Category Archives: life

Transplants and Love Does

Posted in books, life, Poland, recommendations by

1. Today I was one of three girls walking across campus, and on the other side of the drive was another group of three girls walking together. What we two trios had in common was that each group has lived outside the US. They, in Kenya, we, in Europe. Now we’re in the US for various lengths of time, enjoying the benefits and ease and junk food of it, but our hearts are always feeling stretched across time zones and cultures, and we wonder if we will ever feel at home anywhere. Or know where we’re from. Or if we’ll ever fit in anywhere. I’m thankful beyond words for the high privilege of living outside my birth country for nearly half my life, but it comes at considerable cost. This isn’t the time to talk about that cost, but for now the understanding and kinship of others who share my experience is something I treasure deeply.

2. If you’re hungry for an easy-read, this is a must-buy: Love Does, by Bob Goff. From the website: “A book and a movement about love in action.” I heard Bob Goff speak last week, and it was phenomenal, the way he lives large, and loves big. I will never be the same again, watching how he loved on his audience and told us stories of teaching witch doctors in Uganda how to read and write. “Walk in grace, live in love” was the theme of his talk, and he urged us to make it our mantra when we walk: walk in grace, live in love, walk in grace, live in love.  People won’t know we love them if it just stays inside our heads. We have to DO love. A key word in the book is “whimsy.”  This is the man who wakes up his Sweet Maria every morning with a cut rose from their garden (this is possible in San Diego) and jumped off the dock with his children to wave goodbye to Don Miller, their guest leaving by boat. My favorite story in the book is when he got his children, in response to Nine-Eleven,  to write letters to hundreds of world leaders in order to dialogue with them and send them house keys to invite them to come stay with them. Walk in grace. Live in love. This is the mantra that will change the world.

Good News

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1. For a long time, I’ve resented how newspapers and the news media in general are fueled by the thirst for negative, sensational stories.  There are so many good stories out there, but somehow that’s not exciting enough to sell, so we get fed negative stories. Why would one PAY to read bad news? This is a perpetual mystery to me. Of course there are terrible, twisted, heartbreaking things that happen, but that’s not the only reality.

That’s why I love Humans of New York.  Brandon Stanton lost his job, hit the streets with his camera and took hundreds of photos of people, asked them simple questions, and posted their photos and short dialogues on his blog. Last Christmas, the book came out: HONY, and overnight it became a New York Times best-seller. Someday I want a copy too.

I like HONY because it’s positive and real. There are heartbreaks and loss, but there is unabashed joy and creativity and trembling life and darling children (“today in microfashion.”) Everyone in the world has a story, and every night this blog celebrates some ordinary person’s story. Seems lots of other people like it too. It has created a kind of supporting, cheering community around the globe. It makes me happy that some good, ordinary stories  are making it big because one man notices things that others just walk past.

2.  In 48 hrs, God willing, I plan to be flying across the Atlantic. Yay, yay! It’s been a year since I’ve been there, which isn’t so long, but it will be wonderful. Even the airports in America smell different than in Europe.  Yesterday a friend asked what I’m most looking forward to. The answer is easy: “Spiritual fellowship and speaking English.” And the access to good books. I want to inhale good books, and have visions of coming back with suitcases full of only books.

But I will also miss the snow in Poland, my friends and their hugs, the pickles, and the little old ladies wrapped in fur hats and long fur coats. Sarah, Plain and Tall was right: there is always something to miss, no matter where you are.”

(related post here)

Thinks and Thanks

Posted in life, Poland by

1. “So what do you think of God?” I asked her.

“I just don’t think of him,” she answered.

Another day, and another friend: “Is time your enemy like it is mine?” I asked.

“I just don’t think about it,” she said.

There are endless things to think about that are negative energy drains, and best ignored. If we don’t think about something, it doesn’t take up so much uncomfortable space in our soul. There are, however, eminently important things to think about–God and time being some them.

So here’s to being mindful. To being conscious that today is a gift that I will never see again–the strataed  sunset, the window of free time to eat pizza with friends. To being mindful of a benevolent Creator organizing this life, how His fingerprint is on everything that is good, how the Hound of Heaven pursues–even chases us–can one think about this too much?

2. The experience of living in an Eastern European country is something I treasure. There have been hard, hard things, the hardest of which has been the language. Being a communicator and caged with this barrier seems to take a toll on my soul.

Even so, there is communication and fellowship that goes beyond spoken, stumbling words. The bond of Jesus’ family members knows this reality. And there is also beautiful, unpretentious, real friendship that comes as a grace.  Hence, twice today I invited myself to meals where local friends were hosting other visitors. To enjoy that level of freedom and spontaneity and enjoy it hugely with people whose mother tongue is different from mine, this is a stupendous gift.

To My Friend with SAD

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To my friend with SAD, I care so much about how you’re feeling. I know how it is to be wrapped in gray fuzz, to feel that nights are never long enough to get enough sleep, to be afraid that someone will bump you and spill out all the acid inside you. I know irrational tears and impossible fears. This winter, for whatever amazing, incredible reasons, SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder)  hasn’t come to visit me, but I know what you’re feeling. I get it. And I would like to help you, how ever bumbling and unprofessional my care is.

If we lived in the same town, I would want to invite you to my place. If you didn’t want to come, I’d go to your house and make you some coffee or tea and listen to you if you want to talk. If you wanted to be quiet, that would be ok, and I would hand you some tissues, and ask if you want to journal. While you journal, I would journal too, or doodle, or read stories to your children. I’d make you some more coffee, but not more than one more cup, and fix you an egg or yogurt (protein instead of carbs) and then invite you to go on a walk with me.

We would put layers and layers on–leggings, socks, fleece jacket, scarf, hat, coat, boots, and gloves, then go outside. If it’s raining, we’d use umbrellas. We would walk and walk for at least 40 minutes, talking only when you want to.

Back inside, we would talk about what we want to create. A new recipe for supper? Something abstract in acrylics or pastels? Plant bulbs or repot seedlings? A new centerpiece on the table? A collaborative poem about our walk? A photo collage of your last holiday? It has to be something new and something you care about. Something that has never seen the light of day before.

Then I’d hold you and pray over you and go home. I would be confident that God is up to something good in your darkness, and that you won’t always feel this gray.

After a day or two, I’d call you again, and ask how you are, and as tactfully as I could (which is really hard for me because I tend to lecture), ask if you took a walk that day, and what you had for breakfast. I’d ask God to pour His grace into your day, and tell you to call me anytime you need to talk.

This is what I would want to do. Would that help? What is it that you need, and that your friends could do for you? You’re not alone, and maybe this comment section could be a safe place  for you and others with SAD to be heard and cared for?

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

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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

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“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

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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.