Category Archives: life

Blogs and Teaching ESL

Posted in life, Poland, teaching English by

1. I usually enjoy changes, but I still miss Google Reader. I use Feedly now but get disgruntled with it for several practical reasons.

It doesn’t give the date of a blog post, only the number of days since it’s been posted. Who on earth keeps track of how many days have passed since any number of events?

It doesn’t say how many comments any post has, so I can’t quickly tell how much interaction it inspired.

It doesn’t say how many Feedly subscribers a blog has.

Any practical advice about this acute First-World problem?

2. This week someone emailed me for advice for a beginner ESL teacher. It was fun to think about what my philosophy of teaching is, as I’m not ‘trained’ or ‘schooled.’ I sometimes teach with more passion than knowledge but sometimes when the day is long and the energy is short, the knowledge outweighs the passion. This is not a good thing in the classroom.

So this is most of what I wrote:
To someone just beginning in ESL, I advise them to be comfortable with naming and referring to parts of speech. Know what the difference is between adverbs and adjectives, what past perfect continuous tense, comparatives and superlatives, and a direct object is. This is esp useful if your students have studied at another language school and use those terms.
Most of all, and this is impossible to over-emphasize: never love the lesson more than the student. If you lose the student, the lesson is lost. Walk beside them (figuratively and literally). Look them in the eyes. Read their body language. When you don’t share a common language, you need to tune into the unspoken words they say. If they’re uncomfortable with something but can’t tell you, they won’t learn. Make sure you take them with you at every point in the lesson.
They need to feel safe with you, and need to hear that you believe in them. Correct gently and praise generously. Language usage is very emotional; it’s not only grammar and syntax. Give them reasons to be GLAD to study with you, so they don’t dread it or fear English.  Be excited and enthusiastic. Vary the tones of your voice. Move around the classroom. Touch their shoulders sometimes.  Use objects and photos as much as possible.
These approaches work well for me. Every student learns differently. Every teacher teaches differently. It’s the teacher’s job to meet the student where they are and provide for their learning style they best they can. This is what makes every lesson an adventure!

Small Packages

Posted in food, life, Poland, teaching English by

This is an effort to return to the short-lived Thing One and Thing Two posts.

1. Last night my students and their mom invited me to meet them for pizza. I taught the brother and sister when they were 5 and 7, and now they’re 9 and 11 and don’t come for English classes, but they all, the mom and dad and grandma and children, still treat me like family whenever we meet.  I stomped through blowing snow to the pizzeria to eat yummy pizza and drink Coke and listen to rambling, delightful, brave English.

“I remember when we read Amelia Bedelia! And the photo of me with ice cream all over my mouth. I remember…”

“Did you hear the joke about the Russian and Ukrainian?”

“The pessimist said it was dark, and the optimist said it was light and the realist said it was a tunnel…”

“I dream of living in America even more than England, and making a new life there.”

Hours later, outside in the cold again, after all the laughs and the hugs and well-wishing, they brushed the snow off their car windows but the youngest one wrote in the inch of snow over the hood: “I ♥ ANITA.”  awwwww

2. Oranges are in season somewhere and even though they consume how-ever many food miles to get here, what I ate the other morning made think that an orange is proof that God exists.  It comes in biodegradable wrapping and perfect portion control size (except I ate two) , and bite-sized segments. I revel in its refreshment and all the sunshine that’s packed in it.The flavor is comparable to nothing else and when an orange is fresh and cold, it’s better than chocolate.

 

What Women Need From the Church

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Recently a blog I follow offered that space for women to write as guest bloggers and say what they want from the church. It piqued my interest, and I sent off a post. It was returned and refused because it didn’t affirm the women who were wanting to hear that the church needs to them to be pastors and conference speakers. It made me a little mad that in a place that ostensibly gave women a safe hearing, it wasn’t a safe place for this woman to say that on the basis of the Bible, God doesn’t want women to be pastors.

I know that my blog readership is mostly Mennonite women, and that women pastors isn’t something we talk about very much. It’s generally a non-issue. (Or am I out of the loop?) But we do need some things from the church, so I revamped the original post to suit a more Mennonite audience, and here it is.

What Women Want from the Church: Eden’s Design

My faith tradition is conservative Mennonite, and I choose to live my faith in this sub/counter-cultural church. This is where I’ve experienced that God’s design for men and women is one that works and allows both to thrive and come closer to Eden’s perfection. It’s a creaking, groaning globe we live on, far from Eden, but God’s still in charge, and He’s still a good designer.

In my culture, the average young woman is married by age 23 or 24, and she is usually a mother in another year or two, with more babies coming later. Conservative Mennonite women spend large amounts of their energy doing what women do better than men: have babies, nurture children, and love and support their husband in a million creative, amazing ways.

However, being single and childless at nearly forty, I’m an aberration. Being average is over-rated, but what’s a single girl to do in church when most of her friends have wonderful husbands and several children?

But singlehood is another subject for another day. Back to women and the church.

I have time and gifts and abilities that could make me a good preacher or public speaker. I know how to wing words, and how to organize them to do what they need to. But for heaven’s sake—for the Kingdom of God’s sake—this is not a woman’s greatest or noblest or most needed accomplishment.

Although being a pastor is not an option in my church—and I’m glad of it—my gifts haven’t been squelched.  I’ve been given safe places in which to use my gifts, with the support and encouragement of many good men.

Jesus’ treatment of women in Palestine gave them dignity and significance that no one else had ever given them.  He was counter-cultural then, and He still is. He is tender with our weaknesses, and affirms our strengths.

What women need the church to do is to be as Christ to her women: to give the protection that allows them to bloom fully into Eden’s design. What women need from the church is a restoration of our design as nurturers and helpers and supporters. This includes affirming women’s gifts and protecting their vulnerability. It includes believing their sorrowful stories and defending their tears. It means acknowledging their beauty and affirming their modesty, not objectifying them.

When women are objects, everything goes crazy. When men want a model to dangle on their arms, and a pretty face to look at, or a body to admire, or a person to control, women become something they were never created to be. Women were designed for relationship and heart connection. We are most alive, useful, and true to Eden’s design in these capacities. Objectifying women starts the crazy cycle of proving ourselves, hating ourselves, then screaming about rights and equality.

A woman is most useful, alive, and close to Eden’s design when she’s being a counselor and comfort, a sounding board and giver of hugs.   When God called men to be pastors, He was saving women from themselves and their own innate power.

A woman has power but the greatest power is that which relinquishes itself as Jesus did when He washed feet and served breakfast. There is no limit to ministry when one is intentional about being a servant.

I know this is true, but I sometimes stumble and forget and demand honor that is ill-suited for a servant. I resent lowliness and hiddenness. I want to rest instead of work.

But more servant and less princess is how I really want to live, however poorly I remember it.

In Christ’s body, no one is the greatest. Every part has their own role. Their own glorious, unique contribution that God dreamed up for them. Women can find enormous satisfaction in doing things that men can’t do. Isn’t there a place for everyone to be useful and alive? Isn’t that how He designed us to be?

God’s ways are wonderful and infinite but I am mystified as to how a woman can extrapolate a calling from God to pastor a church, even while she claims to be a student of and guided by the Word. I maintain that if Jesus and Paul could meet any of us this evening in any town on the globe, they’d greet us warmly and laugh with us and tell us stories, but they wouldn’t rescind anything they said 2,000 years ago.  Why should they? The original design of Eden still works.

What would happen if men and women started looking for lower, more hidden places of service? What if we would stop name-dropping and ogling the most popular blogger or speaker or writer, and look instead at the homely, common person beside us and recognized the gold that’s hidden in them?

Seems like that’s what Jesus did.

Seems like that’s what He’d like the church to do.

Dust to Dust

Posted in Family, life by

All this for one person. All these logistics, ceremony, care, dignity. All these people together from all over to remember and bury one man. I remember thinking this as we stood around my grampa’s grave on a sunny day in May. I was in awe.

Just like you ooooh and awwww over news about a friend being pregnant, and wait excitedly as the due date comes closer, and then smile and cheer when you hear the name, and when you get a chance, smell the peach-fuzz hair and kiss the round cheeks. It’s one little person, just one little body, but it elicits endless love and care and excitement.

At birth and then at death, we especially acknowledge and celebrate the physicality of a person. The body is treasured, caressed, washed, dressed with huge attention to details. It happens in sickness too. Doctors and nurses work with skill and finesse to coax health back into a broken frame.

The body matters. Bodies matter.

I saw it when I watched Mandela’s state funeral and the ceremony and dignity it carried. I think of it now while my relatives are gathering to bury my grandma and they will not only talk about her character but also her small form and her blue eyes. They will carry the coffin carefully and gently cover it with earth. Tangible things that help us process the intangible.

In some cultures, for whatever shattering reasons, life and physicality isn’t valued, but I know it is not how we were designed to live. I know this because Jesus, very God, lived in a body and thus gave physicality dignity and significance. With the incarnation, He demonstrated the deep spiritual truths of redemption, showing how much God esteems the physical. He knows our frame, He remembers we are dust. That we are dust doesn’t diminish our value; maybe it endears us to Him more.

It seems natural, even instinctive, to touch and celebrate the body in birth, sickness, and death. What if we I would pay more attention to the walking, breathing, talking frames of dust around me? If I would treasure them as they deserve, respect their dignity, and celebrate their skin and hair and voices?

The Long Winter

Posted in books, life by

“That’s a terrible book,” I said, and flung it into the middle of the room. “It twisted at the last page and ended terribly. Stories aren’t supposed to do that. There aren’t any good books to read. There aren’t any good blogs either. Ugh. Except…”

“You’re going stir-crazy,” my house-mate said. “I would be too. What can I do to help your boredom?”

I got up and sat in the kitchen while she worked and I could focus on something else. It was  11 days post-op and yesterday was pretty much the worst day.

But it’s true. This week I unsubscribed from a bunch of blogs just because I was sick of reading about Jesus Feminists and waaaaay too much TMI and cheesy “I’m so glad you’re here with me in this space–I like you already!”

Then I slept a long good night and in the morning I felt better and could stand up straight which usually helps one’s outlook considerably. Then I found out that my dad’s mom died during our night, in the evening of her 88th birthday. Going to the funeral isn’t an option, and so the Atlantic feels tons wider right now than it usually does.

This isn’t a Complaining Song. It’s just what happened to me in the last 24 hrs. There’s deep, real peace and joy under all the surface stuff, and that’s a gift. There are friends who call and visit, flickering candles, A Christmas Carol to listen to. And a ticket to Ireland on Thursday!

However, the quest continues for interesting, decent, not-too-deep books and invigorating blogs. Right now the only ones I really enjoy are Journey Mama (who knows the voice of a pepto bismal frog?) and Confessions (who is a friend, and more than a brilliant blogger). Any suggestions for a house-bound girl?

Comforts While Drinking Hot Chocolate

Posted in life, recommendations by

1. I’m in the middle of Island of the World by the talented Michael O’Brien. It’s a deep, riveting story. I’m always amazed when a novelist makes his character write. I noticed and was fascinated by that skill first a long time ago when I read Emily of New Moon. And now in this book, when it has a fragment of the main character’s notebook, it takes me aback because O’Brien has to write doubly, and write in another kind of personae. I think a novelist like him must have an enormous soul. Other snippets of another of his books are here and here.

It is called the “chambered nautilus.” Nature’s powers are so endlessly ingenious that one must take care not to assume one knows where its outermost (and innermost) frontiers are located. –from Josip’s notebook

2. Pinterest is to me like a cozy blanket at the end of the day. A bit of humor, comfort, inspiration. Not every night, but almost, I treat myself to checking what came into my feed that day. There are women who  sneer at it, and others who deal with depression and envy because of it. That’s not Pinterest’s fault. For me, it’s a tool and a breath of new air that gives me ideas. I control the boards I follow and  when one has too much sarcasm or home dec or fussy hand-made cards, I unfollow it. (Yes, how did that word become a verb?)

I cannot put into words how it soothes  my soul to do something with my hands. During and after a season of dark depression, when most everything else in my life was unpredictable and uncontrollable, (or isn’t that all of life?) my fingers did something with paint or pen or paper or an onion, and the medium did what I asked it to, and the result lightened me as nothing else can. It wasn’t about controlling the medium; it was about finding and creating something that hadn’t existed before and having a little more beauty in the world as a result.

Beauty has many layers. Life is, it seems, about unwrapping those layers.

Words, People, and Chocolate

1. I was showing two women photos of Ireland and my family. Our little crowd of six offspring, several spouses, and 11 children usually blows students out of the water. “When there are so many of you, do you sometimes get angry and not talk to each other?”

“Never,” I said. “Sometimes there are problems and misunderstandings. But I’ve never experienced anyone saying they’ll never talk to me again.”

“My brother said he’ll never talk to me again. What I said to him wasn’t so bad, but it was 17 yrs ago, and we haven’t talked since then.”

“By our nature, we are selfish and unpleasant, but Jesus changes our hearts so we can love each other. Does that make sense?”

“It sounds nice.”

This. This is why I love teaching English.

2. I was playing Taboo with my teens and describing “dentist.” I couldn’t say teeth or mouth so I said, “This is the person you go to when you have a problem with your face.”

“MOTHER!”

3. This is a stressful time, with major surgery on my near horizon. Lolita knew what would make me cheer, and gave me a Lindt bar that says “Hello. My name is Crunchy Nougat Chocolate Bar. Nice to sweet you!” I’m nibbling the chocolate slowly, but I’m not throwing that wrapper away.

Being Aware

Posted in life, Poland by

1. First-world problems I’ve had lately:

–I hate when my ear buds get dreadfully tangled even though I try to store them in an orderly way.

–I can’t decide what colors to wear together because I have so many clothes to choose from. (I still intend to prove to my friends and sisters that pink and turquoise go together, but that’s another subject.)

2. First-world gifts this week:

–I Skyped my mom several times. Computer.

–A friend called to ask if I’m ok. Cell phone.

–I had free care and tests and scans that don’t exist in some countries and would be crazy expensive in others. Hospital and doctors.

–We had a free day from work and we could stay at home and drink coffee and read The Alchemist aloud. Leisure time.

Every day I see people in our town riffling through dumpsters and trash cans. I can watch them from my 5th-story living room window and it makes my heart sick. I don’t know what desperation has pushed them to this, but I’m doubly grateful for food in the fridge and cupboards. And for energy to cook it. And for money to buy it.

And for a toasty-warm flat. And that I love teaching English. And that there are days off.

The list goes on and on.

This sounds like I lead a charmed life. I don’t. There are many things I’m angry about and weep over and put up with and try terribly hard not to worry about. My life is not pinnable, as another blogger put it. But I’m rich to the point of excess. Rich in way, way more than things.

I don’t deserve the luxuries that majority of the world lacks and I’m not big enough to come to any resolutions of the vast inequalities. But today I am aware and thankful.

Homework and a Psalm

Posted in life, Poland, Sunday School, teaching English by

1. Teachers need weekends to refocus and decompress. Until I started teaching, I never realized how important a weekend is. Especially Saturday. And this Saturday was especially lovely. In the morning, I had two private English lessons that went well. Then Ola called to say she couldn’t come to my place right away, but could she bring food now anyhow?

What sane person is going to refuse food brought to her?

So I ate her pumpkin soup and rested alone until Ola and her son came back. Then while he did his homework at the kitchen table, I helped her with her advanced grammar homework for university. Inversion and the passive voice. Fun, fun. It was a perfectly relaxing afternoon: drink tea, sit beside a friend, do grammar, and eat food she brought, plus brownies. Plus there was an extra hour with the time change. Yay!

2. During the week, reading Psalm 136, it occurred to me that it would fun to write a modern-day psalm like that. So this morning in my youth Sunday school class, we wrote one. First, we read Psalm 136 and talked about how it can sound boring and like a meaningless chant, OR it can be a tool used in poetry to emphasis something wonderful that we don’t want to forget. Probably no other line in the Bible is repeated quite like this, so it must mean that it’s worth remembering.

Then we collaborated and made our own and it was fun and true and beautiful. Here it is:

1. We saw a beautiful sunrise, for His mercy endures forever.

2. We played football and won, for His mercy endures forever.

3. We walked in the forest and saw beautiful colors, for His mercy endures forever.

4. We have hands to work and be creative with, for His mercy endures forever.

5. We studied hard and learned alot, for His mercy endures forever.

6. We had good times with friends and family, for His mercy endures forever.

7. We enjoyed wonderful warm sunshine, for His mercy endures forever.

8. We read good books and watched good films, for His mercy endures forever.

9. We ate delicious food, pizza, oatmeal, cakes, for His mercy endures forever.

10. We ran in the field, for His mercy endures forever.

11.We could sleep one hour longer, for His mercy endures forever.

Bits of Grace

Posted in life by

I follow Rachel Devenish Ford’s blog, called Journey Mama,  Her words and life and children with beautiful hippy names inspire me.  She started recently to post about five things every day:

These things can be bits of grace, they can be funny things, they can be frustrating things.  These are the things you pull out of your pocket, at the end of the day, and arrange on your night table. These are the thoughts and memories you gather throughout the day. These are the things you paste in your journal. There are no rules, really, I just want to write about five things, to jog my brain and memory and not forget– it’s the not forgetting that’s the most important— these years are an avalanche of challenges and gifts and I want to remember it all.

I loved Rachel’s last story about going out to get donuts for her family’s breakfast and waiting for the singing man to make them while she sat with a woman who was stroking a rooster under her arm to calm it. The incredible thing about life is that while it’s daily and relentless, it has these bizarre, stranger-than-fiction moments that deserve to be shared and savored. It made me think it would be fun to try something like Rachel’s five points a day, only to make it more do-able, I’ll start with two things. Maybe not every day, but maybe more frequently than has been my tendency.

1. Yesterday our friend gave us a bag of coffee her friends from Jordan gave her. Well, we think it’s coffee. We can’t read the language on the package. It smells like a mixture of coffee and tea, and has leaves like tea in it and a lot of cardamom. We made some this evening, with milk and sugar in it. I sipped it while I read Anne’s House of Dreams to Jewel. It had the consistency of tea, maybe because I made it too weak, but it was a comforting drink with a lovely strangeness. My motto is that I’ll try to taste anything at least once, and like most new flavors turn out to be, it was a pleasure.

2. This week’s project-on-the-go is making a pumpkin out of a discarded book. Great fun for my inner child who loves cutting and pasting and messing around with paint. Today I sat in an open doorway, letting sun and (unseasonably) warm breezes in while I painted the rounded edges of the pages. Later in class while I was being a semi-dignified, semi-knowledgeable ESL teacher of dignified adults, I happened to glance down and see that my right palm still had a carrot-orange tinge on it. Like the self-tan spray that some girls use. This girl, however, gets her tans honestly, and the orange sheen felt so foreign. But it amused me and I didn’t regret having painted in the sunshine.