blistering heat, and air so thick you could swim in it. The group just returned from a four-day journey into Jordan and that place was the most surprising and fantastic and awe-inspiring place for me, and it just kind of came out of left field.

Before leaving, though, I had a free day that brought me again into the acquaintance of a host of people that I needed to meet. One man, Solomon Samandar, a priest and organ player at the Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem welcomed us into the church we'd been assured was not open for visitors and even showed us the roof view and the living quarters and the gardens and the loft and gave us chocolate and gushed about the pope's visit. This man's Arab hospitality turned my heart and my camera towards the people in the Old City and in Jordan that make these exotic locales the incredible destinations that they are.

I visited my namesake spot ( Mt. Moriah ) again before leaving for Jordan and after meeting Samandar; I suddenly couldn't see the arches or the artwork or even the shining golden top of the Dome of the Rock looming up in front of me. All I could see were the families gathered all over the grass, spending time together and finding sanctuary in a place that is historically the sanctuary of their Jewish Counterparts.

It was affecting to watch the little Palestinian boys running around with the little orange-capped plastic guns of childhood and wonder whether, as they grew to adulthood, those playthings would be replaced with real, ear-splitting, life-shattering weapons that they would raise in desperate defense of this cause that they were born into.

As we sat, just watching the boys run around, a man walked by, and though he may or may not have been planning to approach us, our cooing at the smiling baby in his arms brought him over. He told us that he lives in Ramallah (in the West Bank) and can only come into Jerusalem to visit his wife and children every few weeks or so.

He invited us not only to a peace meeting that night, but also to his house in Ramallah whenever we wanted, and he was excited at the prospect of having us as his guests. Not until I looked back through my pictures did I see the Palestinian flag tied to the baby's wrist. His genuine yearning for peace and the light in his baby's eyes at seeing her Daddy are just a microcosm of the pulsing and personal investment every individual here has in this conflict, and yet there is no simple solution.

It was on that full-of-love and frustratingly underwhelmed note that we left for Jordan on Monday. I said it once, I'll say it again; that place was fantastic. Petra, which is now deservedly one of the new seven wonders of the world, looked just enough like southern Utah to feel familiar and homey, and yet turning the corner to see these immense structures carved out of pure rock and thinking “I didn't see that the last time I was in Ferron” made the experience wonderful and unique.

The way they chose to show us Petra included 2 wonderfully refreshing hours of free time, and for the first time in this whole trip in the Middle East , I was able to be alone. I spent the time first, sneaking into the Roman theatre (because I'm a nerdy theatre kid like that), then just observing the people here. The children, begging or selling their wares (which for many is the same thing), and the Bedouin, illegally encamped in the rocks, fascinated me, and I remained a quiet observer for the full free time.

I took a video of our leaving Petra as I backed away into the canyon leading up to the treasury. I had some insipid film commentary going, but as I filmed, a little girl ran through my screen, and so I stopped talking and caught a bit of her trot, and the second she saw the camera on her, she spun on her heel in a whirlwind of dust and struck a pose with a grin. Here I am at a wonder of the world and the record I have of the place is 75% centered on some stranger's little girl and I love it.

This trip to Jordan was a huge revelation to me that what I love most about life is the people in it. What interests me about history is the stories of the people involved; what interests me about a beautiful landscape is its affect on the people that are touched by it; and what I love about art is what it captures about people and their deepest desires and struggles. Every passion I have stems back to my strongest passion.

We were able to visit the ancient city of Jerash , and in the shopping area there, I sat down and was immediately welcomed by a shopkeeper and taught how to play the board game that I hadn't noticed was set up in front of the seat that was for him to sit in.

We giggled as he taught me this game that I immediately failed at, and his brother helped me to cheat and beat him anyway. As I got up to catch the bus that was pulling away, his brother, who couldn't speak any English, gave me all of the pieces of the game so that I could remember playing it with them and teach my friends at home. Here I had spent the day seeing acres and acres of beautifully preserved Roman temples and complexes and theatres and historical masterpieces, and yet the handful of pinkish mismatched beads getting sweaty in my palm was the most valuable thing I got out of the day.

I am falling for these people more every day, and I'm slowly learning that what the Lord wants me to get out of this experience is different than what I thought I was supposed to be getting. As I am a willing student, I know that He will continue to teach me and allow my heart to swell with love.