Love Thy Neighbor

Do you think we're terrorists?

2012-02-23T05:46:00.001-05:00

The title of this post is a question I was asked a few days ago. Sigh... It's not a question I wanted to answer. Actually I was happy to answer with an emphatic "NO." What I hated was that the question had to be asked in the first place.

Let me back up to give some context. I have talked about my class of teenagers in older posts. I have worked with the group since my first week in Nablus. There are some kids who have been coming since day one. Others have joined somewhere along the way. In fact, whereas most of the time I've been here, there have been 12 to 15 kids in each class, the last 2 classes have had 25 and then 40 kids show up. Thankfully, another volunteer just happened to be with me when 40 came- we split the group into two: I with my regulars and she with the new kids. With so many kids, I think there will be an official split into 2 groups based on their level of English. My class has a wide range of abilities within it. A few weeks ago some of the kids asked that we split into two groups according to ability. I agreed that it would be a good idea, but said that we should decide as a group, which is how we've made all major decisions about the class- together. When we talked about it, the kids decided we'd stay together for my remaining weeks. When the center suggested yesterday that we test everyone and split them into ability groups, I requested that this split happen after I leave, so that I don't lose any of the kids I've had since the beginning. I realize that this was a selfish request, but it was also based on the decision we'd made together a few weeks before. I think the center is going to wait to change the division of the groups.

As fodder for discussion the last several weeks I have brought essays from my students back home to English class. Last year my Catholic social teaching students and I created a book based on our reading Freedom Writers Diary. For class here I choose one or two readings for each session- we read, discuss vocabulary, and then discuss the theme of the reading. I also ask them to write something in response, but that doesn't always work so well. I"m not sure if it's because the kids forget, they don't have the language to say what they want to say (I'm sure that's the case for a few), they don't care, they don't want to write about the theme I've picked, or some other reason. Many did write about a person who'd influenced them. However, I didn't get any writing after we read the Adversity essay... Ironic, since kids here know a little about adversity...

We also created a Facebook group to give opportunities for the class here to communicate with kids in the U.S. I hope some mutually beneficial exchanges will happen. Actually I know that there are already some good discussions happening. A couple classes ago, after a few kids from the U.S. joined the Facebook group, the class here took some time to brainstorm questions they'd like to ask kids in the States. The first several questions they had were about here: "What do you think of Palestine?" and "What do you think about Islam?" There were a few more about here (I think they had a question about the Occupation) and only after they asked those big questions did they think of the easier questions like "What do you like to do?" and "What's your favorite subject in school?" Of course, their earlier questions are far more interesting, I'd say, and could lead to some important conversations.

Next I asked them to share their ideas about America (they almost always say "America" here and not "the United States"). They named cities (New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas), diversity, and some other things. And then I asked them this: What do you think Americans think of Palestine?

I think the word "terrorists" was the third word to come up, after "West Bank" and "Israel." Terrorists. It made my heart ache, particularly since I know that there are so many people in the U.S. whose thinking goes something like this: Palestine = Muslims = terrorists. A few more words went on the list, but my mind didn't leave the third word. The kids then asked what my impression of Palestine is.

I said I was and am lucky because I had heard more about Palestine than the news at home gives, so I didn't think it was full of terrorists. I already knew about the Occupation and the struggles Palestinians face and I have learned so much more from being here. I admitted that there are many people at home who don't know the whole story because they only hear what the mainstream news, which is pro-Israel, tells them. Sadly, I told them, many Americans do think that saying "Muslim" is the same as saying "terrorist", particularly after 9/11. However, I went on, my experience of Palestine is of beautiful, generous people who open their homes and their hearts to me, who have shown me around, bought me kanafeh, and have in general been so lovely to me. I thought I had made it clear that I have a very positive idea about Palestine and Palestinians.

However, as we left class that day I was talking to a girl who asked me, "Do you think we're terrorists?"

No. And I don't think any 15 or 16 year-old (or child of any age, for that matter) should ever have to wonder about the answer to that question.

***Note: I firmly believe that we all have an important story to tell. My boys at home shared part of their story in the book we created. My kids here are doing it by talking to kids in the States. We are also creating a blog in which they can tell you their stories in their own words. As with the Facebook group, it is an experiment. I don't know which kids will post or what they want to tell us, but I know they want their voices heard and I am excited that I may play a role in making that happen. I'll keep you posted on its progress and let you know when it is up and running. If/when we do get it going, please help me share their stories. Thanks!

She/Her

2012-02-21T16:01:00.000-05:00

I just finished my first Derrick Jensen book, A Language Older Than Words. I have another Jensen book I am tempted to start immediately, but I am afraid if I do, my own writing won't get done- the retreat letters I've committed myself to writing, the personal journaling I haven't been doing. Of course, right now instead of doing either of those things, I am writing here.

A few days ago, I sent Jensen an email with my Convers(at)ion post, since he was in it. Within a day I got a response from him and on the same day I received another unexpected delight. I have made an unfortunate habit of checking my email and Facebook even before I get out of bed. Since my personal Internet connection is through my iPod, it's pretty easy to be online while snuggled up in bed. Minutes before seeing Jensen's email, I saw a Facebook post that took me back over 20 years to a music-creating experience in a forest. Our group had practiced the music only loosely so that it could emerge as it was meant to, not in a static way. In the making, we, or maybe I should only speak for myself, I, lost myself in the rhythms, the sound, the beauty of the creative process.

While writing my blog posts, at least when I am most faithful to the voice inside or the voice that flows through me, I also find myself lost in the process. When I say lost, I'm really only (temporarily) lost to what is in my immediate surroundings. In fact, I feel more connected to the World around me as I try to express how the World works its way into me and through me. When I immerse myself in that Presence, I find the words I'm looking for to describe what I feel in my gut and my heart. Actually it feels more accurate to say the words find me.

Calling the World "it" doesn't feel right. I shall call the World "She" and "Her." I am keenly aware of Her presence in my life and how She guides me where I need to go. I could call Her, this presence that is larger than I understand, God, and many times I do, but what feels right in this moment is She. And She is not only the World that I see, but the One I feel and know outside of me, all around me, and within me...when I'm paying attention...

Some volunteers and I were listening to music a few days ago. A song by the Indigo Girls came on and the time I spent in Guatemala 15 years ago came to mind. I remember when a package from my parents arrived and I was disappointed because the Indigo Girls CD I had requested was not the one they sent me. However, I listened and listened to the one they sent (Swamp Ophelia) and then couldn't stop listening.
While I've been away from home this time around I've had Adele, Regina Spoelker, certain Taize prayer songs, Love the One You're With, Lean on Me (sung with my sixth and seventh graders in Chatra and now with my teenagers in Nablus), and songs I've downloaded from cheesy Bollywood movies to accompany me. Later on they will undoubtedly transport me back to these places. Incidentally, one of the Bollywood songs will not only bring me to India, but also to the Church of the Nativity where a sacred song was sung with the same tune as Teri Meri... Unfortunately, because of the association to "Bodyguard," I was more amused than moved to hear the singing...

I know that certain singers, songs, authors and books will bring me back to these months. I read The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo start to finish on a rainy Sunday afternoon, my first Sunday in Chatra. The Aleph I read as I traveled from Spain to Israel, finishing it on a rainy day in Jerusalem. I don't think it was an accident that I read a book by Robert Thurman about Buddhism in between the two Coelho books. Derrick Jensen will forever carry me to Nablus. These books seemed to come to me at just the right time... All of these authors lead me to one message: we are all in this together and are connected to each other (whether the "other" is another person, an animal, or something like a wall), regardless of our current place or time.

When I leave, so many things (the above only a few) will remind me I was here. They will not allow me to forget the poverty in India, the Occupation in Palestine, the people who crossed my path along the way. They will remind me that I am connected to Her, the Her that is not only outside, around, and within me, but outside, around, and within every other part of creation, regardless of who did the creating. Personally, I think She leads me to the reminders, whether I want them or not. Sometimes it's easier to forget our connection, but She keeps showing me that I must not forget.

In every way possible She seems to be saying, sometimes in a gentle whisper, other times in a blaring scream, "See him. He is you and you are him. See her. She is you and you are her. See what you call it. It is you and you are it." There is always a danger that when She speaks, I'll ignore her. Maybe that's why She is so persistent in communicating this message. On some level, I get the message. I know it's still not sunk in all the way...

This afternoon I was talking to a couple other volunteers about teaching teenagers. I said that what teens, or really all of us, want is to be heard, to know someone is listening and cares about what we have to say. I said that, as a teacher, I think it's OK to disagree with or challenge what my students say, as long as I make it clear that my disagreement or challenge does not mean that I've written them off. They must know I care about them always. They must know that I know we are connected. Earlier in the conversation, I'd said that using the title "Love Thy Neighbor" for my blog helps me to try to live up to the ideal. Teaching theology also helped me to hold myself to a high standard. Of course, I fail all the time at loving my neighbor, especially here where many of the Israeli neighbors are violators and abusers. What does loving them even mean? I'll admit I don't know. I don't really want to admit any connection to them, but still we are bound together...

Going back to talking about students, after this afternoon's conversation I finished Jensen's book. I have a whole paper of reading notes for future reference, but let me highlight one. He wrote, "the people in my classes, including me, did not need to be controlled, managed, nor even taught. What we needed was to be encouraged, accepted, and loved just for who we were... to be given time in a supportive space to explore who we were and what we wanted, with the assistance of others who had our best interest at heart." The kind of space he discusses allows us to feel the connections She offers us, connections to Her within and around us. I think in my best teaching, I succeed in providing such a space, a space in which my students and I are open to Her through each other. Sadly, I can also think of too many examples where I failed, sometimes miserably, to provide such a space. I did not help anyone feel connected and may have even caused some students to feel disconnected. I keep trying...

Over the last few years I have become more attuned to Her. I felt Her telling me it was time to leave my job, felt Her telling me to go to India and Palestine. I know She will tell me where to go next. She hasn't yet. I was talking to my mom about possible next steps and she was laying out an argument for following a particular path. I told her that I am not sure it is the right path. I am not sure it's the wrong path either, but I suspect it would be. The next day I was talking to a friend who said, "If it doesn't feel right, then it's probably not." Thankfully, I already knew that to be true. She tends to be pretty clear with me. Thankfully, thus far I think I have listened to Her, even when rational thought and other people have tried to persuade me to make a different decision.

Ha! I haven't felt like I've been making decisions. I've been following the path She's cleared for me. It's that simple. People who don't seem to connect with Her in the same way don't understand the feeling of certainty I've felt each time I've made major changes in my life, whether it be buying a house, changing jobs, leaving my job, or taking an 8 1/2 month journey.

I find Her messages everywhere, in friends, family, strangers, books, songs, flowers, mountains...everywhere. I wish other people felt Her as keenly as I do. I know some people do. I wish everyone would. I try to imagine the World in which we all feel Her, regardless of what we call Her. The picture is not clear to me, since the World would be so drastically different, but I do know She is beautiful. Do you feel Her? Can you see Her?

Lightning and Finn, Part 6: More Yummy Stuff!

2012-02-18T14:17:00.001-05:00

Lightning and Finn have shared many meals along the journey. OK, they've hung out with us people while we eat. Here are some of the things we've tried...

Jalebi is a popular sweet treat in India...It's fried, but when you bite into it, it's sort of juicy, surprising the first time around. Here you can see them being made in the market at the Sonepur Mela. It's veeerrry sweet. We also saw jalebi in the market in the Old City of Jerusalem.

Given the dearth of electricity in Chatra, we never really got to have ice cream. However, one morning when we were headed north, we made a stop in Gaya and bought some delicious butterscotch ice cream. The container of ice cream was ripped all the way open and cut in slabs for us to eat. It seemed like the perfect snack for 9:00 in the morning!

One of the great things about being with the SCNs was their joy in celebrating every occasion, large and small. For Halloween, they made sure there were plenty of sweets, including my favorites...chocolate and custard apples! Cakes (or what I'd probably call sweet breads) were also a part of every celebration. Finn and Lightning chose to pose with their favorite sweets, too!

We also celebrated Thanksgiving. Thursday nights, we always had an evening mass at the house. Thanksgiving night, the mass was dedicated to me and to Thanksgiving. While no one ate turkey, I made sure a turkey was present at the celebration!

For Thanksgiving, for me there were, predictably, chocolate bars and cake. Soft drinks were another special treat! Finn and Lightning always made appearances at special dinners!

Any time the sisters ate meat, like on Thanksgiving, they made paneer dishes for me. Paneer is Indian cheese. Yum!!

One of my favorite types of street food in India was chaat. Chaat is made from samosas that are broken open and all sorts of sauces that are then poured over it. Spicy, messy, and delicious!

We spent only a couple days in Morocco, but had some delicious food there. Mom and Dad had chicken in their tagine (really cool serving bowl and cover- sadly, I didn't take a picture of the dish covered for you to see. I mostly just had the rice, sauce, and raisins. Even without something more substantial, it was pretty tasty...

Several times in our travels, Lightning and Finn have seen the impact they've made across the world. Here they are posing by Lightning candy in the window of a candy shop in Seville.

We were in Seville for the celebration of the Reyes Magos, or Three Kings on January 6. There was a huge parade that snaked through Seville on January 5th. The parade floats were filled with children dressed according to the float's theme. They threw candy and sometimes small toys or key chains to all the spectators.

Sometimes the candy fell in unexpected places, like this one that got caught in my dad's glasses!

The parade lasted well into the night and even after many hours of throwing candy, there was candy to be thrown! We tried to guess how many tons of candy were thrown that day...and how much of it was smashed by the floats or people walking on it!

In residential areas, people went out on their balconies to watch and used whatever they could to catch flying candy!

Finn and Lightning got some candy, too, but they gave it to us.

No Three Kings Day celebration would be complete without the Three Kings cake. It could be bought in many sizes, with filling or without, but the shape was always the one you see here.

Baked into each cake is a baby or other symbol of the baby Jesus. Whoever finds it is said to be especially blessed. Dad got ours. The baby is hard to see here, as it's still in the little bag that protected it. The cake- pretty tasty!

After Spain, Palestine! A few weeks ago, I visited a spice shop where we watched this man grind some of the spices. The shop smelled so good as the aroma of all the various spices mixed and mingled. Lightning and Finn wanted to pose amid the spices...

The same day, we went to a shop where peanuts were being roasted in the back. We got invited to watch the process. After the roasting, water is poured over the nuts to cool them. We got to taste the peanuts hot, fresh out of the roaster. Peanuts have never tasted so good!

Last week, a few of my students took me to the candy factory where one works. No candy was being made at the time, but you can see the sugar mix used for the candy and the big containers they are mixed in. To me they look a lot like what the peanuts were roasted in...

We were there when some of the candies were being packed up for sale. When we arrived, we were given a bag of yummy hard licorice candy. Lightning and Finn wanted to pose in a sea of candy on one table. We were given a package of these candies to take home, too. Incidentally, I just emptied the bag into our house candy jar this afternoon... It's almost empty now.

Halawa is also made at the factory. It is a sweet made from sesame seeds and lots of sugar. Here, Lightning and Finn pose with my students/tour guides and then we took a picture together with our bags of candy.

Later we were given some halawa from another shop (where another student works), so Lightning and Finn posed again. Everyone at the house has also enjoyed munching on that!

We have tried other sweet treats that we don't know the name of. This came in a long roll and we cut off pieces. The outside is covered in pistachios, the inside is chewy and has a butterscotch flavor. We bought it in a shop in Silwan after the shopkeeper gave us a sample to taste.

No blog that includes food from Nablus would be complete without a mention of kanafeh. This is a cheesy syrupy, so so sweet specialty of Nablus and nowhere else. It is sort of like a pancake soaked in syrup over melted cheese. I tried kanafeh my first night here and was also treated to it by my students the day we visited the candy factory. Nablusis like their sweets!!

There have been some unexpected food sights, like this Chiking Fried Broast restaurant in the city center of Nablus. Hmmm...is that a young Colonel Sanders or simply one with his hair dyed? There is a KFC in nearby Ramallah, but I've never been there (nor do I plan to go). I've only heard ads on the radio. The only words I understand in the ads are the restaurant name.

In Bethlehem I walked past Stars and Bucks, but didn't try any of the coffee...

When I was in India, one of the sisters made fresh peanut butter, which I ate whenever it was offered. I was missing peanut butter in Nablus and went looking for it in the market. I was surprised to find Kroger brand peanut butter in the middle of Palestine... As I have done more shopping, I have noticed more and more Kroger brand items with all the labeling except the main label...in Arabic. Who would have thought?

I'm sure Lightning, Finn, and I will have more adventures with food and lots of other things, but that catches you up on some of what we (OK, I) have been eating as we travel. We hope that you are also having some culinary adventures wherever you are!

Lightning and Finn: Part 5- Yum!

2012-02-16T13:36:00.003-05:00

After a few heavy posts, it seemed time to lighten things up a bit again. The next 2 posts will show Lightning and Finn as they experienced food in India, Spain, and Palestine. Mind you, Lightning and Finn don't eat people food, but they like to look at it and pose with it or just hang with me while I'm taking the pictures. You've already seen them experiencing some of the food in India. Here are a few more pictures of what they've seen and, often, what I've eaten!

It seems only appropriate to start with rice. When we arrived in India, all the rice paddies were green and beautiful. Here you can see the paddies growing near the SCN convent. And when we went from place to place, we passed field after field of this beauty. Usually there were other things growing, too.

Not ready for harvest...

I was especially keen to see squash plants which grew up and cascaded over homes. It seemed like a good use of limited space!

Ready for harvest...

The rice fields were equally beautiful to drive or walk by when they were ready for harvest...

Lots of back-breaking work to get the rice cut, gathered, and thrashed (to get the grain). Then the stalks were stacked and the form of stacking seemed to vary from region to region. The stalks were used to feed the animals. They were also cut and mixed with dung, shaped into disks and dried to burn in fires, for those who didn't have access to the rapidly depleting wood supply.

Around the time the rice was being harvested, there were also beautiful fields of mustard. In the Jharkhand and Bihar provinces of India, mustard seed and mustard oil are used in nearly all dishes.

Fruit trees seem to be growing everywhere around India, Spain, Morocco, Palestine, and Israel. This banana tree is growing just outside the house of the SCN novices in Mokama, India. With so much fruit available, it's no wonder fruit is eaten after every meal.

In Nablus, Palestine we have a lemon tree and a pomelo tree growing right outside our house. The lemons sometimes come in odd shapes and are often much bigger than the ones we buy at home

I'm not sure how I got through India without taking millions of pictures of the fresh foods in the markets. Luckily, there are plenty of such markets in Palestine, too. I walked through this market in Bethlehem.

OK, maybe I got a few pictures of food markets in India. Walking through Jaipur, India, we passed an area where lots of grains were being sold- chickpeas, corn, lentils, and other things I didn't recognize.

Often fruits and veggies don't arrive to markets in big trucks. They may be transported in small vehicles, on the backs of animals, in carts pulled by animals, or in carts pulled or pushed by a person, like these papayas in Jaipur, India.

Some foods were new to us, like the custard apple in India. We had some custard apple trees in the compound and I ate as many as I possibly could. They were so delicious! When I did a teacher training, I used custard apple seeds to do a lesson demonstration on using manipulatives in math lessons. In a later teacher training, chickpeas were the manipulative of choice.

I can only assume that the chirimoyas (whose name I don't know in English but found in Spanish once we returned from Morocco) that we were given in Morocco are related to the custard apple. They were pretty delicious, but not quite as delicious as my beloved custard apples! I have also found custard apples in Nablus, but again, they're not quite the same as the ones in India!

There were other foods that were new to us, like these water fruit, which, as you can guess, are gathered from ponds... I never actually tasted them. They came out of the water black and were peeled to look like what you see... These were being sold at the Sonepur Mela near Patna, India.

Food is prepared fresh daily. Chili peppers seem to always be a part of Indian cooking. I think my tolerance for spicy food went up while I was in India. Like you see here, a lot of food prep is done on the ground in India, not at a table...Meals are also often eaten sitting on the ground.

I learned that tumeric is made from the root of a plant.
I'm not quite sure of the process from root to powder, but grinding comes in somewhere along the way!

There is so much more that could be shown and said. However, I think I'll leave that for the next post about prepared foods...where Finn and Lightning will have a much more prominent role in the pictures!

The Wall, Part 3: Photos

2012-02-14T16:10:00.005-05:00

Some photos from close up, others from farther away, in no particular order. Most won't have captions as they speak pretty well for themselves...

One part of the wall has a number of posters like this
with stories written by Palestinian women.

Wall in Aida Camp in front of security wall.

Heavy

2012-02-14T06:09:00.001-05:00

I feel heavy. If I were in a jokey kind of mood, I'd probably say that it's the bag(s) of candy one of my students brings to almost every class. But I'm not in a jokey mood. I'm sad.

It's a beautiful spring day outside and I met my language partner (who I help with Spanish and who could, theoretically, help me with Arabic, but I told him I like keeping up with my own Spanish, so that's the only language we speak) this morning. When he arrived, I asked if we could walk instead of sitting in a cold classroom. Thankfully, he obliged. Walking is therapeutic and I hoped that going out and walking on such a gorgeous day might alleviate some of the sadness and weight I feel (especially since rain is in the forecast for the next few days).

The walking therapy worked...temporarily. The sun felt good on my face and it was nice to talk about something other than what was on my mind, what is in my heart today. But when our time together ended, my mind went immediately back to what is paining it. I returned to the house, opened my Facebook, and saw an article about children, CHILDREN, as young as 7 years old being arrested and held in jail for up to 8 days, supposedly for throwing rocks (http://electronicintifada.net/content/silwan-children-abducted-their-bedrooms/10088). Sure, kids shouldn't throw rocks. I get that. But, jail? Eight days? Eight days where they may or may not be kicked, hit, threatened, given sufficient water, food, or access to a bathroom. Eight days where they may or may not be with a parent or lawyer when they are questioned (usually not). Though the article was written last year, I know arrests of children are a daily reality now. Already on my mind was a student who wasn't in class yesterday...

He hasn't missed before and I wondered, but didn't ask, where he was. Last night another student posted that the boy wasn't at class because he'd been arrested. There wasn't enough information for me to know if he has been released or not. I think he was, but I'm not sure. I hope I'll get the whole story tomorrow in class. Interestingly enough, the topic we'd been discussing in class yesterday was facing adversity.

In my class of teenagers, I have been using as reading material and fodder for discussion journal entries my students wrote last year. The title of the piece we read yesterday was "Adversity, It's Not Always a Bad Thing." After reading it together, I asked my students what kind of adversity they face here. They mentioned the same kinds of issues we'd read about- mostly big decisions they'd make about school or challenges they face with their extracurricular interests. As I was listening I wondered if these were truly the hardest things they faced (secretly I hoped they were) or if there were other things they weren't saying (like, I don't know, living under the Occupation) that cause stress in their lives. I gave them an assignment to write about a difficult time in their life or the adversity they face. It's due tomorrow. I think it is easier to write from the heart than it is to speak in front of a group of people. As you might have noticed from my writing here, I find the writing process pretty cathartic. I don't know about my students... We'll see what comes out in their writing...

Just before learning about my student's arrest, I saw a post and many pictures on Facebook of a community center I visited just a few weeks ago in Silwan, a Palestinian neighborhood just outside the Old City in Jerusalem. A few of us spent several hours there walking around with a man from the neighborhood who showed us maps of the area that highlighted houses with demolition orders, houses that Israeli settlers had taken over, other land that had been or will be taken because of archaeological work being done underneath it, and more. He showed us where streets and buildings had cracks because the archaeological excavations being done under them are too shallow. He showed us houses that Israeli settlers took over because they were "uninhabited," which could mean that the family living there went out for a few hours or for the weekend. He also made sure we noticed how nice the streets and sidewalks are where the settlers live, as opposed to the cracked and dirty streets and sidewalks (if there are sidewalks) where Palestinians live. The Israelis control the infrastructure and any changes or improvements made to it. Hmmm...

I don't know how old the man is, not very, but he walked with a cane and it looked like he had a brace on one leg. In 2009 he was shot in both legs by an Israeli settler. He had heard shouting outside his house and when he walked outside the settler was pointing a gun at one of his sons and had thrown the other down. When he tried to intervene, he was shot in the knee. Then the settler went and shot a 15 year-old boy in both legs. The man's children were crying (for obvious reasons) and because of the disturbance the settler returned and shot the man in the other leg. The settler's punishment- 24 hours in jail. The man's children feel guilty because, despite their father's assurances to the contrary, they feel it was their fault their father got shot. Imagine the weight of that... Adversity...

When we were in Silwan, we visited the community center that was demolished yesterday. There we drank tea and watched a video about how the settlers and IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) in Silwan target children (http://silwanic.net/?p=21150), much like what I read in the article I mention above. Yesterday I saw pictures and watched a video of it being torn down (http://settlementwatcheastjerusalem.wordpress.com/2012/02/13/silwandemoition/). Today I read an article that highlights what will be done in the space where the center had been (http://www.haaretz.com/news/diplomacy-defense/israel-approves-new-east-jerusalem-visitors-compound-razes-palestinian-community-center-1.412700). Reading it, I am disgusted by the emphasis on the new construction that will go there and not on the systematic destruction of a community.

With all of this on my mind, I feel heavy. Writing here takes a little of the weight off, not because anything changes (though I hope that with enough international attention things will change eventually), but because I know you are now carrying a little of the burden, too. I know you didn't ask to do so. I am grateful that you keep reading and keeping taking on some of the load.

Adversity... my petty complaints about occasional power outages, Internet interruptions, or cold rainy weather are nothing compared to what many Palestinians face each day. I don't know how they bear the weight... I am learning what adversity really means...

The Wall, Part 2: Convers(at)ion

2012-02-12T23:37:00.003-05:00

Sunday morning...2:30 AM...

I can't sleep. One reason may be because I'm not in my own bed. The other, I think, is because today I came to Bethlehem and saw part of the security wall. I've seen it before, and every time I see it, I am sickened. Tomorrow I will see more. As I lie here awake many thoughts have wandered through my mind...images, too. The images include the grove of olive trees, or rather olive tree stumps, that I passed on the trip from Nablus to Bethlehem and the numerous Israeli settlements I saw during that same journey. Destruction. Displacement. Death. The art that has been painted or affixed to the security wall also flashes through my mind. The words, "It's really beautiful," popped into my head and the next thought was, "NO! The wall is not beautiful, the ART is beautiful!" It is not the monstrosity that is beautiful; the wall is and will remain a monstrosity. What is beautiful is the spirit of resistance, of creativity, of defiance that makes looking at the wall, at least along certain stretches, more bearable. I doubt the art makes living with it and seeing it on a daily basis any easier...

Another thought wandered through... "Maybe this is the wall where I need to bring prayers, not the Western Wall." I had invited people at home to send me prayers to bring to the Western Wall in Jerusalem and many people did. I have brought some there already, on tiny pieces of paper which I shoved into cracks and crevices in that wall; others I will bring when I go there again.

The inner dialogue continued. My next thought was, "But is this security wall a holy place or an evil one? Would I want to bring prayers here?"

It is holy, just as surely as places like the Church of the Holy Sepulchre or the Western Wall are holy. It is not holy because it separates or "protects" people. That makes it evil. For me a holy place is one that commands our attention, that draws us to it, that moves our spirit, sometimes in a way that calms us, other times shaking us to the core. The wall does those things, especially the shaking up. The message the Israelis want it to give is, "Go away. Keep out!" If you only glance at it, it conveys those messages clearly and it is very effective at separating people. But if you keep listening and keep looking, I think there is another message. It's not the one the Israelis want us to hear. Creation, once out of the hands of the creator, human or otherwise, doesn't always do what the creator originally intended.

The security wall says to me, not "Go away," but rather "Come here. Come look. Bring your prayers here, because this is holy ground. I am crying out for you to see me. I need your prayers. I need all the love, all the justice, all the mercy, all the creativity you and everyone you know can bring to me, because I, like you, need transformation."

The wall keeps talking: "Right now the best you can do is draw on me, paint on me, write stories and messages on me. I want to be beautiful and full of colors, not this awful gray, so please keep making me pretty. The more you do this, the more people will come to see me."

The wall has a lot to say and, because I've been reading a book by Derrick Jensen about listening to the world around us, even when people may call us crazy for saying we communicate with something that is non-human, or like the wall, seemingly inanimate, I am primed to listen. And I don't mind if, while you're reading this, you think I'm crazy.

The wall says, "I need people to see me because, though I was created this way, I want to be more, to be better, and in order to be better than I am now, I need your help, just like you need your friends and family to help you be better than you are now and better than you even think you can be."

I am surprised that the wall acts like I'm its...? his...? her...? friend, because I don't have particularly warm feelings towards it/him/her. But I keep listening, curious as to what's coming next.

"To be honest, I'm not too keen on being a wall. I feel ugly, even with the beautiful decorations people have given me. Many people hate me, resent me, are angry at me, and, I have to admit, I can see why. I separate them from their loved ones. But please hear me and believe me when I say this: I don't want to be this way. Just in case you didn't hear me before, let me repeat myself: I want to be transformed."

I look at the wall, not really knowing what it/he/she means. How can a big ugly wall be made into something beautiful?

As if hearing my unspoken question, it/he/she says, "Caterpillars."

"Huh?"

"You know, caterpillars. Caterpillars become butterflies. I want to be a butterfly."

"Um, you're a big wall made of concrete and all sorts of non-living stuff. I don't think you'll ever be a butterfly."

Undaunted by my lack of faith, the wall says, "I don't mean I literally want to be a butterfly. I just want to be beautiful, not just because people adorn me with beautiful things, but because, I, myself, am beautiful."

"I hate to say it, but for you to be beautiful, I think you'll have to be torn down, broken up, and made into something that doesn't separate people. You probably wouldn't even recognize yourself."

"Duh. Haven't I been talking about transformation? I know it'll take time and I know it may hurt me at first and I know I may not even recognize myself when it's all finished. I might even be scattered about in whatever new form I may take. I know that. I'm OK with that. I want that. I CRAVE that. I want to be not just a place on which art is created. I want to BE art. Can you make me art?"

I am reminded of a story Mitri Raheb told in Bethlehem Besieged about window glass broken during the second intifada, which was used to makes glass Christmas ornaments. Tragedy turned into hope. Death and destruction turned into something beautiful. Hmmm... "Well, they keep making you bigger and don't seem to have plans to stop. So I think it'll be awhile before you're transformed the way you want to be. Can you wait?"

Without a yes or a no, it/he/she answered, "Bring your friends, your family, your acquaintances, and people you don't even know to me. If you can't bring them, show them pictures, the ones where I'm beautiful and the ones where I'm ugly. We're all beautiful and ugly at once, right? Bring your prayers for peace and for love and for justice and mercy and for anything else. Bring people to me. I want to be seen, not because I'm vain- if I were, I wouldn't want you to show my ugly side. I want to be seen, so you, all of you, can help me be better than I am. I am a caterpillar, a big, poisonous caterpillar that keeps growing and I want to be a small, beautiful, life-giving butterfly. I want to be better than this thing I am now."

"I'll do what I can." I admit I don't know what I can do except share this story, share my pictures, and bring my prayers to another wall in the Holy Land, one beckoning for death and resurrection. Maybe if I share stories and pictures and maybe if I pray, maybe someday the wall will become a butterfly. Maybe. Someday.

"Thank you for listening. It's nice to get some of that out if my system. Will you come again?"

"I hope so."

""Thank you. Now rest. You must be tired."

I am. Good night.

Note: this was written in the wee hours this morning and when I finished, I did sleep peacefully for the next few hours. Then I went to the wall, walked along it/him/her, took pictures, said prayers, let my hand wander over its/his/her surface, noticing the cracks where prayer could be placed like they are in the Western Wall. I hope to go back armed with prayers to put in the cracks. After my hand's journey over the wall, it held residue from its/his/her surface. I rubbed it into my other hand, over my face, near my heart. The wall is now a part of me. I didn't go to church this morning, but I did experience communion. As I write this now in broad daylight rather than the dark of night, I know it sounds crazy, but I feel calmer, more certain, and saner than I did yesterday. I know that by writing this, I am doing what the wall asked me to do. Thank you for reading.

The Wall, Part 1: Websites for Background Information

2012-02-12T14:01:00.001-05:00

As the next two posts are going to be about the security wall, it seemed appropriate to give some background information about this region and about the wall itself for those who don't know much about them.

I started to write the history myself, but I realized I still don't know all the ins and outs, so I decided instead to give you two good websites to check out. These sites give you much better information than I'd have written for you here, so I am deferring to their authority.

The first site gives a good summary of the history of Israel and Palestine, starting all the way back in 10,000 BC. That may be more than you want to know. Thankfully, the site is set up so you can easily jump to any period of history between now and then. That site is http://israelipalestinian.procon.org/view.resource.php?resourceID=000635.

The second site gives a lot of great information about the wall. I think the FAQ part of the website is particularly informative. That website is http://stopthewall.org/

A few pictures from Jerusalem...

2012-02-09T05:44:00.003-05:00

I took a zillion pictures in Jerusalem 3 years ago, so I'm trying not to take too many this time around. Here are just a few with some snippets about life there...

One of the most prominent land marks in Jerusalem is the Dome of the Rock, Islam's third most sacred place after Mecca and Medina. This picture is taken from the Church of Peter of Gallicantu and in the foreground, you can see the Palestinian village of Silwan. The way you can tell it's Palestinians living there: the houses have water tanks on them. Israel controls the water supply and in Palestinian areas it is limited. Israeli homes don't have water talks- they can get as much water as they want at an time.

A few of us visited Silwan and I'll be writing about it soon...

Mondays and Thursdays are big days for Bar Mitzvahs and anyone who can do so, has this special celebration at the Western Wall. At the Dung Gate, the gate closest to the Western Wall, there are musicians waiting to escort the boy and family the wall. If only I had a video for you to hear it...

Another boy being carried into the Western Wall area...

Cats are everywhere, much to the chagrin of some and the delight of others, like me. Most are feral, but some actually let you pet them. I hung out with this group (many of whom are behind the fence you see on the left), since some of them were all about getting petted. It was nice to have some cats to pet, since I miss my own.

I couldn't resist taking a few individual shots...

There is beautiful art everywhere you look. This is in the Church of the Dormition, where the Virgin Mary was believed to have died. I was here 3 years ago, but I don't remember seeing this. It's below one of the many mosaics in the church.

Another detail from the same work...

This is one of the doors from the Church of Peter of Gallicantu. The church is built around where Jesus was believed to have been betrayed by Peter as well as the house of Caiaphas, where Jesus was believed to have been held after his arrest. . I love this door, I think because it reminds me of my dad's art...

I especially love this face. There is just something about it that draws me in... In the picture above you can see it in context.

That's all for now!

Making Connections

2012-02-08T16:56:00.001-05:00

I spent my first few weeks in Nablus feeling like I wasn't connecting with Palestinians as much as I wanted to. Before going on, I will say that when I arrived in Jerusalem, I was warmly welcomed- no, that's not a big enough word- embraced is more like it, by a wonderful Palestinian family. The generosity and hospitality shown me while I was with them was overwhelming. They gave me my first taste of Palestinian hospitality. Again, I have to correct my language. They served me a banquet of hospitality, not just a taste, through the many ways they extended their love towards me- sharing their home, giving me things I might need in Nablus (most notably a warm winter jacket which has kept the chill away on cold windy days) and even driving me to Nablus when it was time to come. They continue to extend their love to me.

In saying I didn't make connections in Nablus, I'll admit that it had a lot to do with me retreating into my shy self and not doing too much to make the connections happen. Yes, I was teaching, so I was meeting Palestinians, but it takes some time to build relationships, y'know?

At the same time, while perhaps not connecting with Palestinians, I was connecting with the other volunteers. It has been refreshing to be around other internationals who understand the context I come from. A relief, really. It is nice to be with people who have at least some of the same cultural references that I have.

As I get to know my students, the people at Project Hope, and others around Nablus, I'm starting to feel connected. And I'm finding sometimes unexpected common cultural references. Maybe I should say I'm finding unexpected references to my culture or the cultures I know. I don't know too many Palestinian cultural references yet... I didn't expect any of my teenage students to say their favorite musicians are Shakira, Enrique Iglesias, or Avril Lavigne. Justin Bieber, however, was not a surprise. I didn't expect one of my tween students to say his favorite song is "We Will Rock You." I didn't expect the game Jeopardy to come up in one of my classes today.

Uncertain what the reaction of Palestinian teens would be, last week in class I used a reading from the book my Catholic Social Teaching students and I created last year. After I read a selection with the teens, I asked if they wanted to read more that my boys from home had written (yup, they're still my boys, even though they're no longer my students). Yes, they wanted to read more. I told the girls I'd also try to get some girls' writing to read.

I told the class a little about the book. "It's like Freedom Writers," said one girl. This made me smile. Another unexpected familiar reference.

"Freedom Writers is actually what inspired our book," I told her. Now the class is working on doing more than just reading something kids in the U.S. wrote- we're trying to set up pen-pal relationships between teens here and teens at home, though a computer rather than a pen and paper will likely be the means of communicating. It is exciting to think that the connections I'm making may facilitate other new connections.

Many of my teen students speak pretty good English. But even with people with whom I have little common language, I know the connections are happening. I know because I see the grin on the face of my kiddos when I arrive at one community center and my own face can't help but return the grin. I know it when I receive a firm handshake from the men in my night class. I know I am connecting when my few words of poorly-pronounced Arabic elicit surprise, praise, and, well, sometimes laughter...we're laughing together.

Yesterday one of the other volunteers read a poem to us that she'd written with a blurb about all of us. I was described as "serious" (we were all described with one word, not just me). Though I am serious, sometimes too much for my own good, I was a little sad that that was the word used to describe me. I think my students might disagree, since I jump and move around as much here as I did in my classes in India (regardless of the age of my students or the amount of moving they are doing). Being silly breaks down the barriers. I don't act goofy with that specific purpose in mind. Mostly I just want to enjoy classes as much as I hope my students will. As we let down our guards together, both the serious and the silly come out.

And so I am making connections. I am experiencing so much joy in my day-to-day interactions, while knowing there is a depth of pain below the surface that I will likely never fully understand. A friend from home wrote to me today that if he were here he would "want [his] retinas to burn with Palestinian pain." I am thankful to witness the pain sometimes, so that I can at least try to understand it. I came here to try to understand it. I am equally thankful to share the joy of daily living, to witness the resilience and resourcefulness of Palestinians, and, like the threads on a loom, to weave myself into their lives and allow them to be woven into mine.

What Not to Wear, part 2

2012-02-04T02:21:00.001-05:00

I bought a few items of clothing at the Salvation Army store last summer before I left on my venture. I bought them so I would have the right clothing for India and Palestine, the two places I'd spend the most time and the two most conservative places I'd be, at least in the particular areas I'd be living, Chatra and Nablus. I bought a pair of Capri pants (which I wore and left in India), a long summery skirt (worn in India, brought with me for the rest of my travels), and two long winter skirts for Palestine (left at home until my parents and I met up in Spain).

I think I did OK with clothing for India, especially since I bought some clothes there- a sari, a few kurtas (essentially Indian tunics), and salwar kameez suits (one I bought at the beginning of my time, a few others were given to me towards the end). When I wore my Indian clothes, I always got lots of compliments. When I wore my Western clothes, the girls at the English Medium school, likely influenced by what they'd seen on TV or in movies, told me I looked beautiful. It was rather flattering to be complimented no matter what I wore!

I thought I'd done pretty well with clothes for Nablus, too. I had long sleeved shirts, scarves for around my neck, long pants, and the long skirts I'd bought. I also brought one of my kurtas and 2 of my salwar kameez suits since they are appropriately modest. Most of what I brought is just right. However, much to my dismay, I found out that the long skirts I'd bought especially for Palestine would not do.

The skirts are modest; that is not the problem. The problem is that the only people around here who wear long skirts like the ones I bought are Israeli settlers. It is not a good thing in Palestine to look like a settler. Doing so might give the impression that I align myself with them, an impression I most definitely do not want to give.

As I hear more horror stories about settler actions, I want to distance myself in every way possible from them. Recently I visited the Greek Orthodox church built around Jacob's Well (see John 4:13-14 for a reference to this place). One of the icons in the church is of a settler killing the priest who worked there until 1979. That year a settler brutally murdered him.

The same day I visited the church, a Project Hope volunteer who is a reporter told us a story she'd heard that day in a nearby village. Recently, two 14 year-old Palestinian boys were detained for some reason by the Israeli military (very common). Their hands and feet were bound and soldiers were taking them somewhere when the group ran into a settler. The settler asked the soldiers if he could hit the kids. The soldiers said yes and the settler kicked them in the face and when they fell to the ground, kicked them some more and stomped on them. At some point after the beating, the boys were released and their families tried to take legal action against the settler. However, the soldiers and settler denied what had happened and that was the end of it. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about it and this sort of thing happens all the time. I've heard story after story like this about both settlers and soldiers. The above behavior is the norm rather than the exception. So, no, I don't want anyone to mistake me for a settler.

Thankfully, I bought the skirts second-hand and cheap. I didn't waste too much money on them, though they are yet another item that my parents didn't need to haul across the ocean for me (the Arabic books mentioned in a previous post being the first such items). The rest of my clothes will do for now and I guess I'll find something to do with the skirts...

St. Anne's Church

2012-01-29T14:35:00.003-05:00

My favorite church in Jerusalem is St. Anne's. I think one of the reasons, maybe the main reason I love it is because I love to sing. St. Anne's is a stark stone Crusader church and the acoustics there are just marvelous.

The first time I went to St. Anne's Church was 3 years ago when I was in Jerusalem for a travel seminar. Our group visited and sang there together. After the group sang, we had some time to look around. As I was walking around the church, from within me the Ave Maria started pouring out, first as a gentle trickle, but by the end there was a stream of song gushing out of me. It wasn't really a conscious decision to sing; it just happened. After that I knew I'd be back to St. Anne's.

The next time I went was a few days later. Our group had some free time, so I went by myself. This time my goal was to sing the Ave Maria especially for my grandma. When I got there, there were groups coming in and out. I waited until I was completely alone, so there would be no distractions from singing my heart out. When the church was finally completely still and quiet, I closed my eyes and sang. And I did sing my heart out. When I finished I was surprised to be overcome with emotion and started crying. A group had come in while I was singing, Italians, I think, because one came over to me, took my hands in his, looked into my eyes and said, "Grazie." Then I really lost it. I wasn't really sure why I was crying. It was cathartic, I guess. The journey through Israel and Palestine had been incredibly intense and so as I released everything I'd experienced through my singing, I guess my eyes also let loose. I sat in the church until I thought I had pulled myself together, sang again since I happened to be alone again, and then went outside. There I ran into a priest. He asked if I was the one who had been singing. As I said said yes, I found myself crying all over again. Through the tears I said I'd been singing for my grandmother.

"Is she sick?" he asked me.

"No," I sobbed, "she's fine." He looked a little confused, but continued to engage me in conversation until I was no longer crying. After talking awhile we each went on our way.

When I arrived in Jerusalem a few weeks ago, one of the first places I went was St. Anne's. I sat in the church for a long time, listening to groups sing. Eventually I also sang. I lit a few candles for some friends. I felt at peace.

Though I've only been here for a few weeks, mostly in Nablus, I've already been to St. Anne's a number of times. I feel pulled there. I've stayed there for an hour or so and I've gone in for just a few minutes. Usually I sing, but not always. Regardless of how long I stay, regardless of whether I sing, each time I leave feeling a little lighter. I think I'll be visiting St. Anne's many more times before I go...

Education

2012-01-25T01:36:00.001-05:00

Road closure between Palestinian neighborhood and lands

I don't want to write about teaching English. I'm sure I will at some point, but not today. I'm not going to write about the education system in Palestine or Israel. I don't know enough about them anyway. I am going to write about the education I got a few days ago as I took part in events organized by Ta'ayush, whose self-description is as follows: "Israelis & Palestinians striving together to end the Israeli occupation and to achieve full civil equality through daily non-violent direct-action." If you want to check them out yourselves, their website is www.taayush.org.

House demolished by Israelis on confiscated land

On Friday, after my first time walking through a checkpoint (which I'll also write about soon), another volunteer from Project Hope (PH) and I went to join a demonstration/action by Ta'ayush. In Jerusalem a road from a Palestinian neighborhood to Palestinian pasture lands had been blocked. The land that was blocked off had been illegally seized by the Israeli park system because they want to build a national park. Incidentally, the land for the park effectively isolates the Palestinian lands and connects Israeli settlements. Hmmm... Israelis don't have the right to take the land, but they did anyway. They also destroyed homes, sometime more than once, on the land. They don't have the right to block the road, but they did anyway. Our task that day was to voice our opposition to the road blockage and begin to clear it.

Working to reopen the road on confiscated lands

Being my first event, I did not participate in the direct action, but was there as an international presence, taking pictures, and trying to learn more about the people there and the work they do.

While there, I was talking to one young woman and asked her how she got involved in Ta'ayush. She said something like this: "When I was young I was really politically active, but then I got tired and stopped and tried escapism. That didn't really work, so I started coming to protests again. Then I got beat up by the Israeli police and that did a lot of good." While the beating was meant to intimidate and make her stop, it seemed to only give her more determination.

We stayed a few hours and some progress was made, but it would still be impossible for vehicles to pass over the massive pile of dirt, rocks, and trash that had been created...

Working to open road in south Hebron hills

On Saturday we again met with Ta'ayush people. This time we went to the hills south of Hebron. As a sidenote, Hebron is a unique Palestinian city because there is an Israeli settlement smack in the middle of the city. Joining us from Hebron were a couple of volunteers from CPT, Christian Peacemaker Teams, another NGO (non-governmental organization). CPT provides accompaniment and witness in various places around the world, Palestine and Colombia being two of them. I'd also recommend checking out their website: www.cpt.org. The volunteers from there were telling us about a special needs boy in Hebron who had recently been arrested, released, and later captured and tortured by the Israeli army. The initial arrest was because he had "attacked" an Israeli soldier. What actually happened was that he was knocked to the ground and beaten by the soldiers at a checkpoint. When he tried to get up, he stumbled and knocked into one of the soldiers. That was the "attack." Sigh... It sickens me. The full story is on the CPT website.

Israeli soldiers wanting group to stop working; activists documenting

Saturday our goal was to clear some roadblocks that had been created illegally, which effectively blocked off any road access to a number of Palestinian villages. The reason given for blocking them: "safety." On Friday the Israeli army had consented to re-open the roads, since by law they had no grounds to close them anyway and had even done some work to clear what they'd previously blocked Even with that being the case, we expected to encounter some soldiers while we worked. So we arrived with pickaxes and hoes and began clearing what still needed to be done. We also put down sand to try to even out the road. We got one road in decent shape and moved to another spot. After working awhile there the soldiers showed up. So we went to another spot that needed to be cleared. The soldiers followed us. At the time they initially showed up, I wasn't working and decided to play it safe, since I don't speak Hebrew or Arabic, the two main languages spoken by group members, and since I hadn't ever been a part of such an action before. I did take pictures, as were a number of people from Ta'ayush and CPT. In fact, several were shooting video. At the third spot, the soldiers told people to stop working. Most did. A couple did not, so they were arrested because they didn't put their tools down. They were Israeli activists, so they probably were either released after questioning that day or maybe spent a few days in jail. I don't actually know. At that point, the Palestinians left the work-site, since their fate could have been much worse than a few days in jail.

Once the work stopped an amazing brave young woman started shouting chants, some in English, some in Hebrew, to call out the unjust actions of the soldiers in that moment and the Israeli government in general. This standoff went on for awhile and then we left. At that point, we walked to one of the roads we'd unblocked and started walking down it.

At one point when we were walking, we walked along a road.
An Israeli army jeep drove right behind us.

This began a walk of several hours, during which we stopped at various villages and heard about their history and struggles. We heard about home demolitions, the struggle to get water access and electricity to the villages. At one spot we saw pictures of their struggles- animals that had been poisoned, home demolitions, road blockages, and other things, all done by the Israelis. Sigh... The photos were in the village of Tuwani, a success story compared to other villages in the area, because it actually did have electricity and had water access at the entrance to the village. It took them years to get to that point... Though the Israeli settlements in the area have access to both electricity and water, somehow it's too difficult to get them to Palestinian villages. Did I mention that it's Israel who controls access to water and electricity?

Pictures of abuses by the Israelis

While we were on our walk, we got news that the Israeli army had brought a bulldozer back to where we'd unblocked the road earlier in the day. Let me say again that the previous day, the Israeli army had begun unblocking the road. Now they were re-blocking it. It was really pretty ridiculous. We watched this happen, all the while documenting it.

The bulldozer...

For me, this picture pretty well sums up the power differential between Israel and Palestine...

During that same day, other members of Ta-ayush were working in a different part of the Hebron hills, but I think the details are too sketchy in my mind to accurately give you the story. Eventually we all left the area and headed back to Jerusalem. I know I have a lot to learn about what's going on. Learning the names of the villages will be one good step... As I continue my education, I'll also keep you informed. Until then, peace to you.

Freedom of movement

2012-01-19T08:33:00.002-05:00

Yesterday there were air and ground strikes in Gaza. If you follow the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, you probably already know this. If not, well, there it is. Yesterday morning we heard planes going overheard (something I hadn't heard before or since). Perhaps they had something to do with the Gaza attacks...

Of course, the story from each side is different. Relatives of those killed (2 were killed and 2 injured) say the men were setting bird traps. Israelis say the men were planting a bomb and that in the Israeli attack they detonated the bomb. Sadly, there will probably be more stories like this to tell while I'm here.

Last night we watched a French movie called "Le Sel de la Mer," meaning "the salt of the sea." It was about an American woman with Palestinian roots coming to Israel/Palestine. I won't say more than that about the plot, but there was a horrible scene from when the woman arrived at Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv. She was grilled for hours and both her body and luggage were thoroughly searched. This reminded me of my own easy arrival, for which I am grateful. I had heard stories of people being questioned for hours, so I was prepared for the worst. In the movie, the woman was told numerous times, "This is, of course, for your own security." The experience of Palestinian friends seems to be more like what the character in the movie experienced and it makes me sick to think of how dehumanizing it can be. My own story of an easy arrival is as follows:

I was prepped before coming, advised not to mention going to Palestine or to bring anything that might hint at Palestinian sympathies. This included an Arabic-English dictionary. Sadly, before reading my prep material, I asked my mom to bring me an Arabic-English dictionary when we met up in Spain. Being thorough, she bought and brought me 4 books...and because of the advice we had not to bring them, took them back with her to the U.S.

My process really began in Munich (I flew from Madrid to Munich to Tel Aviv). The terminal I went to is set apart from the "regular" terminals. Getting there involved a long walk outside. When I walked into the terminal, my boarding pass was checked. Then I walked a little further and my passport was checked. Then it was time for the extra security check. Let me mention here that whereas the rest of the Munich airport that I walked through was warm and welcoming, this terminal could best be described as cold and sterile. In the security room, my bags went through the X-ray machine and then were carried by a security person to a table for another check. Then I got the most thorough body check I've ever had. Once that was over, I was allowed to get my things and go to the waiting area. It was slightly more welcoming than the security check area had been, but not by much. When it was time to board, we got on a bus and travelled pretty far from the building to get to the plane. Once on the plane things seemed pretty normal, until the last 1/2 hour or so when we were asked to remain seated "for security reasons."

When waiting in the passport control line in Ben Gurion, I watched people get questioned. I was there, it seemed, during the shift change. The line I was in was going slow (because of both the shift change and long questioning of people ahead of me), so I got into a shorter line. I'd be talking to a woman, which I thought might be a good thing. When it was my turn, I approached and gave her a big smile. She was having none of that and did not reciprocate. Then she started with her series of questions, all asked with a note of scorn or condescension:

"Why did you come to Israel? How long do you want to stay? Why that long? Where are you going? Where are you staying? How do you know them? Have you met them? How long will you be in Jerusalem? Where will you go after that? Do you have a return ticket? Where will you go after Israel?"

I got some skeptical looks as I was answering, but I think I got off easy. As advised, I didn't mention Palestine, but otherwise I answered politely and truthfully. The one question I was a little worried about was the one about the return ticket, because I know people have been sent home for answering "No" to that question. My answer was no, but I explained that I've been traveling for awhile and had done the same in India and she seemed to accept that. Whew! She gave me a visa with the requested 3 months. Then I walked through customs without any sort of luggage search and I was done! I was relieved that it was so easy compared to some of the nightmarish stories I've heard, including stories of people who were sent back home for the reason I mentioned above and others (admitting going to Palestine, for example).

Maybe the true test will come when I leave. Unfortunately, for some reason the process of leaving Israel tends to be a longer process in terms of questioning at the airport. I guess I don't need to worry about that quite yet...

My story is really one of great fortune. I have it easy. For the most part I can go where I want, both in the world and through Israeli and Palestinian lands. Palestinians can't. I've talked to people here in Nablus who want to go to Jerusalem. It's a bit over an hour from here (more if you have to use public transportation, because of the route it must take). Palestinians have to apply for a permit to go to Jerusalem for the day, for one single day...and often they are denied the permit. They have to have a "good reason," as judged by Israelis. Apparently, things like a job interview or a meeting at an embassy don't qualify as good reasons. Sigh...

I don't know what the men were doing in Gaza, setting bird traps or planting a bomb. I sincerely hope they were setting bird traps. I do know that it seems like every time there's a conflict like what happened yesterday, the Palestinians tend to suffer greater loss than Israelis. I also know that if my movement (physical, economic, educational, etc.) were as restricted as that of Palestinians, I might be tempted to do something drastic to change the situation. Please know that I'm not saying I condone violence; I don't. Thankfully, there are groups in Israel and Palestine who feel the same and are using non-violent methods to work for social change. I'll be sure to tell you about them as I learn more.

When I started writing this, and even as I was finishing the above stories, I wasn't sure why I was connecting what happened in Gaza to the movie to my own arrival. Maybe this is how they connect. I am free to move. I also have a means to speak. Others, particularly Palestinians, do not, or at least not without great risk. I came here to teach, and with Project Hope that means teaching English. However, I think the greater part of my teaching will happen when I use my freedom of movement to go places in Israel and Palestine and listen to stories. The greater part of my teaching will happen when I use my voice to tell those stories faithfully, probably right here. Those stories may be re-caps of the day's news or personal stories that you would otherwise never hear. My teaching will also happen when I use my voice to tell my own story. Sometimes it will serve to exemplify the life experience here and sometimes it will serve as a contrast to the life experience here. I only hope that I will find the words to say what most needs to be said.

Morning at the market

2012-01-18T10:42:00.000-05:00

After a couple of ugly days (weather-wise), this morning dawned with a beautiful blue sky. I had been wanting to check out the market and buy some things, so I decided to take advantage of the nice weather and some free time this morning. My goals: to buy hummus, fruit, and whatever else might strike my fancy.

Some other volunteers had told me about a good place to get hummus. I knew the name of the place (Mamma Mia) and had a vague idea about where it was. The Project Hope house is pretty near the market and part of the market is down the street from where we are. Once in the market, I wandered down that street for a while, noting the different shops and things I might buy from them at some point. I was approaching one shop and noticed a lot of cats hanging around the door. When I got closer, I saw that the shop was full of live (caged) chickens. I guess the cats were hoping to get some snacks later on. During my walk I passed a number of similar chicken shops. I didn't notice if they sold anything else. The other shops didn't have the cats hanging around like the first place...

And since I mentioned cats above, let me say a little more about them: they're everywhere. A friend in Jerusalem said, "You see cats here like you see squirrels in the U.S." It's true. They're all over, in the streets, checking out the trash, and they come in all colors, sizes, and states of well-being. Though many are strays, some are quite friendly. Others, not so much. Being a cat person, I love seeing them and occasionally I pet the friendlier ones. I'm not sure other people are quite so excited about this plethora of cats...

Anyway, eventually I bought some fresh still warm pita bread and at another shop some dried chickpeas (I've been missing eating them Indian-style). Then I decided to go down another street in the market that leads to the center of town (where I needed to go to get my hummus). The shops along the first street sold mostly canned items, household items, oils, dry foods, and such. The next street I walked down was full of fresh food: vegetables, fruits, fish, meats, more (live) chickens, and this street was, and I think usually is, quite crowded. As I headed down (the street goes downhill) I scoped out where I'd buy fruits on the way up (so I wouldn't have to carry them down and back up the hill). I got to the end of the street and was in the center of town. I wandered a little, trying to find Mamma Mia (trying to remember what I'd been told about its location). Having no luck in finding it, I randomly wandered down a few streets just to get familiar with the city. I noticed one vendor selling something that looked like custard apples, what had become my new favorite can't-find-it-in-the-U.S. fruit in India. I made a mental note to buy some on the way back.

While walking, I ran into the only person I've met who doesn't work or volunteer for Project Hope. Small town. I was introduced to him my first night because he spent some time in Barcelona and may be interested in practicing Spanish (which wouldn't be a bad thing for me either). He invited me into his relative's shoe shop (he'd been standing just outside it) for coffee. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I wanted to be polite, so I both accepted the invitation and drank the coffee. With sugar, it was OK. After coffee, I had to start heading towards Project Hope for my second class. As I stepped out of the shoe shop, I saw down the road in front of me the sign for Mamma Mia. I'd passed the place several times in my wandering, but hadn't noticed it because the English part of the sign only faces one direction. It was literally right at the end of the street I'd walked down and was about to walk back up. So I walked in and ordered my hummus to take back to the house. They didn't have enough to fill the 2 containers I ordered, so one of the men went...somewhere...to get more hummus. While I waited (5 minutes perhaps), I was offered coffee (which I declined since I'd just had one), a strawberry (which was perfect in color, shape, and taste, sooooo delicious), and a cigarette (which I also declined, being a non-smoker). I had experienced wonderful hospitality in Jerusalem while staying with the family of a friend from home ("You are in your second home'" they so generously and graciously told me), but now receiving from a stranger, I was beginning to understand Arab hospitality even more. I think it may rival Indian hospitality, but the jury's still out on that one...

I got my hummus and walked back up the hill. On the way I bought some apples and tangerines and hurried back to the house, realizing along the way that I hadn't bought my custard apples. I'd have to remember for next time... Once at the house, I scarfed down some hummus and pita, having not really eaten before doing my shopping and headed over to Project Hope, only to find that my class had been rescheduled for an hour later. The woman in charge of scheduling classes had sent me a text, but I hadn't checked my phone, so it wasn't her fault for me arriving (now) an hour early. Guess I need to check my phone messages more regularly... Going back to the house to relax for a bit before the class, I ran into another volunteer who was going walking in the market. Now that I had another free hour, I walked with him and bought my custard apples. Yay! I've eaten one and I think they are a different variety than the ones I ate in India, but it was still quite tasty and I still have 4 more to eat. The other volunteer also showed me his favorite place to buy hummus. I am looking forward to becoming a connoisseur of hummus while I'm here. I am equally looking forward to more explorations and adventures in the market. That's all for now.

Nablus New Start

2012-01-17T07:33:00.000-05:00

Today is my third day in Nablus, Palestine. I arrived on Sunday afternoon after spending a few days in Jerusalem.

My first day I got settled into the volunteer housing., saw a little of the city, got a new SIM card for my phone, and had a lovely dinner with the other Project Hope volunteers. For those who don't know, I'm spending the next two months teaching English and maybe other things here in Nablus. If you want to know more about Project Hope, they have a website, www.projecthope.ps. Check it out. There are currently 9 of us volunteering here, but several are leaving soon and others will be coming, so the number will fluctuate over the time I'm here. Currently, volunteers are from the U.S., Australia, New Zealand, England, and France.

It's chilly here and today it's rainy. Thankfully, we have space heaters in our living space and lots of blankets for our beds. We turn the space heaters off overnight, so we don't use so much electricity, but the blankets have kept me cozy warm. During the day, dressing in layers is working pretty well. We are also asked to be very mindful of our water use, since the tank for the house is filled every few days and if we use all the water...well, we wait until the tank is filled again. The Israelis control water access in Palestine, though in Israel, Israeli water use is not limited...

I haven't yet established a routine, but what is clear is that it will be very different from my India routine. Whereas in India, I got up at 6:00 and was the last one to wake up by an hour or so, here I got up a little after 8:00 and was one of the first. My first morning I set my alarm for 7:20. No one was up then and I stayed in my warm bed until I heard others stirring.

My teaching schedule is a work in progress and, from what I can tell by talking to volunteers, it will be a work in progress the whole time I'm here. I was supposed to have my first class last night with a group of guys who had completed the first level but wanted to work on their speaking skills. The class was supposed to be at 6:00 in the evening. They arrived at 6:50. We didn't have class and set the class for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday from 6:30 to 7:30. We'll see what happens tonight. This morning I did get to teach a class, going to a center where I had a group of 10 to 13 year-olds; there were 13 or 14 kids, I think. The first class is always a process of figuring out what the kids know. These kids were more advanced than I was expecting them to be, so I didn't do a whole lot of teaching, but did learn (most of) their names, learn a little about them, their interests and families and discovered one set of vocabulary that I can teach them. The director of the center said they like worksheets. I'm not much of a worksheet person. I suppose we'll meet somewhere in the middle on that...

From my first few days here, I've realized that my motto for my time away from home, "be flexible" is going to be very important here. Things are much more in flux than they were in Chatra. Things that will change over the time I'm here include who I'll be living with, what I'll be teaching, what my day-to-day schedule is, to name a few. One thing I didn't mention in my "Missing" post that I will really miss is the hour of community prayer I had with the sisters. That time served to help me to process and/or let go of the stresses of each day. I definitely need to find a way, a time, a space to do that for myself here. I'll let you know when I figure that out. Maybe I'll use the quiet mornings for that...

Here I think I'll be able to get out more than I did when I was in Chatra, to explore Nablus in a way I didn't explore Chatra. Though some people get nervous at the mention of Palestine, in general things here are pretty safe. No worries about pickpockets or theft. I have more freedom to wander, something which was not encouraged in Chatra because of Maoist activity in the area.

So there is a little introduction to the next few months. Already I've heard stories of Palestinians that I'm sure I'll begin to share with you soon. I look forward to writing more since there is a computer at the house and WiFi. Until the next time...

Missing

2012-01-14T10:31:00.000-05:00

It was wonderful spending some time with my parents in Spain and it was hard to say good-bye to them. Besides their company, they brought letters and cards from friends and family at home, a wonderful treat, especially the ones written by hand. Certainly the people I love are the hardest to be away from. However, I often have the chorus of the Stephen Stills' song in my head: "If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with." And so I am trying to extend the love I have received to those I meet. Incidentally, as I was cleaning out my wallet before I left India, I found a tiny folded-up fortune in the change pocket. I have no idea how long it had been in there; I took a few things out of there that I know had been in there for years, but that's not important. What is important and I have felt all along as I've been traveling is what the fortune said: "You will always be surrounded by true friends." That has seemed to be my fortune thus far and I feel so fortunate to continually cross paths with amazing people who have been welcoming and friendly towards me.

All that said, what I really meant to write about here are the things I will and will not miss about the places I've been so far...

When I started writing, I was on the ferry going from Morocco to Spain. If you are Facebook friends with my mom you know we nicknamed it the barfferry- I'll let you figure out why; thankfully, my parents and I were not among the nauseated. We were in Morocco less than 48 hours and were only in Tangier, so I didn't have much time to grow attached to much, but I will miss the amazing spearmint tea. So so so yummy! Thankfully, in Israel and Palestine, it is also common to put mint in the tea. The lemon tarts were also pretty tasty. I won't miss the "guides" constantly approaching us in the guise of being helpful, but really looking to make some money from us. There was one particularly unpleasant encounter yesterday with a man "helping" a man we were with find a caftan. When our friend didn't buy one, the "helper" got nasty with him. I experienced a little of this aggressive hustling in India, too, but generally didn't engage with anyone who seemed overly interested in me and behaving thus, I got along just fine. Thankfully, there were many kind strangers who truly did just want to help me in India...

From Spain (Sevilla) I miss the street performers who seemed to be at every corner. I miss the ability to walk in the streets at night, feeling safe since everyone else in the city is also out strolling. I miss chocolate croissants, but in general, I won't miss the food, as the Spanish diet is not so vegetarian-friendly. I definitely miss being able to communicate easily with locals and read the street signs. I'm back to knowing virtually nothing of the local languages (Arabic and Hebrew), though I think I already know a whopping 5 or 6 words in Arabic now.

From India I don't miss the trash in the streets...or the excrement left there by cows, goats, or dogs, but I do miss the never-got-old novelty of the cows, goats, or water buffaloes in the streets. I don't miss the smells of urine or burning plastic. I do miss the smells of incense and the flowers that everyone seemed to have, either because they grew them themselves or bought them for decoration or religious purposes for their home or business. Marigolds in particular were everywhere. I won't miss bucket bathing or hand-washing my clothes, but will miss the reminders they gave me to be conservative in my water use. I don't miss the possibility of any number of mosquito-spread diseases or taking malaria medicine (I still have a few days left to take them). I do miss the little geckoes that sometimes hung out on the walls. I do miss the amazing variety of colors and patterns of women's saris and salwar kameez suits. I miss the food and the fact that in every single restaurant, there were many options for me, since so many Indians are vegetarian or eat meat only occasionally. And, of course, I miss the people.

But regardless of what I do or do not miss from the places I've been, I'll keep trying to love the culture and people of each new place I go. I'll do my best to love the one I'm with.

Lightning and Finn: Part 4- Calcutta

2012-01-13T06:52:00.001-05:00

It seems like I was in Calcutta a very, very long time ago, and considering all I've seen and the miles I've travelled since I was there, it is a long way away. Nevertheless, now that I have better computer access, I will try to get some posts done that I'd have liked to do months ago. I have a feeling from here on out, my posts won't go in chronological order, as I try to both write and post pictures from India and from my current travels. We'll see how I do...

Above is Victoria Memorial in Calcutta, named after Queen Victoria. I wish I had my guidebook to remind me of more of the history of the building. Both Finn and Lightning posed in front of it though I am only showing Lightning to the left. It has both permanent and temporary exhibits. To be honest, it's been so long that I don't remember the exhibits that I saw there. What I do remember (sadly) is the relief I felt that some of the rooms in the building were air-conditioned!

The building was surrounded y beautiful and peaceful gardens, which were lovely to walk in. Outside of the grounds were silver horse-drawn carriages to ride in. There were also a lot of these around Gateway of India in Mumbai, but I didn't get any pictures of them there. We decided not to take a carriage ride, but to walk.

We walked I'm not sure how many miles through the city and finally found ourselves at Mother Teresa's mission.

It was amazing to read about her life (and I read every word in the small museum), to sit by her tomb, and through a stroke of luck, go to mass (in Spanish) in the chapel next to her tomb.

Pictures could be taken of her tomb, but I decided to simply sit there and take in where I was. I did take a picture just outside the museum and tomb, next to a statue of Mother Teresa. One thing that struck me about the mission was that there was no obvious place to give a donation for the amazing work the sisters continue to do. I had to seek out one of the sisters to ask about doing so.

As I walked outside, some kids asked me to take their picture. I obliged. They walked along with me for a bit after finally wandering off. I had a nice dinner in the city and then returned to the house of the family who hosted me there for 2 nights. They were so lovely; the 2 daughters in the family taught me to count to 10 in Hindi. They tried to teach me the numbers in Bengali, too, but my brain wasn't as receptive to it...

On another day, we visited the India Museum, which was quite fascinating with exhibits on archaeology, native plants and their uses, animals of the world, the people and traditional clothing of India, fossils, and more. There was a charge to take pictures in the museum. I didn't pay it, but did sneak this picture (and get reprimanded for doing so!). The exhibits were great and very interesting, but sadly not well taken care of. See the thick layer of dust... Because much of the museum was open air, there wasn't a way to control the temperature or humidity around the exhibits, and it was obvious the elements had taken their toll on some things.

Calcutta was the last stop before joining up for my time with the SCNs. Lightning, Finn, and I took a train from Calcutta to Ranchi. The ride was 7 hours long and we chose to ride in one of the nicer cars. It cost about $17 and we received a bottle of water, tea (twice), breakfast and lunch, and a newspaper to read. Not bad! The windows were tinted, so I couldn't get a good picture of the landscape, but here's Finn posing in front of the window.

I suppose that's all for this post. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more soon, especially more pictures! Peace.

Easy

2012-01-06T13:43:00.000-05:00

It might be easy to forget that I just spent 4 months in India, if I spent some time here in Seville. Life here is very comfortable, at least for us tourists. Living in comfort lulls me into the feeling that everyone is living as comfortably as I am...

In the streets or on sidewalks of Seville there are no cows, goats, stray dogs, or trash. We can walk around the city without a cacophony of car horns constantly assaulting us. I haven't smelled urine or burning trash once. At the end of the day I can blow my nose and what comes out isn't black. People are well-dressed and seem to have places to go. There aren't large numbers of people sleeping in the bus station, the train station, or out on the sidewalk. Everyone is fully clothed. It would be easy to forget the millions in India who are fighting to survive except...

Except for the Mehndi still on my hands that reminds me of my last days in India. Except for the man we've seen sleeping on the same bench over the last few days. Or the man checking all the pay phones for change. Or the man eating from the dumpster in front of our hotel. Or the woman wearing the plastic bag going through the Burger King dumpsters. There are people struggling in Spain, too, and when I see them I think of the countless, yes there are so many they are countless, people struggling in India who were so much a part of the landscape, so normal to see that they were almost forgettable. What I mean is that with a few exceptions, I couldn't tell you about individual poor people I saw in India as I was traveling because they were everywhere. Everywhere. The people I met and worked with I will remember, of course, and have told and will continue to tell their stories (there's still so many to tell) but I don't remember too many specific people I simply saw like I remember specific people struggling here. In Seville the poor seem to be the exception rather than the rule. In India, the poor seem to be the rule rather than the exception.

It would be easy to forget the poor of India and sink into the comfort of Spain. But I will not. I cannot. If I do, my time away from home will have been worthless. I'm glad I'll be headed to Palestine soon, so that I'll be, I imagine, out of my comfort zone again. When I am comfortable, it is so easy to fall back into patterns that don't do much to benefit anyone but myself (and even that is a questionable statement if I believe that my well-being is tied into the well-being of the rest of the world). And so, in a few days, I'll opt again to leave the easy, to enter what will put me at dis-ease, so that I remember the dis-ease of so many Indians and so many others and try to break my selfish personal patterns permanently, so that when I go back to my own culture and comfort, I don't forget. Maybe then I'll work a little harder so others, like so many in India, have it a little easier.

Children, part 3: Beggars

2011-12-23T21:48:00.000-05:00

I was waiting at the train station a few nights ago and was approached at various points by children who were begging. I hadn't eaten dinner and had walked I'm not sure how many miles that day, so I was trying to buy a little something to munch on. I first bought a tangerine and it was at that point that some kids started following me. Next I bought samosas and I bought a couple extra to give to the kids staring at me. They followed me and a few more materialized as I bought some cookies, but I didn't buy any for them. My thoughts wavered between the warnings I'd been given not to give to beggars and something I'd read about how Mother Teresa always carried food (and I think some money, too), so that she could always give to anyone who approached her. I am no Mother Teresa, I can assure you; in fact, during the day I was rather nasty at various points to people I encountered trying to sell me this or that or convince me to ride in their rickshaws. However, in the station my eyes and heart could not ignore the young faces before me, so my feeble attempt to relieve the ache in my heart was to buy two extra samosas. The ache remained.

I then proceeded to my platform to wait for the train. There didn't seem to be any beggars except along the first platform, which I had left. My train was late (only by a couple hours, which is pretty good, given that some trains are 6, 8, 12, even over 24 hours late here, especially this time of year when dense fog is a big problem), so I was standing on the platform longer that expected. I was in Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, and waiting for the same train was a young American couple, who came to India for a wedding and were also doing some sightseeing. The woman had been to Europe; the man had never been out of the U.S. before. India was quite a culture shock for both of them. The man, in particular, seemed quite frustrated with the dirt, poverty, and difficulties he'd encountered, more, I think, because of his own discomfort than because some people have to live such harsh realities every day. Of course, I've had my own such times, so who am I to judge him...?

As we stood there chatting, the kids showed up again, one or two at a time, to beg. The man was clearly getting angry with their persistent presence. Using a little of my Hindi, I tried to tell the kids assertively, but not angrily, to go. One boy remained and I put my hand gently on his head, looked him straight in the eyes and said, "I have nothing for you, but my real wish is for you to have an education, so that you wouldn't have to be here begging." Of course, he didn't understand my words, but I felt the need to let him know that I knew he was there and a real person, even if he didn't know what I was saying. Eventually he left. My heart ached for him and for the others there without, as far as I could tell, any adult supervision, though maybe there was someone out of sight the kids were begging for. Who knows?

As I continued talking to the couple, I found out that the woman is a music teacher in a school for kids with learning disabilities. I told her about my teaching, both in the U.S. and in India. As we talked about our students, I kept looking at the dirty kids begging at the train station: the kids who were probably old enough to be in kindergarten through maybe fourth or fifth grade and the little toddler boy with them with only a sweater on, no pants, no shoes. Besides the life they were born into, were these kids different from those I've taught or the woman teaches? For awhile the station kids were huddled together spinning a few of the coins they'd been given, laughing and having fun. The difference between their begging and the child who begs her mom for a particular snack or his dad for some toy is that the station children are asking something of strangers, not of people who know and love them. Would we be angry at our own children if they were telling us they were hungry and were asking us for food? I doubt it.

Yes, the station kids' begging could be seen as annoying, but it shames me even to use the word "annoying," as it implies that the children themselves are the problem, when the real problems are the inaccessibility of food, water, clothing, shelter, and education. If the children's needs were met, would they be at the station? Anger is an appropriate response. Anger directed towards the children is misplaced. Much easier, but misplaced.

I stood there wondering what else I can do to make another tiny dent in the mammoth structure called "Injustice." I don't yet have an answer, but I'm glad that most of my time in India was spent hammering at that structure and I'd glad I lived with and met so many SCNs and other people who have made hammering their life work. I'm glad I've been here long enough to understand a little bit about some people's lives here, though I have a long way to go in my learning, I know. Otherwise, I might feel the same misplaced anger and/or condescension that I saw in the man.

Our train finally came. The couple went off to find their train car and I to find mine. Right before I got on the train, I saw the little boy I'd spoken to in English, found the last few cookies I hadn't eaten, and gave them to him. Still a woefully inadequate response, but maybe it means that that night, he had to beg from one less person...

My greatest wish for this Christmas is that no more children be born into a life of begging. My wish for myself is that I become more aware of people's needs, so that I may give more freely from my abundance. My wish for us all is that the Advent season of waiting and preparation that is ending leads us to experience and share the gratitude, joy, generosity, and peace of this Christmas season.

Children, part 2: Stuff

2011-12-17T20:31:00.000-05:00

Each day when I went to Chetna Bharati in Chatra, I'd bring a few toys and other props for class: my cell phone, sunglasses, a bracelet, and some funny pictures like a purple dog, a cow with earrings, and others. Finn and Lightning, the two cars who have been featured in some photos in earlier posts (and will be featured in the future!) also came with me. The sunglasses were quite popular, as I taught the girls that the one wearing them must stick her thumb up and say, "Keeeeewwwwweeelllll."

Most recently, I brought some of my clothes, since we were practicing the words " put on," "take off," and " wear." We had some good laughs as the small girls put on one of my T-shirts or skirts over their own clothes. The T-shirts came down to their knees and the pants and skirts had to be held up. Quite a sight to see!! I can't think of another class I've ever taught in which I would feel comfortable handing my jewelry, my clothes, or my phone over to kids. Generally, in my classes, if I have something to pass around, I closely monitor kids as they pass things. With my girls (yes, I have claimed them as "my" girls) as they asked "Please may I have ____," I'd hand the requested item over and then move onto the next girl who asked for a different item. Often after distributing things, I'd have them stand up and go to each other to ask in English for whatever item they may want. Those conversation times were organized chaos, with all girls up and moving, and, to my great delight, speaking in English. When it was time to stop, I collected the items back and never, not once, was anything missing nor did anything come back damaged. The girls always returned everything without hesitation.

There is one little boy, maybe 3 years old, who was orphaned a year ago. Each day when I arrived, he greeted me excitedly. Before class began, I used to ask him, "Do you want the blue car or the red car?" He would think hard for a minute about this important decision and then make his choice. Towards the end of my time, when I'd arrive he'd say in his sweet little voice, "I want blue car red car." We didn't quite master "and." He played with the cars and at break time brought them back to me. After break, he took them again and played until the end of class and then, without me having to say a word, brought the cars back to me.

I visited another branch of Chetna Bharati a month or so ago. All girls live there, too. I had put my small foam ball and, ever faithful to the promise to my nephews to take Lightning and Finn everywhere I went, the two cars in my back pack. Like at Hunterganj weeks before, I played catch with the girls and later gave the ball to them to play with for awhile. I also took out the cars for them to play with. As far as I could tell, there was not a single toy where they lived besides those 3 items I brought. The girls went off to play and came back later pulling the cars by strings they'd tied around them. Like my girls in Chatra, when it was time to stop playing, there was no arguing. They handed me the toys and moved on.

When I originally wrote this, it was Black Friday in the States. People were buying all sorts of things they and/or their loved ones probably didn't need. It is a stark contrast to these girls and little boy who have every right to want stuff they don't have and yet as far as I can tell, they don't complain about their lack of things and they are absolutely respectful of mine, things they may never have in their life. They enjoyed holding, using, or trading those things while I was there, but easily gave them back when it was time to. Without toys, they still played and had fun. They didn't seem to be too attached to stuff.

They are attached to people. They cried when the novices left them in November. We cried together when I left Chatra a few days ago. After the SCNs I lived with, I spent the most time with the girls at Chetna Bharati.

When I think about my houseful of stuff in the States, I think Hindi may not be the only thing I can learn from my girls. I hope that I can let go of some of my well-ingrained American attachment to stuff, buying less and giving more easily. Because both consumerism and materialism are deeply imbedded in my being, I have a long way to go on the path away from them, but I think the example of my girls will help me take a few more steps in the right direction: towards people and away from so much stuff.

Sisters of Charity of Nazareth

2011-12-07T07:52:00.000-05:00

Since I've spent the last 3 months living with eight Sisters of Charity of Nazareth and two candidates and since this past weekend kicked off the celebration of the SCN becentennial, it seems only appropriate to dedicate a post to these amazing women.

I'm not sure what it was that prompted me to ask an SCN friend of mine about the possibility of working with them in India, but I am so glad I did. Honestly, I didn't know much about SCNs, but knew they worked in India and knew that the ones I did know were impressive women. When I told a friend from another congregation about my interest in going to India, she gave me information about her order's missions in India, but I never pursued it, confident for reasons I still don't understand that it was the SCNs I would be working with. Obviously I made it here and couldn't be more pleased about it.

"O daughters of Catherine, simple and free,
Pioneer women, we are called to be,
With the love of Christ, urging us on"

The above words are the refrain of a song we often sing during evening prayer, based on the SCN mission and charism. I can say that the words accurately reflect my experience with the SCNs here.

Pioneer women. As I've been writing my blog posts, I've mentioned no one by name, unless I've quoted a song or text. I've thought about mentioning this person or that, but in the end decided to simply describe them. As I write this post, it seems appropriate to break that trend and say something about Sister Ann Roberta, one of the six SCN pioneers to leave the U.S. in 1947 to come to India. Incidentally, the day I began writing this, December 5, was her birthday. When she left her home in 1947, she did so thinking she'd never see American soil again. That was the commitment she and the others made. I'll be away from home about 9 months and I communicate often with family and friends. I can't imagine making the decision to leave permanently to go to a land about which I know very little without any means of regular communication. That is true commiment. As it turns out, she has gotten to go back to the States to visit, but India is and will remain her home.

There is something so compelling about Sister Ann Roberta. She exudes peacefulness and joy. I have gotten to be around her on numerous occasions. She lives in Gaya, a place that we have passed through numerous times going to and from Mokama and Patna. We also visited Gaya for Diwali. When we arrive, she is always there to greet us with a warm smile and hug. She sits with us as we drink tea and eat our tiffin, always offering us whatever is in the house to eat (true of all SCN houses I've visited). She has a keen memory and is a wonderful storyteller. I could listen to her for hours. She also has a wonderful sense of humor, sharing that lightness with those around her. I asked to talk a picture with her one time and afterwards showed it to her. Her response was something like, "When I see pictures of myself, I always wonder, 'Who is that old woman?'" She may be old in body, but not in spirit and her smile and laughter radiate from deep within.

That joyfulness is a quality I have experienced with so many SCNs. It has been a long time since I've lived with others and it's not always easy here to share space. I think living in community is challenging for anyone, though. In community meetings in Chatra, discussions sometimes get heated. But then a compromise is reached or a decision is made, the meeting ends, and everyone is cutting up and laughing. Laughter comes easily. Like I have observed with children in various places, with the SCNs, work does not seem to be dull drudgery, perhaps because it is shared work. The work itself may not be interesting, but the company shared in doing it makes it fun!

And let me talk about the work they are doing. In the compound in Chatra, we (I know I'm not an SCN, but I'm still working with them for a few more days!) are serving about 2000 childnre in the 3 schools. Yes, there are other lay teachers and staff, but the SCNs provide leadership and are at the heart of everything that happens on campus. Ninety or so of the girls attending the schools live on campus in a hostel. At least in these parts, it is very common for children (as young as kindergarten age) to go to another town and live in a hostel so they have a chance at a good education. One of the young SCNs here is in charge of the hostel girls.

Last week during the community meeting, there was a discussion about a proposal brought to the house for 40-50 more girls to come live on campus for another educational program. Some money would be given to support them, but the SCNs would ultimately be responsible for the girls' well-being on campus. My first thought was, "No possible way. Everyone (except me) already has such a full plate." The SCN response was, "How could we not help these girls get an education? What do we need to do to make this happen?" The love of Christ is certainly urging them to see not limits, but possibilities. Currently, preparations are being made so the girls can come.

I have seen numerous large events- the feast day celebration, a fair, two Annual Day programs, and a Sports Day program all come together as if there were many more people making them happen. Everyone puts in whatever work needs to be done to make them successful. I've helped a little with the events, but have not put in the long hours of labor before and after than everyone else in the house has. I can at least say I've taken some good photographs of the events, though, and was the "official photographer" of Sports Day. That as fun!

Also in Chatra is Chetna Bharati from where girls and boys get a rudimentary education and with it, the possibility of more formal schooling. Self-help groups, women's groups, trainings and workshops on various topics, and many other projects also come from Chetna Bharati's tireless work towards a more just world. From here the unjust systems at work are challenged. Actually, it might be more accurate to say that unjust systems are explained to those who are being denied their rights, so that they can stand up and speak for themselves. It's all about empowerment.

These are examples of only a few of the many ministries of the SCNs in India. Their work also includes work in hospitals, work with persons affected by leprosy and polio, work with children of sex workers, and many others. A number of you have said very kind things to me about my presence here, and I thank you for your support, but I have to say that my short-term and rather relaxed commitment is nothing compared to the work these women have committed their lives to do. I am so fortunate to have the opportunity to work with them and learn from them.

I'll also say that as my time is almost over, I am encouraged to have heard the words, "the next time you come..." several times while I was in Mokama last weekend. I hope with all my heart that there will be many next times for me with the SCNs here. I am certain my relationship with them will continue and, as with any new relationship, I look forward to seeing how it will continue to develop.

What's in a day? Part 2

2011-12-03T07:25:00.002-05:00

I've described the first half of the day; now let me continue...

1:45- I walk to Chetna Bharati. It's about a 10-minute walk, through the compound where I live, then up the road, then along a narrow path. During my walk, I pass multiple cows, maybe some goats or a pig. I always receive unwanted stares from others walking along the road or from people in passing vehicles. There isn't another foreigner for many miles around, so sometimes people gawk. My presence has even been the subject of several articles in local newspapers, some more accurate than others. I have copies of 5 of them. I know there are at least 2 more where I am either talked about or in a picture. Who would've thought?

Anyway, when I arrive at Chetna Bharati, I am greeted with even greater enthusiasm than when I walk to school in the morning. "Good afternoon, didi (the affectionate word for sister)!" The girls are often finishing lunch when I get there, so my arrival prompts a flurry of activity as girls finish eating, wash their plates, and come up to class.

The girls living and studying at Chetna Bharati are grouped according to ability: there are red, yellow, and green groups. I teach the girls in the green group. They range in age from, I'd guess 7 or 8 to maybe 14. I haven't taught them what in the U.S. would be a normal introductory question: How old are you? Most do not know their age, nor do they know their birthdays. When they were enrolled in the program, if these facts were unknown, their ages were estimated and each was given a "birthdate." I was talking to someone here about birthdays and was told that celebrating birthdays is a fairly new thing in India because community has always been more important than individuals. I know there was more explanation given, but that's all I remember.

2:00- Class starts with the ringing of the bell, again a metal disk that is hit. I greet the girls and ask, "How are you?" Most now answer, "I am fine, thank you," but some enthusiastically say, "I am thank you," which I then correct. Incidentally, I have recently taught them other words to answer this question, so after the rote group response, I ask individuals the same question. "Happy" is a common response, especially because I ask a follow-up question like "Do you want to dance or jump?" (Those are thing I might do if I'm happy.) After they answer, they get to do that action. For a laugh, someone may answer, "I am sick," which prompts me to ask, "Are you very sick?" If the answer is yes, then there is a vomiting gesture made by the "sick" girl, causing great merriment for all. If someone answers hungry, the follow-up is something like "Do you want to eat an elephant?" The whole class, 2 hours long, goes like this. Lots of laughter, lots of movement, as they act out vocabulary or stand and practice new questions and answers with each other. I've also taught them Simon Says and Mother May I?, both of which are wildly popular, especially when I let them play the part of Simon or Mother. We sing, too, the most recent song being BINGO. I'm sure the teacher next door is not too happy with all the noise we make, and I do try to quiet the girls down sometimes, but honestly I don't want to dampen their joyful spirits or enthusiasm for learning. As far as I'm concerned, if their noise is in English, it's fine by me! I have only had to be stern with the whole group twice over my three months and rarely do I have to say anything to individuals about their behavior.

3:00 There is a 5-minute break in the middle of class, and we often don't even realize an hour has gone by until the other groups walk through (they have to go through our room to get to/from theirs). Those who want a break go and come back quickly. Many choose not to go and will check out whatever I may be getting out of my basket for the second half of class.The second hour goes equally fast.

I have to say the two hours at Chetna Bharati are usually the best hours of my day. I am continuously amazed and crazily proud of how much English the girls have learned. I'm told that my teaching-style is quite different from the average Indian teacher. Knowing that some of my girls will get the opportunity for further schooling, I only hope their enthusiasm for learning is not squelched by more conventional teaching styles. My results have been so positive that I was asked to lead several teacher trainings while I've been here, an unexpected and wonderful honor. I have also been observed numerous times by various teachers. My success makes me realize just how much I have learned from my own teachers, teaching colleagues, and students and I am ever grateful to them for helping me become a better teacher.

4:00- When class ends, I drink tea, usually accompanied by good conversation with any of several people working at Chetna Bharati. This is usually a time when I hear and learn about the social activists and movements going on in India. Topics might include right to education, land rights, women's empowerment, or more recently, the emerging details of the murder of a nun working for the rights of coal miners. She was brutally murdered on November 15. Investigations are still going on, but one of the contributing factors leading to her death may have been that on November 16, she was going to help a rape victim file an official report denouncing the rape. As I'm typing, I have to stop because I don't even have words to express the horror of it.

4:30 to 6:30- After my tea/social justice education, I return to the compound and convent. By this time the cows and goats may be on their way home, sometimes with obvious human accompaniment, sometimes without.

Often when I enter the compound, the girls from the hostel are cleaning the campus. This includes picking up trash, sweeping all areas, whether paved or dirt, burning trash, and preparing their dinner. Some of the youngest girls will come running up to me to have the privilege of carrying my basket back to the house. If there are more than 2 girls, I'll hand out individual items until they all have something to carry. When I arrive back to the house, the sisters are usually sitting at the table having their tea and chatting, so I often join them for the conversation, not the tea. Of course, if there are good snacks, I may eat something!

After tea I usually go to my room and check email. If I washed clothes in the morning, I take the dry clothes down, fold them, and put them away. Sometimes I'll read or write a little.

6:30 to 7:30- We gather in the chapel for evening prayer. Before entering we take our shoes off. Many of us sit on cushions on the floor (sitting on the floor is standard practice in many situations here); some sit in chairs. There is a rotation for leading prayer. Each of the 8 sisters and the 2 candidates takes a turn. I also joined the rotation after I'd been here awhile. Prayer is conducted in English, though sometimes Hindi songs are used. Usually there is a lot of quiet time for reflection and there is always time to share our prayer petitions. I am so grateful for this time. I am particularly grateful for this time on the days when I walk into the chapel ready to scream. I always leave feeling much better than when I enter. I hope I will have the discipline when I leave here to continue making time for quiet reflection.

7:30- Dinnertime. The meal includes leftovers from lunch, some new vegetables, and, once or twice a week, meat. I am vegetarian, so there is a paneer (mild Indian cheese) dish for me when the sisters eat meat. After dinner, as at the other 2 meals, fruit is served. Because the weather is cold now, hot water is served to drink. Most of the sisters don't drink it until after they've eaten. I usually drink cold water and drink it throughout the meal. After dinner everyone participates in the cleanup, clearing the table, washing and drying the dishes, and putting them away. There always seems to be laughing and joking going on during this time, but actually there is a lot of laughing and joking at most meals or any time a few of us are together.

8:15ish to 10:30ish- After dinner, the sisters watch the news, sometimes in Hindi, sometimes in English. After the news there's a soap opera some of them watch. I may watch the news, but always go to my room before the soap. I get ready for bed, which lately includes putting up the mosquito net, something I didn't have to do often when I first arrived. Then I'll read, write, maybe listen to my iPod, and go to bed. And after sleeping, it all begins again...

The description that I've given here is a workday. It seems that almost every week, we have a day off for a holiday or a special program. This week we didn't have classes Monday because of the English medium Annual Day program Sunday. Friday we only had a 3-period day because of the high school's sports day starting in the late morning. The school week is supposed to be a 6-day week (with a 1/2 day Saturday) but most often the school week is 4 or 5 days, at least while I've been here. I am only scheduled to teach Monday through Friday anyway. I go to Chetna Bharati 4 days a week, whether school is in session in the compound or not.

That sums up "regular life" here. Of course, traveling interrupts the routine. This weekend I'm in Mokama for the SCN bicentennial celebration and in a couple weeks, I will be leaving Chatra to travel a little more in India (including going to a wedding!) and then Spain, ending any sort of "regular life" until I get settled in Palestine in mid-January.

Until I go, I'll enjoy the last few days of the routine...

What's in a day?

2011-11-27T18:00:00.053-05:00

Some have asked what exactly I do here… Let me walk you through a typical day. Actually, to give you a good feel, there may be some explaining to do, so I’ll split this up into 2 parts. Let me start with the first half:

6:00 AM- I get up. This time is an hour to an hour and a half later than anyone else in the house gets up. By house standards, waking up at 6:00 is sleeping in. The sisters are already at mass (which begins at 5:45 AM) when I get up. I usually check my mail or Facebook on my phone (oh, how glad I am that I can access them from my phone!), do some exercises, take my malaria medicine, and get dressed.

6:45 or 7:00- When the sisters return from mass, we have breakfast. There are two women who work in the convent, cleaning the common areas and preparing the food. Porridge with hot milk and sugar and a yummy chickpea dish served with chapatti (tortilla-like bread, made with wheat flour) are usually served for breakfast. Sometimes there are eggs instead of the chickpeas. After eating this, we have some sort of fruit. Lately, it’s been apples (about plum-sized and so yummy), guavas or papayas (from trees next to the convent), or bananas. Orange season is beginning. :) Custard apple season is over. :(

7:15 or 7:30- I continue getting ready for the day. This is usually when I bathe. That may be TMI, but because bathing is done differently than in the U.S., I thought it worth discussing. We recently got the solar water heater fixed, so I no longer have to go ask for "garam pani" (hot water) from the kitchen before bathing; I now have it in my room! The way to bathe here is by filling a bucket (which I'd estimate holds about 5-gallons) with water and then using a small plastic pitcher to pour the water over one’s body, soaping up, and rinsing the soap off, again using the pitcher. There is a showerhead in my bathroom, but being very aware of how scarce water is here, even in a good rainy season, and how much more water I’d use if I showered, I’ve never tried the shower. Let me add that there is no separation between toilet, sink, and bathing area, so whatever water is poured falls on the bathroom floor. Using the shower would just increase the areas where the water would fall. After bathing I have a squeegee to guide the water to the drain in the bathroom floor, so the floor dries more quickly.

Alternately, I may have clothes to wash. I have a separate bucket for bathing water and washing water. The directions on my Tide powder bag are “for bucket wash” and start with something like “Take a ½ handful of powder and dissolve it in water in the bucket.” There are no directions on the package for any other way of washing. I soak the clothes in the bucket of soapy water for a bit and then take them up to the roof where there is a washing area with a ridged surface to scrub the clothes. After scrubbing and rinsing, the clothes go on the clothesline.

8:15 or 8:30- I head over to school. This mean about a 1-minute walk from the convent across the concrete patio area of the school to the school building. In that 1-minute walk, I get greeted with a sing-songy “Good morning, sister” or by those in-the-know, “Good morning, miss” by approximately a jillion kids. It’s pretty sweet when they come running up to greet me. The bell rings (meaning the appointed student or adult strikes a metal disk hanging in the courtyard) for 8:30 assembly. On campus, there are 3 schools: the Hindi medium, the English medium, and the high school. The difference between the English medium and the other schools is that primary language of instruction is in English.

Every school has its own assembly during which each class stands in lines of boys and girls (usually 2 lines of each, since the classes are large). In the English medium school where I teach (and I assume it’s the same at the other schools), a group of 6 to 8 children from a different class each day leads the morning assembly. First, they lead exercises. Then they lead in the recitation of a prayer and the singing of a song. Then while the rest stand respectfully, the leaders may recite poetry, ask trivia questions, give a “Did you know…?” fact or two and/or give an inspirational thought for the day. That is followed by either the national anthem or a patriotic pledge. Students in grades 2 to 7 lead this way. After the students have done their part of the assembly, the principal makes any announcements that need to be made. LKG (pre-school), UKG (kindergarten), and first grade meet separately and have a similar assembly which teachers primarily lead, but the little ones do lead songs for each other.

8:30 to 11:30ish- I have 3 classes. When I first arrived, I taught computer- 2 days each with grades 5, 6, and 7. One day is theory; one day is practical, when we go to the computer lab. When I began teaching, we were not able to use the lab, because the electricity was not sufficient to support all the computers being on. Now students go to the high school computer lab, which works very well. A few weeks after I arrived, a teacher was hired to teach computer, so I started co-teaching first grade. I was very thankful that there were two of us working with this group, as there are 60-ish children in the class. There is a lot of energy in those little ones!! For quite a while we worked on “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly"; they just sang and acted it out during the annual day program on Sunday. As of yesterday, I am back to teaching computer, since the teacher hired has been let go. Finding qualified teachers is difficult...

I have a break after first period. Usually, I get ready for the other two classes then. After 2nd period, the kids have a break. Here children don’t move from classroom to classroom, teachers do, so the kids have 10ish-minute breaks to stretch their legs, use the bathroom, etc. Third and fourth periods I teach grades 7 and 6. They are a lot of fun and their English is quite good! One thing I should add: when I (or any other teacher) enter the room, the students stand and greet me with a chorus of “Good morning, miss.” Students who come to the classroom after the teacher is there wait at the door and ask, “Please may I come in.” At the end of class, students again stand and say, “Thank you, miss.” This is rather endearing, especially on the days when I lack patience. In the sixth grade there are 50 students and in seventh, 40. That’s a lot more kids than I’m used to having in class, so it has been an adjustment! Thankfully, even when they are a bit naughty, they’re pretty lovely kids!

11:30 to 2:00 I come back to the convent and have tea (the sisters who teach drink tea during the student break), usually with one sister who is still recovering from angioplasty surgery 3 months ago. She is quite lovely, so I enjoy sitting and talking to her. Around noon, everyone comes back for lunch. Lunch is rice, chapatti (people usually take either rice or chapatti, not both), dal (a soupy lentil dish) and various vegetable dishes. These might include cauliflower, potatoes, green beans, squash, green papaya, or whatever else is in the garden or can be bought in the market. After the meal, like at breakfast, fruit is served. Then the sisters go back to school and I get ready for my class at Chetna Bharati.

That sums up the first part of the day. As I finish up, I realize that I haven't mentioned the lack of electricity, which is the norm rather than the exception. Maybe I've adjusted to things a little since I arrived. The above routine all seems pretty ordinary now to me now, but when I think about a typical day in the States, well, there are a few differences!! I imagine you'd agree!

Learning the Language

2011-11-23T06:58:00.003-05:00

According to my Lonely Planet guidebook, eighteen languages are officially recognized by the Indian constitution and in the last census over 1600 minor languages and dialects were listed. Though I’m pretty good with languages, I decided only to work on one while I'm in this country.

Before recently, except for a few select words and phrases, Hindi mostly sounded like gibberish to me. I still don’t understand much, but I have been hearing it long enough that the sounds are familiar now. What’s cool is that both with and without my conscious effort, my brain is starting to organize those sounds.

I feel like I’m going to make some big gains in my Hindi acquisition in my last month here. Not only is my brain getting chummy with the sounds of Hindi, I have now heard some language patterns enough that I can ask, “What does the ___ ending mean?” because I now actually notice that the ___ending exists. I know enough Hindi to see grammatical patterns emerging as I learn new phrases. The structures are becoming clearer, even though they are very different from other languages I’ve studied. Just to give an example, the word order in the question, “What is your name?” is “Your name what is?” in Hindi. It takes some getting used to…

Having a linguistics background and being a language teacher, I have to say it’s a lot of fun to both participate in and observe my own language acquisition. It’s been a long time since I’ve taken on a new language and during my time abroad, I’ll be tackling two!! I only wish I had something better than my little Berlitz travel phrase book to help me learn (though my Chetna Bharati girls seem to have fun looking at it)! Nevertheless, I am learning and it’s fun to surprise people when I break out with a Hindi word or two, or sometimes even…a sentence!

Teaching at Chetna Bharti has probably most helped me to learn… My need to translate things so I can teach them is great motivation for my own language acquisition. For most of my time teaching at Chetna Bharati, I had SCN novices with me in my English class to help bridge the language gap. They’ve left Chatra now, so I’m on my own with the girls. They correct my Hindi (usually after laughing at my inability to pronounce words correctly!) as I try to translate what I want to teach them in English. We are learning together!

When I am volunteering in Palestine, I’m fairly certain that Arabic lessons are offered to volunteers. It’ll be interesting to see how long it takes my brain to realign itself from Hindi to Arabic. I am also curious to see the teaching method that will be used with us, since I know of too many cases of well-intentioned, but not particularly effective, language instruction.

Of course, besides Hindi, I am learning the nuances of the English dialect spoken here. There are a few words that are new to me, like (and I’m not sure I’m spelling it correctly since I’ve never seen it spelled) tiffin, which is a snack. What I call a notebook, people here call a copy. A grade (A, B, C, etc.) is a “mark.” “Standard” means grade (level), so I am teaching standards 1, 6, and 7. However, at the school where I teach, they say “class” instead of “standard,” so here I say I teach classes 1, 6, and 7. Tuition does not mean fees paid for classes. Here when someone talks about “taking tuition,” they are referring to what I’d call “tutoring.”

The use of the word “reach” really used to throw me. “When did you reach?” is a common question and I used to expect another word to follow it, but now I know “reach” is the last word in the question. So, while the meaning is similar to its meaning in American English, it needs no object. “I reached her there” does not mean I arrived to where she was, but rather that I brought her there. Today at the lunch table, I heard,” He’d better reach them on time,” which, in the context of the conversation meant “He had better bring them (books) on time.”

I’m sure I could give you many more examples. Of course, there are also all the intricacies of the non-verbal cultural languages; certainly there are many different cultural languages, too, as one travels from place to place. However, that is a discussion for another day!

Children, Part 1

2011-11-18T11:16:00.000-05:00

"I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside. Give them a sense of pride. Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be."

A few weeks ago I was at an ashram in Hunterganj, about an hour away from Chatra, where I live. I was there to lead several sessions of a teacher training. The ashram is part of Chetna Bharti and children (mostly girls) live there for at least a year, learning life skills like cooking and gardening, as well as "school skills;" you know the three Rs- Reading, wRiting, and aRithmetic. I spend 4 afternoons a week at Chetna Bharti's main center in Chatra. Girls come there for a similar year-long training and I teach English to some of the girls there.

The teachers I was working with at the ashram are new teachers who go into small villages and teach children in nonformal schools. This means they work with children a few hours a day trying to teach the most basic reading and math skills. Ideally, children at these schools will get at least a third grade education. Some may then go on for further schooling. Many will not.

Anyway, while I was at Hunterganj, I did as I do everywhere I go: I took lots of pictures, mostly of the children. During a break from the training, I was looking through my pictures and the Whitney Houston song I've quoted above popped into my head.

"These beautiful children are the future," I thought. Of course, this is true of all the children I have encountered, whether in my classroom in the States, a village in Guatemala, or an ashram in India. Each child in his or her own way will contribute to this world, hopefully in a postive way. At Hunterganj, children are learning not just simple gardening, but composting and sustainable agricultural practices. Every child, boy or girl, at some time does every job- cutting vegetables, hauling water, washing dishes, feeding the pigs, or anything else that needs to be done. They are learning to work, play, and live together as they come from different villages and different tribes. Their lives are very humble- we played a group game of catch and had wonderful time. I brought the ball. I'm pretty sure they don't have one there. As soon as I took my camera out, children seemed to materialize from nowhere to pose. They loved looking at the shots after I took them, as they don't often see pictures of themselves. Apparently, there was a lot of buzz among them about what they posed with- a broom, a knife, a bucket of water. Many of the pictures I took were as they were working. And boy, did they work! But they didn't seem to gripe about it. They seemed to enjoy working together. And when the work was done, they seemed to enjoy playing together. Though I'm sure life at the Hunterganj ashram is not as easy or perfect as I viewed it those days, it certainly seemed to me to be a beautiful vision of how India, or our world, could be.

Those children are being taught well that there is a time for work and a time for play. They are being taught well that we are all in this together and we need to work together to accomplish tasks. They are being taught well that there is dignity in work and that doing that work is something to be proud of, not something to look down on. And when they finish the work, or even while they are doing it, their joy is evident in the laughter that they share. This is the type of future I'd like to be a part of. I am glad I got to share a little piece of it in the present.

Sabbatical Year

2011-11-15T07:00:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago I was in Mokama for the silver and golden jubilee celebrations of several of the SCNs. Incidentally, Mokama is “where it all began” for the SCNs in India, so it seemed like a pretty important place to visit if I wanted to learn about the SCNs’ work here and I am glad I got to go. But that’s not what I’m here to write about…

During the homily of the jubilee mass, the priest reflected on the reading from Leviticus 25 about sabbatical and jubilee years. The reading says that farmers should rest the land every 7th year and that the aftergrowth from the harvest should be equally shared between landowner, slaves, hired help, and tenants. The reading goes on to say that God will make sure the fields yield enough in the sixth year to provide for several years, making that 7th year rest possible. The priest related that to life today. The sabbatical year, for the farmer then or for you and I now, is not about doing nothing for a year. Rather it is a time to rest from normal activity and do something different, with a special emphasis on acknowledging the abundant blessings God has granted, on knowing that all is possible through God and all is given to us by God; in other words, the year should be about gratitude.

Certainly I’ve heard people talking about taking sabbaticals, but I never really thought the term had any relevance in my life. College professors took sabbaticals. However, when I heard the priest speaking, I thought, “Ah, so that’s what I’m doing!” I taught at the same school for the last six years. My last year was incredibly, sometimes overwhelmingly, busy. However, like the field in its sixth year, my sixth year working there produced such an abundant yield that I am certain I will still be enjoying the fruits after this year is over. Friendships with colleagues were strengthened. The depth of student reflection went beyond that of previous years and we even put a collection of their writing together in a book. I was able to save enough money for this year away (I think). One goal I’d had since I began at the school, to lead an international service trip, finally happened. Those are just a few examples of the plentiful harvest from my sixth year of teaching. Of course, my personal life also held many blessings.

This year, my seventh, my sabbatical, I am living from the harvest. Every joy I experience here, like wearing my sari for the first time, is richer because I share it with friends at home. Likewise, the difficult moments, like when I am frustrated by my inability to communicate what I need to say, are easier, because of the love and support I know I have.

As I live off the fruits of last year’s work, I am resting from the particular work of teaching high school boys, and trying to share the aftergrowth and to use my time to do something different. I am teaching, but I am teaching English instead of Spanish; first, sixth, and seventh grades instead of high school; and in my afternoons, girls instead of boys. I’ve also had the privilege of conducting two teacher trainings, something I’ve never done before. I’m trying to learn Hindi and will try to learn Arabic when I am in Palestine. I am living in community after many years of living by myself. Let me also add something that may shock those who know my (messy) personal habits well: for the first time in my life, I am making my bed every day as soon as I get up. Yes, I am living differently! :) In fact, I can’t stand to leave my room with it unmade! (Yes, Mom, this is true.) My time here is more relaxed than at home, but I think I am using it, rather than wasting it.

Every night I participate in community prayer. A friend who recently made her final profession as a Benedictine sister wrote not long ago that she is convinced that if everyone took quiet reflection/prayer time daily in their lives, our world would be very different. I would have to agree with her. For me community prayer is a time when frustrations melt away as our focus always includes recognizing all the good things in our lives, so I am ever-aware of God’s goodness in my life. And, wow, what goodness there is! I certainly have a new appreciation for water and electricity. As I’ve said before, I have amazing support from friends and family, who, while physically far, are very much with me on this journey. I have made new friends as I travel and work. Each day I receive the smiles on the faces of students as they greet me. These days I see the golden splendor of the rice paddies ready for harvest. I enjoy going out to our terrace to see the amazing star-filled night sky with no street lights and buildings to hide it. I am overcome with joy by the way my afternoon girls respectfully handle any prop I bring for class, including a necklace, pair of earrings, and my cell phone. In other circumstance I might worry that these things would disappear or get broken, but I have never worried with the girls. There is the sweet cat at the house who never used to purr and now does all the time. I eat delicious food every day, and am having lots of fun trying new foods. Sadly, the season for my new favorite fruit, custard apples, is nearly over, though there were a few at the breakfast table this morning! I could go on…

And so, thus far, I think I am living my sabbatical year in the spirit it is meant to be lived, resting but active, mindful of the goodness around me. I hope I will continue to live it well during my next weeks in India, when I move on to Palestine in January, and anywhere else I go during my time away from home. As I write this, I am ever more aware of how fortunate I am, as there are many people, perhaps you included, who can only dream of such a year. Of course, I am surrounded by people who probably can neither take such a year or even dream of it… But maybe my way is only one of many ways to live a sabbatical year. Perhaps one can live differently and express gratitude in other ways, without leaving the country or leaving a job…I hope you have that good fortune. In the meantime, thank you for graciously sharing in mine.

Lightning and Finn: Part 3- Onam

2011-10-11T16:30:00.002-04:00

Lightning, Finn, and I were in Ft. Cochin, Kerala for the beginning of Onam, a statewide festival. For Onam, people make beautiful flower designs at their businesses or in their homes. Below is one that was made for the public square. It took several days for them to create this...

It was beautiful when they finished it....Can you imagine how many flowers it took to make?

To offset costs, there was a raffle. I can't remember what most of the possible prizes were, but I do remember one: a bag of rice! Since that is a staple of the diet here, it'd be a good prize to win!

On the second day of Onam, we got to share an Onam lunch with a family. First we spruced up their flower decoration (below)

There are particular foods prepared for Onam and it is tradition to eat the meal on a banana leaf. Seeing the spread, we were reminded of Thanksgiving Dinner!

The foods also have a particular place they go on the banana leaf. Rice (not served yet), goes in the middle. Bit by bit, mix the rice in with the various vegetables (it's a vegetarian meal). The rice soaks up the juices. All the mixing and eating is done with your hands. Most people eat with their right hands, but I was told it was OK to eat with my left. The important thing, I was told, is that the same hand used for eating not be used for serving. After the meal, it is very easy to clean up. Fold the banana leaf (away from you, so no leftover juices fall into your lap) and toss!

We left very full and thankful (so perhaps it was a Thanksgiving meal!) to the family who'd shared their tradition with us! It was here, by the way, that we sang "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria." Such fun. We went straight from this meal to the airport, headed for Calcutta!

Rips and tears

2011-10-09T07:00:00.001-04:00

There is reality and then there is REALITY. Certainly I've witnessed pieces of daily life and have seen the best of humanity in so many people I have encountered here. Undoubtedly my encounters are a part of the truth of India. They are the pieces of the tapestry that is India, so attractive; they have given me such a sense of peace.

But there are rips and tears, weaknesses in this tapestry, too. I have seen a few, as I've indicated in previous posts. The poverty accounts for some. The violence adds many more. Thankfully, I have not personally witnessed any violence, but I fear I was very close a few days ago.

We were driving from Chatra to Mokama, making pretty good time, when all of a sudden we had to stop. When Indian drivers see stopped traffic, they do not stop in orderly lines and wait for traffic to get going again. They try to maneuver around whatever is keeping them from progressing. A large truck was stopped in front of us, but it looked like we could drive around it and be on our way. Our driver moved into the other lane (though I hesitate to call it a lane as that would imply things like lane markers and a semblance of order, both of which are rarely present on Indian roads, as far as I can tell). As the jeep started to turn, we could see a crowd gathered around the driver's side door of the truck. As we got closer, we could see several men in the crowd trying to pull the driver out of the vehicle; they didn't look too happy. There was a heated exchange going on between crowd and driver, as some continued to try to pull the driver down. As we passed the truck, we saw that it had rear-ended a bus, so we knew the cause of the anger.

All I could think was,"Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap, please don't let me witness someone getting the snot beaten out of him (or worse)." My thoughts were a little more emphatic, but you get the idea. I wanted to scream, just to provide some distraction. We didn't get much past the truck when we saw oncoming traffic which would require us to back up, passing the truck again. As we were backing up, there was still a crowd around the truck cabin, but no one seemed to have hands on the driver anymore. I was relieved, though still worried that things would heat up again.

As I have written previously, the book Half the Sky was the impetus for my journey. There are some horrific stories of violence in the book- rapes, beatings, killings- so I knew such acts were common here. The few times I've picked up a newspaper or watched the news here, I've seen the same kinds of stories- women gang raped, someone beaten to death or near death. Just a few nights ago on the news there was film footage of crowds beating a police officer with sticks. It was a scene hard to forget. Recently I was talking to one of the sisters, who was telling me how pervasive rape is here. She also told me about several people she knows who are in jail for murder. I don't personally know multiple people in jail for murder, do you?

With all of this in my mind, I was holding my breath and praying and praying that tempers would cool enough to keep the driver safe. Certainly, I could understand the anger. The truck had been going fast enough to do some real damage to the bus and there was at least one person being tended to after the wreck. Just as certainly, I knew that beating the driver would not change what had already happened. Maybe the mob realized this, maybe they didn't, but I am a little comforted to know that when we passed the third time, finally able to continue forward, the driver was still in his seat unharmed.

As we drove on, I was trying to process what I'd seen and what may or may not have happened after we left. As we drove through a village, we passed another scene that jarred me. I saw a man holding another man in the air. The man being held was clearly struggling to get out of the grip of the first man. Again there was a crowd assembled. I saw no more than this, as we only drove past, but I have a feeling the man struggling to get away did not fare as well as the driver (might have).

These scenes remind me that there there is a lot going on here that is not immediately apparent, lots I have yet to understand or may never understand. The tapestry of REALITY here is complex, the peace, violence, joy, and pain all woven together, inseparably bound. It is constantly ripped and torn, sometimes with brutal force. I hope it is also re-sewn, mended, patched, with new threads woven in, and old ones pulled out. My hope is that the cloth becomes ever stronger and ever more beautiful as the weaving continues.

As I sit here and write, I think: by being here, I am a small piece of this tapestry, too. How will I be woven into this place? How will I make the cloth stronger and how will I weaken it? What strands will intertwine themselves so completely with me that I will rip them out when I leave? What will be torn from me and remain woven in?

My answer to all of the above questions: I do not know.

Lightning and Finn: A Post for the Kids, Part 2

2011-10-07T16:30:00.002-04:00

In our last series of pictures, Lightning, Finn, and I were in Bangalore. There we visited Lalbagh Garden, where we ran into some unexpected characters...

In the background behind the clock and covered in foliage is Snow White's cottage. We were very surprised to see that Snow White lived in Bangalore. But, as you can see in the picture, Dopey and the rest of the gang

look pretty happy there.

After Bangalore, we visited the southern state of Kerala. Kerala is known for it s beautiful waterways, so we decided to go on an all-day backwater tour. Lightning and Finn had great window seats!

This is what it looked like looking out towards the front of the boat.

We saw lots of other people going about daily life. Getting from place to place by boat is pretty common and necessary in this area.

Part of our trip was in a motorized boat, but we also went through the smaller waterways in a human-powered (row) boat. Here is a bit of that scenery. Finn and Lightning decided not to get in the picture. We saw several water snakes in this area, but didn't get a good picture. They were too fast!

We also learned about some of the cottage industries there. Some people make their living spinning rope from coconut husks. You can see the spinning wheel with the pile of coconut husks in the back. This is also a big area for the spice trade. Above is some cinnamon bark, still on the tree. It smelled so good!!!!

As you might be able to tell, I am still figuring out how to get my photos/text formatted the way I want. Trial and error... Finn and Lightning's next adventure...Onam!

Scratching the surface of reality...

2011-10-06T07:00:00.002-04:00

**Note** Since I am doing a lot of writing right now, I have started to schedule post publishing for later, so I don't have zillions of posts coming out at once and then nothing for awhile. When they are automatically published, I can't make a Facebook link (as far as I can tell, that can only be done once the post is on the page), so you might want to just check periodically to see what's here. If anyone knows how to create a link pre-publication, please share your knowledge with me!! Thanks! Cory

I was warned about the reality. The suffering. The beauty. The presence of both in a single place or single moment. I have experienced this coexistence before in El Salvador, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Belize...

When I landed in India, a certain familiarity despite the fact that I've never been here led me to the thought, "I am home." I don't know yet if that means for the next 3 months or for some longer time I can't yet imagine.

Many people have asked me if it's been hard to adjust to being here. The answer is no. I slept well my first night, woke up refreshed, and never felt any jet lag. I love Indian food, so eating it all the time has been delightful. India is paradise for a vegetarian! I don't know Hindi, but I've had so much help and/or have managed to communicate when there has been no common language. The Indian toilets...OK, I'll admit that I choose western toilets when given the option (sorry if that's TMI!) The same is true of eating with my hands...but I'm warming up to that one a little more... At the lunch for the Feast of St. Vincent de Paul, I ate with my hands and later that day one sister told me how she'd loved seeing me eat with my left hand. Her mother had beaten out of her the inclination to use her left hand for eating and writing...

The poverty is, as I'd been warned, worse than I've seen. As I walked through several cities, I found the number of people of all ages sleeping on sidewalks staggering. Walking in Calcutta, I passed a man who was sitting on the sidewalk with only a small piece of cardboard covering his midsection. It wasn't even covering his entire midsection... It makes me ache just to think about him. When I passed him, I felt helpless. I wondered why no one was doing anything for him...as I also did nothing for him. So much for "Do unto others..."

I was told by people here and in the States (and was advised by my guidebook) not to give to beggars, but rather give to charitable organizations, as putting money into their work will make a greater impact than giving to individuals. I have taken that advice, but as it happened with the naked man, it makes me hurt to walk past suffering people. The best I can do is look into their eyes and think of a song whose main line of the refrain is, "I see you." So as I pass, I look into their eyes and think those words and hope that being here, working for a few months, and telling my stories will somehow make a difference in more than my own life. In Calcutta one evening, I left a restaurant with some extra nan (bread). It was with great relief that I gave it to a woman who approached me in the street. She'd done so the night before and I'd given her nothing. It was a relief to have something to offer. I hope she felt temporary relief, too. A couple days ago at the school here, a child was crying because he had a large infected wound on his heel. Another child had hit the wound, so it was bleeding. Seeing the infection, I went to get antibiotic ointment and a bandage from my first aid kit. The school had neither. Again, it was a relief to be able to possibly alleviate some pain, but my antibiotic ointment won't change the fact that there are no bandaids in the child's home or at the school.

These are small glimpses of reality here. Now that I am in Chatra, my immersion into the poverty and the injustice that exists here will not simply be in the form of observation, but interaction. I use the word "immersion," but I think that I will never be completely immersed, despite my desire to be. I say this because, even when I want to understand, the realities I'll encounter are not my realities, nor will they ever be. I have the luxury of choice. I chose to come here and I can choose to leave. The naked man on the street can't just walk away and forget. I hope with every fiber of my being that even when I walk away, I won't forget.

Thankfully, I don't think I will. The poverty is staggering...so is the beauty. The women in their saris- the colors and patterns...I wish I could take a picture of every single one of them. The shrines and temples that seem to be everywhere, as well as the flowers that are sold in the markets to adorn them...I love coming upon them unexpectedly. The radiant smiles on the faces of children... sometimes I'm glad my Hindi is limited, so my only possible communication is a smile; the smiles I get in return make my heart swell with joy. The rural landscape, now lush and green... The last several years have been very dry in this area, so the current lushness is particularly appreciated, not only by me, but by those who can grow food this year. These are just a few examples of the beauty I have encountered. I'll post more pictures as I'm able, though they don't capture everything I sense. This place is sometimes overwhelming to the senses.

And so I begin to scratch the surface of real life here...

Lightning and Finn: A Post for the Kids, Part 1

2011-10-05T07:05:00.001-04:00

The day before I left for India, my youngest nephews gave me gifts: Lightning McQueen and Finn McMissile to accompany me on my journey. The older of the two boys was very concerned about their well-being and even checked to make sure I had them at the airport. Anticipating such a check, I had them in an easily accessible backpack pocket. I assured the boys that I would take pictures of Finn and Lightning as we travelled together. I didn't get pictures of them everywhere, but these should give you an idea of where Lightning, Finn, and I have been. We've been having a great time together!!

One of the first places we went was Humayan's tomb in Delhi.

Finn & Lightning would be too small to see here. Behind me is
all of Humayan's tomb.

We visited a Buddhist Temple in Delhi, too. This was outside the temple.
We had to take our shoes off before going in.

In Mumbai, one of the places we visited was the Gateway of India.
Lightning took this picture.

We were also in Mumbai for the beginning of Ganapati,
the celebration of the elephant-headed Hindu god, Ganesh.

We went to someone's home and this was what they had done to honor Ganesh.
We also ate a special meal, prayed, and danced.

And as we were walking through Mumbai, we happened to see a real elephant.

In Bangalore, we visited Bull Temple. This monkey was outside,
but wanted to be the only one in the picture!

Near Bull Temple, we walked through a park that had hundreds of bats
hanging in the trees overhead!!

We also visited the flower market in Bangalore. Lightning and Finn
thought they'd look particularly good with the yellow flowers!

There is one more picture from Bangalore that Lightning and Finn would like you to see, but the computer doesn't seem to want to upload it, so we'll have to save it for another post! In it they're posing near characters you might know. Until that picture is posted, see if you can guess who!

...the Unexpected

2011-10-05T05:12:00.000-04:00

Whether I came here with many expectations or few, there have certainly been some surprises. Often these surprises have been things I hadn't thought much about before coming. Below are a few of the unexpecteds:

1) Mothballs. As was true of my "bare feet" post, I never imagined I'd be writing about mothballs! The smell of mothballs brings back memories from my childhood. Our winter clothes were always packed in boxes with mothballs. When winter came, the same was done with our summer clothes. The smell reminds me of the change of seasons. When I was in Calcutta, mothballs came into my life twice. First, when I entered my hotel room for the first time, there was a faint but familiar smell. I found one mothball folded into a blanket that was tucked in a closet. Another one rested in the drain of my sink. I left the one in the blanket, but tossed the one from the sink. My second encounter was...at the Indian Museum. Inside cabinet after cabinet of fossils (where I'm sure my brother could have spent hours and hours; I did not) and within other museum displays, there were mothballs. I will admit that it was the first time I've seen that particular preservation method used in a museum.

2) Museums. Since I mentioned the topic, let me discuss the museums. I visited a few- in Delhi, Mumbai, Cochin, and Calcutta. They were different in theme, so I can't compare them to one another. I will, however, discuss what stood out to me about some of them. I loved the Gandhi Museum in Delhi, despite the poor lighting and heat. It was rich in information and photos. I did tend to spend more time reading displays that were located near the fans! At a small museum in Cochin, I was asked if I could hurry up a bit, because the attendant had just received a call and needed to leave for a meeting. He assured me that if I wasn't finished viewing, I could return later that day or the next and finish looking at everything. I decided to hurry and didn't return. I'd gotten my 50 cents worth (the entrance fee) already. At the Indian Museum in Calcutta, I enjoyed the wide variety of displays, but was saddened that items in displays could not be preserved better. Animal furs and feathers had darkened so their natural color wasn't obvious; in a few display cases glass was broken. I thought of my preservationist friend from home who would probably have been more dismayed than I was to see things that way. However, I still very much enjoyed the museum and appreciate all it had to offer. One thing that fascinated me was a huge hall that was dedicated to the plants of India and was divided into sections according to how they were used: as food or medicine, for textiles or dyes, to name a few of the categories. I was amazed at the plethora of natural resources in that hall and in India. Those are a few of my museum experiences.

3) Lizards. I think they're geckos. India is not the first place I've encountered lots of lizards that can be found inside or outside one's home. In fact, there were often lizards running around my own yard at home (though not inside my house). I am pretty enamored of the lizards here. I just think they're cute as they scurry across the wall of the chapel during prayer, make occasional appearances during class, or wander over the screens on my windows. One gave us quite a surprise today as it jumped out of the sink when we started washing dishes. I think we surprised it, too!

4) Gifts. I did not expect gifts before I left and I did not expect gifts from people here. Yet I received several items to bring on my journey from money to bar shampoo to a Dorothy Day book to a rosary bracelet (among other things). Each useful in a different way, all are with me and are wonderful reminders of my friends and family at home. In India I have received flowers as I was introduced to the school groups in Chatra (as well as having beautiful flowers in my room when I arrived) and from students. Many beautiful welcome songs have been sung for me in various places. I was given a lamp/clock for my room and on on St. Vincent de Paul's feast day, a pen. I was spontaneously invited to eat lunch with my class 6 boys on my first day of teaching. Each boy gave me a part of his lunch, even though it meant he'd eat less. Collectively, they gave me so much chapati I had to insist that they eat some of what they'd given me! That day they invited me to eat with them the following day, too, and knowing I'd be with them, they made sure what they had to share was special. They had even more chapati (which we again ate together) and brought sweets and chocolates especially for me. In fact, they insisted I eat the chocolate right there in front of them. Never one to turn down chocolate, I obliged. With such generosity from so many people in so many places, I can't help but feel immense gratitude.

Perhaps that is a good place to stop. Gratitude for the unexpected. Amen.

Expecting...

2011-10-04T01:55:00.001-04:00

I tried as much as possible to come to India with few expectations. I wanted to be open and flexible, but I also wanted to be mentally prepared, a tricky balance. Therefore, I tried to limit having expectations to those experiences that might be difficult. Some of the expectations I allowed myself to have are the following:

- it will be hot and uncomfortable
- there will be lots of mosquitoes
- I may get sick
- I will see poverty like I have seen nowhere else
- I will not be able to communicate easily with people
- it will be hot and uncomfortable (yes, I know I've already written that, but I am not a big fan of heat, so I wanted to be extra prepared for that discomfort)
- the electricity will go out frequently in Chatra

Here's how the reality compares:

- It has been hot and I have been uncomfortable. I am not here during the worst heat India has to offer, for which I am very grateful. For the most part, the heat, though not my favorite, has been manageable, as long as there have been fans and plenty of water to drink! Thankfully, both have been available most everywhere. In Calcutta, I did splurge for a room with A/C for two nights (about $25 a night, woo hoo!). I'm glad that I did! It was particularly hot and humid there and most of my days were spent walking and walking through the city.

- The mosquitoes haven't been as bad as I had imagined. Every time I've been with the SCNs, I've had mosquito netting at night (and I am a bit enamored with sleeping under it). I have a great mosquito spray and a really really great itch relief product. In fact, I like both so much that I'll do a little endorsement here. Both are made in Louisville by a company called Divine Creationz. They are natural products and I bought them at Rainbow Blossom. The anti-itch stuff (bite balm) is so good I apply it only once to a bite and the itch is gone...forever!!!! It comes in a little tube like chapstick. Seriously, Louisville folks, if you get bitten a lot, I'd buy this stuff!

- I have not gotten sick once since I've been here. I know there's still plenty of time for it, but so far, so good! The SCNs have been concerned about me getting enough to eat. They were concerned I'd lose weight- I think I've actually gained a little (so much for "being light" in that sense)!! A couple days ago, I started eating less, so that my clothes start to fit like they used to and the sisters in Chatra were concerned that I've gotten tired of Indian food. They started making more "American" food, so I'd eat more. I assured them that I still love Indian food, but just need to be eating a little less overall!

- The poverty I've seen is...like nowhere else. I'll be writing about that in another entry, so I won't say anything more here.

- I can't always talk to people, but I have been able to communicate pretty well. It is amazing how much can be said without speaking the same language! Smiling is a particularly wonderful and oft-used form of communicating!

- The electricty in Chatra is actually off more than it's on. I was told "Electricity is not so good." My interpretation of this statement was that there would be an occasional power outage. Bad interpretation on my part. Not having power more often than having it has probably been the most difficult adjustment...mostly because my expectations were different from the reality. I don't mind not having lights. I do miss the power when I am sleeping at night with no fan. It is also frustrating that I cannot blog often, since I need power for the computer... I am so glad my phone at least has internet access for checking my email and staying in touch with people through Facebook. Doing anything else online from my phone (like blogging) is too difficult. Slowly, however, I am adjusting to the lack of consistent electricity...I simply need to adjust my expectation. I am thankful that a former student recently posted the Serenity Prayer (God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference) on Facebook. This was a good reminder to me that I need to worry less about the electricity situation, since there is nothing I can do to change it.

I am glad I did not allow myself more expectations. The above (except the last) seem to be serving me well...

This week I am in Mokama (where the SCNs began their ministry in India) and the power situation is better (they have some solar energy!) I hope I'll get to write more to you while I am here.

Peace to you all.

To be light...

2011-09-16T12:36:00.002-04:00

As I was preparing to leave, I had some unexpected thoughts going through my head. The most unexpected one I dared not tell a soul, because I didn't want to freak anyone out. The thought has passed now, and so, I hope, has any fear it might have aroused prior to my departure. The thought was this: "If I die now, it will be OK."

Before going on, let me say in no uncertain terms that I have no desire to die, nor did I before I left. I like living and was eager to see what the upcoming months had in store for me. I'd been planning for them for a year.

I think my unusual thought sprang from the fact that before leaving I got to spend time with my family and so many friends, some of whom I had not seen for several years. After seeing them, I think that they knew that they had influenced my life and that they are important to me. Feeling secure that I had expressed those sentiments, I felt very much at peace with leaving.

On the 15-hour plane ride, every time we hit a little turbulence, I thought, "OK, God, please let this just be a little blip, because I want to carry out the plans I've made, but if this is the end, thank you for the life I've had and take care of everyone I'm leaving behind. Help them to know it'll be OK." Thankfully, there was not much turbulence to pray through and I arrived safe and sound. When we landed, I knew that in the time to follow, everything would be OK.

Upon further considering my thought, it occurred to me that while I did not, thankfully, physically die, the person that boarded the plane in Louisville on August 24 is most certainly not the person who will go back to Louisville in May. If I have not changed, my time away will have been wasted. I must have some experience of my own death and rebirth, of letting go and being open to what will be.

One of the questions asked for couchsurfing profiles is one's current mission. My current mission is "to be light, in any of the many ways that can be interpreted..." When I wrote it, I knew I had quite a task ahead of me.

For many reasons, I have yet to accomplish my mission. First, there's the luggage I packed. Almost as soon as I got here, I realized I had brought unnecessary things. At one of the places I couchsurfed, I was asked more than once, "What is all that stuff?!?" When I listed some of the things I had brought (particularly a couple of the books), I was told that I should have bought them here. I will say that I am OK with having brought them from home, since it means I didn't have to waste time/money here looking for them. Other things, particularly some of the clothing, I wish I had left in the States. Luckily, I will have a chance to send some of it home with some people in October. I may also give some away as I go...we shall see... So I have not reached "light" in that sense...but I'm working on it!

I still have some baggage to shed in the figurative sense, too. As I mentioned in a previous post, over the last several years I have focused a little too much on my serious nature, to the detriment of the part of me that knows how to let go and simply live in the moment, whatever that moment may be.

Here I am trying to live only in the moment. That means that when I plan, I am doing so day by day, sometimes hour by hour, or even minute by minute. The plans are constantly changing as the moment dictates and that is OK. This means that when I walked for two hours one morning because the first turn I took was not in the direction I intended to go, it was fine. This means that I went out for Italian food with a couple I'd met earlier in the day, even though I had been on my way to another restaurant when I ran into them. This means that I went to Spanish mass next to Mother Teresa's tomb because I happened to be there when it started. Flexibility has been, and must continue to be, among the most important themes of my travels. If it's not, I will surely fail miserably at my mission.

I am also trying to recognize opportunities for lightness when they present themselves. I danced at the Ganapati festivities I attended. I taught the Hokey Pokey to the SCN candidates in Bangalore. They were, I think, both scandalized and amused when we put our backsides in! I sang "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" with a young girl who's been learning it for a school talent contest. I read fairy tales with another girl. Here in Ranchi I have lavished love on a kitten (currently asleep on my lap). These times lift the weight that has somehow accumulated and bring me a little closer to my goal. I am sure many more opportunities will arise and I only hope that I'll notice them.

Heaviness and darkness dissipate. As the weight lifts and the darkness fades, I hope to embrace the person that I am meant to be...embodying light. Seeing the words, I think of the Marianne Williamson quote I've discussed before. I hope that you also will recognize your way to embody the light that most certainly shines from within.

Relying on the kindness of strangers

2011-09-15T23:57:00.000-04:00

The other day I'm pretty sure I got ripped off. I won't go into details; they're unimportant. When I realized it, I was frustrated with myself for being gullible, mad at the people who took advantage of my ignorance, and annoyed that my guidebook did not warn me of possible scams. However, I kept telling myself to just let it go. I said it to myself many times...to no avail. Eventually, still perturbed, I looked at the appropriate section in my guidebook, and, as it turns out, there was a warning about exactly what I had experienced. Perhaps I should have read more carefully...

When I re-read my guidebook, I was finally able to let go of the negativity and get a little perspective. I laughed at myself for not reading carefully, but more importantly, I looked at the bigger picture.

The reality of my journey so far is this: there are a handful of times where someone has taken advantage of my uncertainty. However, there are far more times where people I have never met have cared for me, sometimes because they agreed to do so ahead of time, other times because I have walked up to them and asked for help, and others because they saw me struggling and intervened.

The SCNs and various members of couchsurfing.org have taken me into their homes without ever having met me. The SCNs at least knew something about me, since I will be volunteering with them. Besides all the attention they gave me as I prepared for the Indian leg of my journey, and besides welcoming me to various convents along the way, they have helped me with practical matters like buying a phone, getting from place to place, and buying my very own sari. The members of couchsurfing (CS) only had my CS profile to read before deciding if they would meet me somewhere or allow me to stay into their home. One CS member has been suffering for months of an illness called chikungunya, which causes her to be in constant pain, and still she agreed to let me stay with her family for a few days. Other CSers have invited me to special holiday meals in their homes (Ganapati in Mumbai and Onam in Kerala). These are but a few of the unsurprising (though that is not quite the right word...) ways I have been helped by people who knew I'd need some help.

Then there are the many unexpected kindnesses. I have a horrible sense of direction. Street signs in India are hard to find; they are certainly not on every corner! I have gotten lost walking around...more than once. Thankfully, I'm not afraid to ask for help. When I approach a random stranger, my first question is usually, "Do you speak English?" If the answer is yes, I ask where something is, if I'm on the right street, etc. They very kindly point me in the right direction. Other times, when I am trying to communicate with someone who doesn't speak English, an English-speaker appears from nowhere and translates and/or negotiates things for me. I have also had kind strangers on buses and trains make sure I know which stop is mine. In all cases, they stop what they are doing to help me, as if they had nothing else to do. Most certainly they do.

Without all of these people (and there really have been many), my time in India would be frustrating, maddening, annoying. With these people,(except for in silly moments like the one mentioned initially) my time here is full of gratitude, joy, and an overall sense of well-being. I feel protected and loved, thanks to the kindness of so many strangers and now also, some new friends.

Bare Feet

2011-09-04T07:52:00.000-04:00

A few days before I left the States, I met a young man for coffee. When he arrived, I noticed that he wasn't wearing shoes. After watching him go in and out of the coffeeshop sans shoes (we met outside), I said something to him about it. He gave me several websites to look at about the value of going shoeless, as well as some information about legal cases in support of people's right to go shoeless in public places. Of course, as I was frantically trying to prepare for my departure, I did not look at any of the recommended materials.

I have been thinking about being barefoot since then and being in India, I have had many occasions to consider the idea. As I have been traveling, I have noticed lots of people without shoes- children without shoes, many auto rickshaw drivers driving without shoes (though they all seem to have a pair sitting on the floor next to their feet)...yesterday all the servers were shoeless in one restaurant. As I have been observing the lack of shoes, I have been thinking about how horrified some in the U.S. would be by such a perceived violation of sanitary standards. Personally, I am intrigued...

During my first days in Delhi I visited two temples for which, before entering, everyone had to remove their shoes. For the first day of the festival of Ganesh (elephant-headed Hindu god), I was in a home and we all took our shoes off before entering. Today I went to mass and before entering the church, I, along with everyone else, took my shoes off. For me, going barefoot has been a way to connect with the place I am. My feet, not the soles of my shoes, are connecting with these holy places. My feet feel the sandstone path to a temple. My feet feel the smooth marble or the soft carpet inside, which soothe the soles of my feet, just as being in those holy spaces soothes my soul. Going barefoot in these places feels real and helps me to feel grounded, since it is my body touching the ground. It helps me to know where I am in a way I wouldn't if I were wearing shoes.

My feet tread where many other feet have tread and so in a way, my bare feet connect me not only with the place, but also with other seekers. My feet connect me with others' desire to be, to feel, to understand the holy in a physical way that is new to me. It doesn't feel dirty or unsanitary to take off my shoes- in fact, in the Sikh temple, everyone had to wash hands and feet before entering. Being barefoot may also serve as an equalizer, as those who arrived with no shoes cannot be distinguished from those who have shoes waiting outside...

I have to say I never dreamed the first thing I'd write about in India would be bare feet, but I am thankful that I have occasion to do so and look forward to what I'm sure will be many other surprising topics to consider...

What Goes Around...

2011-08-21T13:25:00.001-04:00

In my theology classes last year, my first and last day reflections were centered around a quote by Marianne Williamson. I used the quote twice because I imagined on the first day students were distracted as they got back into the routine. I also wondered if they could really understand the depth of the quote on the first day. I used it again on the last day, because I wanted them to know that it was an important enough message to be repeated. I also hope that they understood it a little better than at the beginning of the semester and that they believed it to be true, not only about themselves, but about everyone around them. If students left my class with no other wisdom than that contained in the quote, I'd be satisfied.

You've probably seen or heard it before. It's even been used in a few movies:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Last night as I was thinking about the abundant affirmation I have received for my upcoming journey, I thought of the quote. I thought about how fortunate I am to have so many people who help me to believe that I am powerful, that I am "meant to shine," that I was "born to make manifest the glory of God."

Then I thought about so many people who don't have a support system, who have never been told that they are powerful or that they are children of God. In fact, some have been told quite the opposite, that they are worthless, stupid, nothing. I think of students who felt that they had nothing to offer (even when their gifts were so clear to me). Some had been told that they are powerful, but that other "different" people are worthless. They struggled when I suggested that we really are all children of God. However, some boys, by the end of the semester, saw the truth of the quote and I'm so glad. Others were still grappling with it. I gave them copies of the passage, so that when they were feeling low, they could read it again and believe. I hope they do.

Last night I was thinking I'd need to find my copy of the quote to carry with me. This morning a friend gave me a beautiful card and in it, as a part of her message, she wrote that two quotes had come to her heart as she thought about my journey. One was by Julian of Norwich. The other? Let's just say I don't need to look for my copy any more.

A Shout-Out

2011-08-20T22:52:00.002-04:00

This has been a pretty busy summer. I have had work done on my house, have had some projects from school to wrap up, and...oh yeah, have been getting ready for my journey.

There are tasks that I'd hoped to accomplish that I now see, as my time at home is growing shorter, are not going to get done. However, as I think about what has gotten done, I cannot help but be thankful for the incredible amount of time my parents have spent helping me complete projects. Other people have helped me, too, but here I want to focus on good ol' Mom and Dad.

Among other things, I have had a lot of new drywall put up in my house. My parents have helped me paint it and have done a lot of other detail and finishing work. Neatness and organization are not my best skills. My parents have helped me to get things a little cleaner and a little more organized. The hours they have put into helping me are numerous.

It hasn't always been easy working together. As happens with parents and children, we don't always have the same ideas about what should be done in my house. I sometimes have to remind them that the decisions about my house are mine to make, not theirs. Because of those times, they may not realize how incredibly grateful I am for the work they have done. So I thought I'd put it here, for them to see and for all of you, too. They deserve some recognition.

Shout-out to Mom and Dad! Thanks!

Two Quotes

2011-08-18T06:58:00.002-04:00

I woke up early this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. After writing last night, I continue to think about blessings, feeling alone but not being alone, and (from a few posts ago) belonging. This morning, a friend posted this quote on Facebook:

"You're an interesting species. An interesting mix. You're capable of such beautiful dreams, and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you're not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable, is each other."
— Carl Sagan

Another quote that has been on my mind comes from Wendell Berry's Jayber Crow:

"My vision of the gathered church that had come to me... had been replaced by a vision of the gathered community. What I saw now was the community imperfect and irresolute but held together by the frayed and always fraying, incomplete and yet ever-holding bonds of the various sorts of affection. There had maybe never been anybody who had not been loved by somebody, who had been loved by somebody else, and so on and on... It was a community always disappointed in itself, disappointing its members, always trying to contain its divisions and gentle its meanness, always failing and yet always preserving a sort of will toward goodwill. I knew that, in the midst of all the ignorance and error, this was a membership; it was the membership of Port William and of no other place on earth. My vision gathered the community as it never has been and never will be gathered in this world of time, for the community must always be marred by members who are indifferent to it or against it, who are nonetheless its members and maybe nonetheless essential to it. And yet I saw them all as somehow perfected, beyond time, by one another's love, compassion, and forgiveness, as it is said we may be perfected by grace."

That's all I've got.

Blessings

2011-08-17T23:02:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I had my orientation with the SCNs, a wonderful day in which I learned more about the SCN's history and constitution, shared a meal, shared prayer, and was blessed by the community at mass. The blessing at mass was beautiful and humbling, as were the kind words of those who approached me after mass. Once again, the tears were flowing.

After mass I was asked, "Don't you feel loved?" And my answer was this: during this whole process of preparation, I have felt loved.

There have been times in my life when I have felt very lonely. I was talking to a young man a few days ago who is going through a hard time and he said that sometimes, even when he is in the middle of a group of people, he feels completely alone. I assured him that he is not the only person who has ever felt that way and that I have certainly gone through similar times. I assured him that those feelings will pass, and that even if he may not be aware of it, he is definitely not alone.

For me, now is a time when I am continually seeing just how not-alone I am. Along with the beautiful blessing at mass yesterday, I have had the great pleasure of being at several gatherings (and still have a few more coming up!) of friends, long-time and more recent, who have gathered to wish me well and send me off. A few people have given me gifts, cards, and small tokens, all of which are appreciated, none of which were necessary or expected.

Seeing how many quite remarkable people have taken time just to wish me well has been humbling. Were it not for so many of them leading me, walking next to me, and sometimes even pushing or pulling me forward, I would not be where I am. I would not be who I am. The physical gifts I have received recently have been wonderful, but they are simply reminders that I am not alone. They are reminders of the true blessings in my life: the many people who have enriched it.

Dirty silly fun

2011-08-14T20:40:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I had the great pleasure of participating in the Warrior Dash- a 3-mile extreme obstacle course. The race itself was fun, but what I enjoyed most was the time I got to spend with my dearest friend in the world. The drive to and from the race was 3 hours each way, so we got to talk the whole way there and back, starting early in the morning with a serious discussion about the Catholic Church. As the day lightened, the conversation did, too.

One of the things I brought up was the fact that somehow over the last few years, I have lost some of my silly side. "Lost" may not be the best word. I haven't practiced having fun or being silly nearly enough lately. My serious nature buried much of my silly side. Thank goodness for my nephews and niece, godchildren, and the other children in my life or I'd be hopelessly stuck in my serious nature. This is not to say I don't have silly moments with people other than kids, but over the last few years, those moments have become fewer and fewer.

When I said all this, my friend agreed. I am so grateful she suggested we participate in the Warrior Dash. It seemed to be a pretty good place to start recovering some of my silly side. The race obstacles involved crawling or jumping over, under, and through various things. The last 2 obstacles were jumping over fire and crawling through mud. It is hard to take oneself seriously when covered in mud. And we were covered in mud. The mud wasn't the only ridiculousness. Lots of people raced in costumes. They were dressed as superheroes, hula girls, certurions... One woman was wearing a prom dress... And by the end of the race, they were all covered in mud. (There was a nice pond to get cleaned up, sort of, after the race.) And along with the standard race T-shirts, we received fuzzy warrior helmets. It is also difficult to take oneself seriously when wearing a fuzzy warrior helmet. The race was good, clean (well, maybe not so clean) fun, just what I needed.

Along with the many serious reasons I am looking forward to my upcoming journey, I can't wait to immerse myself in whatever joy and fun might present itself, much like I was immersed in mud yesterday. I'll keep you posted as to whether or not any of it is as dirty as the Warrior Dash. :)

Belonging

2011-08-07T13:23:00.002-04:00

After writing yesterday about the signature on the bottom of my foot (now just one small line), I have been thinking more and more about the idea of belonging.

I said that having the name there reminded me of Toy Story and Andy's signature on the bottom of Woody's foot. It was a sign that Woody belonged to Andy. While I heistated to say that I "belong" to the young man who signed my foot, if I really think about it, I have to admit that I do belong to him. He also belongs to me, even if I haven't written my name anywhere on him. When I say that, I don't mean we belong to each other in any weird or possessive way. Rather it is a mutual care for each other.

Isn't that what we all seek? Don't we want someone to care for and who cares for us? Isn't that what belonging is really about?

Certainly there are ways in which the idea of belonging is corrupted. Human trafficking is the first way that comes to mind. Anytime someone dominates others and diminishes their being, belonging is violated and corrupted.

Belonging, in its truest and best sense is about empowerment. I belong to my church community because I know that I am welcome there. As with the school community I leave behind, I know that I will be a part of my church community even when I am far away. That is true belonging. We are bound together even when we are not together.

I know that my church community wants me to be my best self and I want the same for every person there. We challenge each other to live to high ideals, and we strive to be supportive, patient, and understanding as we walk the paths we are called to walk. Our coming together each week to worship helps us to be true to ourselves, to our call, to our God. Our worship reminds us that we belong to each other. I am thankful that it also reminds us that we belong to the poor and the oppressed, the rich and the oppressors. They also belong to us. I find these very difficult notions to live by sometimes, but I try, failing often, to live as if I belong to each person I meet and they belong to me.

In my classroom or in my encounters elsewhere, my heart always aches for those who don't feel like they belong anywhere, to anyone. Sometimes it is that they have been excluded by others, they haven't found their path yet or have lost their way; sometimes it is that they simply don't recognize that they belong right where they are. There are cetainly times when I have felt that I don't belong. Now just happens to be a time when I am ever aware of my belonging. I do belong to the young man whose name was on my foot. I belong to the people I will come to know in India and Palestine. They also belong to me. I hope that as you come to know them here, you will also find a sense of mutual belonging with them.

Tears

2011-08-06T22:08:00.005-04:00

The last few days I have been crying a lot. I don't always welcome tears, and will admit that on more than one occasion this week I tried to keep myself from crying, but honestly, I'm thankful for the tears.

I was on a retreat with seniors from the school where I used to teach. Even as I write "used to," it's hard to believe... I was going to write "it's hard to believe I no longer belong there." However, that's not true. While I may not work there anymore, I feel I am still a part of the community, even when I'll be several continents away. I knew that before the retreat, but being with the boys, the alums, and the other faculty members I was reminded that I do belong there. (As a side note, on the topic of belonging...the boys started signing each other the last night on retreat. Yes, I mean each other and one boy asked if he could sign my arm. Not wanting his signature in Sharpie marker on my arm, but caving in to his persistent requests, I let him sign the bottom of my foot. It reminded me of Toy Story: Woody belonged to Andy because Andy's name was on the bottom of Woody's foot. I was the one who jokingly made the comparison, but my discomfort with the idea of "belonging" to another person like that, of being someone's property, makes me grateful the signature has faded!) I know I will always be welcomed there.

This retreat was really the last time I would be a part of any official school activity, so as the week went on and that truth hit me, more tears flowed. At the end of the retreat, I was given a gift signed by everyone on the retreat. When I received it, I started to cry again. I will carry it with me while I'm gone and I'm sure that gift will carry me through the rough times I have. When I got home and had time to read the messages to me, the tears began to flow... again.

I am certain that as I say my good-byes, I will continue to cry through the next few weeks (I leave in 18 days). And while I don't always like having a snotty nose and puffy eyes, I have to say that I consider the tears a blessing. Each of my tears represents the love I share with someone whose physical presence I will miss. Each represents the love of someone I will carry with me in my heart. I can tell you right now, that's a lot of love.

Yesterday some boys on retreat and I were talking about the idea of paying it forward. I hope that as I walk in new places and meet new people, I will pay forward the love I have received. It is the love freely given to me that gives me the strength to leave it behind. It amazes me to write that. If I were not certain that my friends and family will love me whether I am sitting next to them or somewhere across the world, I could never make this journey.

And so the tears, the sign of the outpouring of love I have received, flow. And I will let them.

What Not to Wear

2011-07-14T21:31:00.002-04:00

One of my guilty pleasures is the show “What Not to Wear.” Watching people transformed simply because of a change in the clothes they wear is fascinating. Sometimes I wonder if a show about outward appearances is okay with me. And I have to say that, much to my surprise, it is. I do object to the budget given for buying clothing- $5000 seems like a lot of money to spend only on clothing. I’ve never had to purchase my entire wardrobe all at once, and couldn’t tell you how much I paid for all the clothing I own, but I’d guess I’ve spent less than $5000; maybe I’m just a bad guesser... That aside, the show, though it seems to be about the exterior, is about the inward transformation that results from the outward transformation.

Truly the way we dress is an extension of how we feel and want to present ourselves. When I am feeling down, I do one of two things: if I want to wallow in my unhappiness, I dress is my grubbiest clothes; alternately, if I want to change my mood, I put on clothes that make me look good and, thereby, feel good. My sister, who lived in Guatemala for 13 years, often wears huipils, traditional hand-woven Mayan blouses. This is one way she honors her time there and expresses solidarity with the people she met. After the SCNs (Sisters of Charity of Nazareth) began their work in India, they had discussions about how they should dress- would they wear the traditional clothing of their order, wearing habits, or would they dress in a way that would honor the culture in which they worked, wearing saris? They spent years discussing what to wear. When I think of women religious, I don’t generally imagine them having long discussions about clothes, but clothing was an important enough topic that the sisters’ conversation lasted years. I’ll let you do your own digging to see what they decided.

Today, I bought a few shirts for my time in Palestine (the second major leg of my journey). I was told in my Project Hope interview that I’ll be expected to dress modestly. In Palestine that means that my shirts must be loose, long, and have sleeves that go at least to my elbows. No low necklines. I’ll have to wear pants or long skirts… As I think about travelling, one of my big logistical questions is how to pack for so many months during which I’ll be in several different climates and cultures. Something culturally appropriate in India may fall soundly into the “What Not to Wear” category in Palestine. Hopefully, I’ll pack the right stuff so that I will be dressed respectfully wherever I go. Hopefully, through my clothing I will project my openness to immersion into a different life. Hopefully, no one will have to tell me that something I am wearing actually belongs on “What Not to Wear” for their culture.

Water

2011-07-12T22:43:00.002-04:00

This morning as I was taking a shower, my mind turned to water...perhaps because it was streaming down on me or because I had sweated out so much in a pre-dawn 100 degree heat index workout...or because a water main broke last night, spilling over 40 million gallons of water. Forty million gallons of clean water...wasted. Of course, no one meant for the main to break, so maybe I should say lost instead of wasted.

Then I thought about one of my early conversations with the SCNs (Sisters of Charity of Nazareth) about volunteering in India. Chatra, the place I will be spending 3 months, sometimes has so little water that food cannot be prepared at the school. When I heard this, I asked if, given the possible water shortage, I'd have water to bathe. When I received the answer that there would be enough water to bathe and that it was mainly the school and food prep that would be affected by a water shortage, I felt, I'm not even sure how to put it into words. Petty. Selfish. How important is it if I bathe if there are kids not able to eat because there isn't enough water?

Here in the States, most of us never have to worry about access to clean water unless something goes wrong like a water main break. We turn a knob and out comes all the water we could ever want at whatever temperature we desire. Though I wasn't present to hear it, I heard that a friend talked about people like us as "faucet people." The magic faucet gives us water in abundance and we don't give a second thought to our use until the magic faucet stops working.

Meanwhile, in many other places in the world, getting water means walking, sometimes miles, to a stream or a well, filling a jug, and hauling it home. The water may or may not be clean. There are also those who are currently fleeing their homelands, who are walking to the nearest refugee camp, who have no shelter, no possessions, and certainly have no faucets and likely do not even have access to streams or any other source of water. I'll bet they'd like some of the 40 million gallons pouring out of our water main.

As I write this, my truth is this: I'm not sure what to do about this disparity in water access. Or maybe I do know and just don't want to face it. Instead of being a mindless faucet person, I need to be a thinking water conserver. I know I need to use less water, but after so long as a faucet person, it's hard to break my overconsumption habits. I know I need to support organizations that work to improve access to potable water (Edge Outreach at www.edgeoutreach.com would be a good local project to support). I hope that when I am in India, I will become more mindful of the water I use there and that I can come home and live like I know how precious our water is.

Detachment

2011-07-03T00:21:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure when I first encountered the idea of detachment, but I remember I wasn't too keen on the notion. After all, we belong to a culture that is all about results. If the results are not what you hope for or expect, you have failed. This is what our culture says. So how could a person possibly think that acting a certain way or taking a certain action could be successful if the outcome is not the desired outcome? How could a person not worry about the results? This is what I used to wonder.

I have come to gain a little more perspective on the idea of detachment lately. Maybe it's because of my interest in social justice, the attainment of which is a slow process. I am pretty certain I will never live in a wholly just world. Some people would argue that because we ourselves will never see a just world, we shouldn't make the effort to change things. I disagree.

A couple years ago some students brought up how they thought the school should offer something like a shop class- technical hands-on type stuff. I told them that if they wanted to propose this to the administration, I'd be happy to help them formulate their arguments. In the discussion, one student made the point that, even if they were successful in convincing the school to offer such classes, they would not be beneficiaries of their work. So I asked if proposing class(es) was worth it to them if ultimately they wouldn't benefit. There was some dicussion about this. In the end, they took no action.

In my own life for a long while, I was feeling quite unsettled about a particular concern. Previously I had tried to take action and was wildly unsuccessful in achieving any sort of change. Recently I came to the realization that I needed to take action again. Given what had happened when I tried the first time, I was not excited about trying again. However, I knew in my heart that I could not not act. This time I at least knew already that in all likelihood I would be met with the same "failure" as before. However, I also knew that if I did not act, I would not be able to live with myself. I'd been living with the feeling that I had unfinished business for too long. So I did what I had to do.

To be honest, I don't know what the "outcome" of my actions were. Once I did what I needed to do, the situation was out of my hands...and I was OK with that. I am now much more cognizant of the fact that I can control no one's actions but my own. I can only take responsibility for what I do. If I act with integrity, regardless of how anyone reacts or responds, then I am doing what I need to do.

Really, it goes back to one of my favorite analogies: planting seeds. In my garden I can plant seeds. However, once those seeds are in the ground, I have little control over what happens. Sure, I can try to put them in fertile ground where they'll get plenty of light. I can water them. However, I can't control whether or not they sprout and grow. The same is true of my actions. I can try to plant seeds of truth, of justice, of peace, and of love in the world. My hope is that doing so will lead to a fruitful life and a fruitful world. Certainly in my life, it has.

However, I know that not all the seeds I try to plant will grow. I know that sometimes, even when I act in the way I know is right, it will seem as if I have not acted at all, as if I never even took the seeds out of their package. Looking around me after my recent actions, this is what I see: nothing has changed...except... I now feel as peace. After feeling unsettled for so long, I feel some relief. It is a wonderful feeling knowing that I truly have done all I can. If nothing ever changes in the situation, I know it is not because of my inaction.

Perhaps this is what detachment is about: knowing that I am acting with integrity, even if in a big-picture sort-of-way, nothing changes. What is important is that change happens within. And for me, this time, it has.

It's their fault

2011-06-20T23:49:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I was driving home from church and thinking about discussions with kids about homeless people or the poor in which kids would make statements about how "they" are lazy and should just work harder. As a side note, when I suggest that we should give more of our money to the poor, statements are also often made about how the rich shouldn't have to share their wealth with the poor because the rich worked hard for it. My standard answer is something along the lines of, "So the single mother working two or three jobs who still can't make ends meet is not working hard?" Sometimes that comment is enough to open a mind or two, sometimes it leads to more arguments about how we shouldn't have to share...But I digress...

Kids may say essentially "It's their fault for being poor, so we shouldn't have to help them." Of course, many people living in poverty as adults were born into poverty and couldn't get out of the situation. And, I suggest, it is true that some people may make choices that lead them to being poor, but all of us at one point or another are going to get ourselves into a mess (or maybe we already have) that we're going to need someone else's help to make right. Sure, some of our messes are larger than others, but we all need help at one point or another to move beyond some disaster of our own creation. I ask students if they would want help in those situations. Usually there is quiet and I don't generally invite further conversation.

So yesterday as this was mulling in my mind, I had a thought: there are all sorts of medical problems that people have that can be, at least in part, attributed to choices. Certain cancers (lung cancer comes to mind) are often attributed to lifestyle choices. Obesity usually has to do with eating or activity choices. Injuries often happen because of our own actions- in sports, work, or play. Yet I don't hear anyone saying that when the sick or injured show up at doctor's offices or hospitals to get treated, they should be denied treatment. Why not? It's their fault, so why should they get help?

Mind you, I am glad no one is making that argument. When people are hurting, we should help them so that they can heal, because ultimately their health leads to a healthier society. But then I wonder why, if most of us accept the importance of physical healing, far fewer accept the importance of other types of healing.

Is it because physical healing does not depend on us (unless we are in the medical field)? We don't have to give anything up for a cast to get put on an arm. We do, however, have to change and perhaps sacrifice something so that the situation of the poor is better. We have to accept that maybe, just maybe, it's not all their fault that they're poor. Ooh, that's not easy. We may even have to admit that not only is it not all their fault, it may be partially our fault. The choices we make might just have something to do with "their" situation. Ooh, that is an even harder reality to face.

But I hope we will face that reality. I hope we play the "blame game" honestly. And then I hope we'll do something about it. I say "we" because I know I have a long way to go before I have made all good life-affirming choices. I still have to move past laziness in some cases. And in others I simply still have a lot to learn. God help me and all of us to do so.

The Complexity of People

2011-05-23T19:22:00.001-04:00

If I have learned nothing else in the last several years, I have learned that people are complicated. It has become abundantly clear that we are all full of contradictions. We strive to live a certain way, but inevitably we fail.

Sometimes we own our failures and work to do better in the future. I know that sometimes I have to learn the same lesson over and over (and over and over) again. To give an easy example, my encounters with procrastination are many. I am perfectly aware that it is one of my challenges, but I often (not always) still fall into my procrastinating ways.

I was reading a student essay today that said that people who commit the same sin multiple times should go to Hell, because (he says) if they're truly sorry, they wouldn't be a repeat offender. Incidentally, the writer is a student who has made the same mistakes more than once. I wonder if he believes he is Hell-bound. If he does, I hope that at some point he learns to forgive himself and to ask others for forgiveness. I hope he recognizes his strengths in addition to his weaknesses.

Within the last 24 hours, I have been made publicly aware of both my strengths and my shortcomings. The two incidents reminded me of my own complexity. My reaction to recognition of my success was, "Do I deserve this? Yes, I do. I think I do, but do I really?" My reaction to recognition of my failure was, "Do I deserve this? Yes, I do. I think I do. Yes, I do."

It always seems to be easier to recognize the bad things about ourselves. Thank God other people see the good and point it out, because sometimes we (or at least I) get too caught up in the bad and lose sight of the good within. The challenge is seeing both good and bad and accepting both. The challenge is accepting the contradictions within all people, not just ourselves.

May we learn to embrace complexity.

Last day

2011-05-20T18:25:00.004-04:00

Today was my last official day of classes. To say it was a "class day" is a bit of a euphemism. We didn't have class. We celebrated. I often do this at the end of the year and this year, even if I weren't leaving, these kids deserved a celebration. They worked hard.

When I look back on the year, I realize how high my expectations have been for my kids. I expect a lot from myself and I do the same for my students. Sometimes I am disappointed. But if I look at this year and think about my boys, I am definitely not disappointed. I was talking today to my juniors, who I pushed particularly hard, and told them how thankful I am for all of the work they've done. I told them I know that I asked a lot of them and said that they had met my expectations. A student asked if they exceeded my expectations and I said that in some ways they had. As I thought more about it, I wish I had just answered yes. They succeeded in so many ways. They opened their minds and hearts to others whom, though they may not have even realized it before, they had looked down on. They wrote pieces of their own stories and trusted each other enough to share them. They considered the ideas of non-violence and forgiveness and some might even try to practice them in their lives... Those are a few of their larger successes.

There were many smaller day-to-day successes, too. Today is a perfect example. Students signed up to bring food for their class parties, and they followed through (which hasn't always been the case). While this may sound like nothing to someone who's not a teacher, they were quiet and reverent today during prayer, even when the front of the room was filled with food for them to eat, the sun was shining outside, and the end of school was fast approaching. They filled their plates in an orderly manner and when it was time, cleaned up after themselves. End-of-the-year parties have never gone so smoothly. I think they had fun and I am grateful that they allowed me to relax during what could have been a chaotic and stressful day.

Today for the most part I held myself together; I didn't shed too many tears. I'm holding on to the fact that I still have a few days that I'll see my kids in the classroom, if only for their exams. My juniors have a book project to finish up, which may extend past next week when we finish exams. I also have a few service days over the summer...so I'm putting off my real "last day." I know I need to let go so that I have open arms to embrace what's next. I'm still working on it...

Drops in the Ocean

2011-05-15T21:51:00.002-04:00

A few days ago for the first time, I noticed a Gandhi quote in a friend's classroom: “You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.” Sometimes I focus on the dirty drops- I am pessimistic. I despair. When I am in optimist mode, I see the beauty of the ocean, the abundant goodness that surrounds me, both in humanity and in life.

A couple days ago I got a flat tire. It happened in front of my house, so it wasn't a big deal. When I told my mom about it, she said, "Boy, when it rains, it pours." I couldn't imagine what she was talking about until she reminded me of my kitchen that's been without a ceiling for about 2 months and some other thing that recently went wrong that for the life of me I can't remember right now. I was clearly in optimist mode, because the various issues really just felt like small dirty drops in the ocean of abundant goodness. No big deal. And in the grand scheme of things, they're not a big deal.

I don't have a ceiling, but I do have a roof and my kitchen is well-stocked with food. My tire went flat, but I live a block from a bus line. Though I was ready to to take the bus to school, my dad offered to drive me to school, and he woke up earlier than usual to do so. Thanks, Dad!

There are times when I feel overwhelmed by schoolwork. Then I remember that I am so fortunate to have a job, one that is fulfilling and, I hope, adds to the beauty, rather than the dirt of the ocean. One student told me the other day that he hopes he can make a difference in the world. His desire is one more drop to add to the beauty...Another student wrote a beautiful and unexpected essay reflecting on The Freedom Writers Diary, a book that we have just finished reading...another beautiful drop. May there be many more.

Loving my neighbor

2011-05-03T19:53:00.002-04:00

It occurred to me today that someone reading this might wonder with what authority I can name my blog "Love thy neighbor," with the address being "trulylovethyneighbor". After all, I could give many examples in which I have failed miserably at loving my neighbor.

Those would be the times I didn't notice someone in need...the times I didn't listen...or I did listen and did not act compassionately...the times I simply did not act at all...the times I flat out did something I knew was wrong... If I were to list all those times, this would be a very long entry.

When I was talking to my students today about the death of Bin Laden, a student said that radical Islamists think we are infidels and want us dead and there is nothing we can do to change that mentality. My response was that I have never personally encountered such people, so I can't say from my own experience that if it is true. However, I went on to say, speaking from my experience as a teacher who from time to time has students in class who are pretty hateful and disrespectful towards me, I can say that when I treat those same students with the respect they don't give me, our relationship often changes. We may never have an easy relationship, but in most cases, they become a little easier. It would be simpler to write them off, but that would be a failure to do my job.

In fact, just today I had a wonderful conversation with a former student who I'm pretty sure added some gray hairs to my head. He was a student who gave me lots to pray about when he was in my class. I prayed for his well-being (his life was not the easiest and he didn't seem to be making it any easier for himself) and for my own capacity for patience with him. And despite the very difficult relationship we'd had, here we were having this lovely conversation in which he was telling me about the changes he's made in his life. Amazing.

So, while I have heard that radical Muslims want me dead because I am Christian, if I ever encounter one, I hope I will treat him or her like a human being, showing respect and giving the person, and the idea of transformation, a chance. How could I do anything else?

After school I was thinking about what I'd said and I wished I'd pointed out that while I try to practice what I preach, I fail and fail and fail. But I keep trying. And maybe that's what's important.

It may be that I have no authority to write about loving my neighbor, but I find that doing so helps me to try to live according to that ideal. The more I write about it, the more I am reminded of my goal. Thanks for allowing me to do so.

Revenge or justice?

2011-05-02T19:08:00.001-04:00

Proverbs 24:17: "Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when they stumble, do not let your heart rejoice."

The first thing I heard when I turned my radio on this morning was that Osama Bin Laden was killed. I was shocked. I wasn't really sure how I felt. My students asked me what I thought and I didn't have much of an answer. I haven't really had time to process it until now.

So here it is: I am sad. Let me clarify. I know that Bin Laden and his followers caused many deaths and great destruction. My heart aches for all of those who have died or lost loved ones because of radical ideology, Muslim or otherwise. My heart aches for those who have died, lost loved ones, or been separated from loved ones in faraway wars.

I think I grieve most today, however, for the sheer joy, exhilaration, revelry I see people expressing over someone's death. Ding dong the witch is dead! Let's party! That is the vibe I am getting, but it is not the one I feel.

Maybe I would feel differently if I had a closer personal connection to the violence in our world. I don’t know. But what I feel currently is heaviness of heart. I am reminded today that too often in our world, we use the word justice when we really mean revenge. These are two very different concepts, but we often use them interchangeably. With Bin Laden's death, revenge was accomplished. We got back at him. But won't some people want revenge for his death now? Will his death bring an end to some of the suffering in our world? I am doubtful.

Justice is about bringing our world into greater harmony. When people are excited about death (anyone's death) and destruction, we are surely not in a place of harmony. Was justice accomplished? Again, I am doubtful.

Gratitude

2011-04-30T21:42:00.001-04:00

All I aim to do here is to express my absolute gratitude for kindness, in particular for those who have been kind to me. As people learn of my plans for next year, so many people- students, parents of students, teachers, friends, family- have expressed interest in what I'm doing. They have asked questions, offered prayers, and wished me luck. They have asked me to keep in touch and through my blog, I hope to do so.

What is most humbling is that some have told me I'm doing God's work. Wow. Doing God's work. I don't know if I'm doing God's work or not. I hope I am. Actually I hope all of us are. We all have ways we can and do contribute to this world. So perhaps I should remind those people that they are also doing God's work in their own way...

When I think about what lies ahead, I know that were it not for all the people who have and continue to encourage me, I would not be who I am or where I am. So since you are likely one of the people I make reference to above, thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. (I like to repeat important phrases, so let me go for one more.) Thank you.

My Boys

2011-04-30T08:01:00.002-04:00

Six years ago I took a job teaching at an all-boys high school. When I accepted the position, I was terrified of working with high school boys. My previous experience was with elementary students. Also I have always been a woman with primarily female friends, so boys, particularly of the adolescent variety, were intimidating.

Today I refer to my students as "my boys." I love my boys. They are sweet sensitive, and more thoughtful than they're given credit for. Of course, there are some who take up more than their fair share of my energy. They are usually the ones who have lots more on their emotional plate than they should at their age.

I am not a mother, but I think with my boys I feel a small fraction of what a parent must feel: pride, frustration, sorrow, joy, helplessness, hopefulness. My emotions have run the gamut. I have watched transformations- some good, some bad. I have seen boys grow into confident young men. I have seen boys find their own voice. I have also seen (thankfully not often) boys self-destruct.

Originally I was hired to teach Spanish. Now I primarily teach theology, the kind of theology classes that challenge my boys and me to be the best people we can be. As a result of trying to practice what I preach, I make extra efforts to relate to the kids who are not the easiest. For that same reason, I visited a boy in jail. When I became a teacher, never did I imagine I'd be visiting a student in jail. But even the boy I visited, who was convicted of some pretty horrible things, is still one of "my" boys. I think there are people who don't understand why I went or how I could possibly continue a relationship with him. To be honest, I'm not quite sure myself. However, I can't imagine doing otherwise. He was, and is, one of my boys. That's the best I can do to explain.

Normally at this point in the school year, I want nothing more than to be finished. This year I am not so eager. While I am excited for what's to come, the idea of leaving my boys, particularly the boys I have taught for 2 years who will graduate next year, makes me so sad. If I am back in the country by their graduation, I will certainly go.

I am so grateful for these last six years. I will cherish these last few days with my boys.

Fear

2011-04-28T22:05:00.000-04:00

I have been thinking about fear.

My students just read two essays about successful use of nonviolence- in the lives of individuals and in the cases of Denmark and Le Chambon, France against the Nazis during WWII. As we began the discussion today, several students (as expected) said that the use of nonviolence in the personal cases we read were really cases of people who got lucky, because there are a lot more cases of people getting attacked where the attack was not stopped. I acknowledged (as I always do) that we can see many cases of violence in our world...and proposed that the problem is not that people have tried nonviolence and failed, but that they failed to try nonviolence in the first place, so there was no possible chance for it to succeed. (Incidentally, there is an awesome quote by Joan Baez about this. If I had it here, I'd quote it.)

One of the examples in the essay we were discussing (Gerard Vanderhaar's "Nonviolent Response to Assault") is of a woman and her children whose car has broken down by the side of the road. A man with a gun comes up to them and the woman looks him in the eye and tells him to put the gun away and push the car...which he does. One student asked what I would do in the situation and I said I honestly don't know, but that I hoped that, like the woman, I would try to engage the potential attacker as a human being and take control of the situation, rather than allow my fear, and the other person, to be in charge.

Of course, I have no idea if that's what I'd do, but I sincerely hope I would. In another example, as a man is being attacked, he starts yelling out to Jesus and the attackers run away. As I was thinking about this example, I decided that if I am ever in such a situation (or some other volatile situation), I'd love to start singing the song "I Want Jesus to Walk with Me." Who knows what the outcome would be, but at the very least, it would calm me.

I hope I would have the courage to use nonviolence. However, I have been in too many situations (maybe not of potential violence, but certainly risky in other ways) where I have chosen fear. The fear is about speaking up...speaking up when I see something that is clearly wrong. Just the other day I was reading a journal entry of a student who wrote about a presentation by the Invisible Children of Uganda. He said he'd seen the presentation before and yet had not acted on it, even though he was moved by it. He was upset with himself for his inaction. I understood. Along with the comments I wrote back to him, I gave him a short reflection by Mary Lou Kownacki called "Guilty Bystander." It seems there are many of us who do not speak out or act when we know we should (in one class we've recently discussed sins of omission...hmmm). Fear, and sometimes laziness, are powerful. They are also very useful for those who do harm.

Recently I did speak up about something. I am doubtful that my voice will change anything. But I feel good that if nothing else, I have drawn attention to something that needs attention. I was a little nervous to say it, but I am so glad I did. Like the woman in the car, I chose to engage, rather than shy away because of fear.

Sadly, I feel like using my voice then was my exception rather than my rule. I hope and pray that speaking and acting will become my rule and my habit, not my exception.

I pray that God will help me overcome fear.

Joy and Happiness

2011-04-14T22:15:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I was with a group of boys visiting a graduate of my school. The young man we were visiting was in a near-fatal car accident a few days after he graduated (in 2009). Since the accident he has been in a slow process of recovery. He has almost no mobility, cannot talk, but can at least respond to yes/no questions by giving a thumbs up or thumbs down. When someone talks to him and he is interested in what the person says, his eyes focus completely on what is being said. It is clear that, though he may not be able to express it, his mind is working. As a colleague said to me, "When he looked at me, I knew I was looking into the eyes of Jesus."

When we go visit him, we talk to him, tell him school news, and of late, just hang out. Yesterday the time with him was spent playing various Wii sports. The boys took turns playing for him. It is so cool to witness their interaction with him and care for him. So cool.

His father happened to arrive while we were still there and I told him of my plans for next year. As we were leaving, he said he hoped I found happiness in the upcoming year. His tone seemed to indicate that he thinks I am not currently happy. Perhaps I misinterpreted. I told him that I love what I am doing now and that one of the hardest parts about my new adventures will be leaving the boys, particularly the juniors, many of whom I've had in class for 2 years. Again, his reaction led me to believe he thought I said what I said only because I was with boys.

However, it's true. I love what I do on a daily basis. I love talking to boys about justice issues. I love seeing them open their minds and hearts to people or groups of people they may have previously dismissed. I love reading what they write.

When I go with them on service projects, I often see their new sense of appreciation for what they have. I see connections form between kids who didn't previously know each other. I see kids who may not excel in class excel in the labor or, as in the case I describe above, simple presence, they provide. Witnessing these moments bring me incredible joy and happiness, even when I start the day wishing I were elsewhere (which, sadly, sometimes happens).

I continue to assert that high school boys are much more thoughtful than they are given credit for. They just need the chance to practice. While I know I am not always successful, I love trying to give them that chance. When they take that chance, I am filled with joy.

This year and all my years of teaching have brought me happiness, perhaps not in every moment (there have been some difficult ones, to be sure), but overall. It will be with sadness that I leave. I have already shed some tears and know that I'll shed more as the end of the school year approaches. Even when my life is filled with new experiences, I will remember the joy and happiness I found in working with "my" boys.

I am certain that next year there will be many new wonders as I wander the world. My joy will come not because I am leaving here, but rather because what I experience there.

Following My Gut

2011-04-12T20:15:00.002-04:00

A year or so ago, I considered keeping a blog. This is the result, though as you can see, I haven't been writing. Last week I was in Belize with another teacher and 10 students. We kept a blog. I was reminded how much I like to write and so I thought that perhaps it might be time to start writing again...more than twice in a year!

There has been a lot on my mind of late. I am leaving my teaching job to travel and volunteer abroad next year. I know I'll go to India (that's where I'll volunteer for a few months). I know I'll go to Israel and Palestine (I'd like to be in Bethlehem for Christmas and I may stay there for awhile if I find a good place to do some volunteering). I know I'll go to Europe (I have friends and family there and would like to do some sight-seeing, too). But there are many unknowns.

When I tell people of my plans, some say they'd love to take a year-long vacation like me. I know that I don't want to be on a year-long vacation. Some compare my upcoming journey to Eat, Pray, Love. I have thought often of the book, and perhaps there are some similarities in our journeys. No doubt, like the author, I will learn about myself, though that is not my primary goal. Some tell me what I'm doing is brave. However, I don't feel like I am doing anything particularly brave. I'm doing what I have to do. I'm following my gut. It's not brave; it's just right. It doesn't even feel like I've made a choice, but have simply given in (and I don't mean that in a negative way) to a choice made for me...

There has been a stirring within for about 2 years. It was only this past summer that some clarity came to me about where that stirring might lead me. It was when I read the book Half the Sky that it hit me: it's time to go to India to work with women (India had been on my mind for years). That was what had been brewing. When I finally knew, I KNEW. I started making preparations to make it happen.

There have been times during the school year when I've wondered if I'm doing the right thing because many wonderful things have happened with kids in my classes and on service projects. However, I always come back to the stirring, the pull (and when I am talking to someone face to face about it, I always find myself making a gesture as if there is a string tied to my belly that is being pulled). I can't deny it. I have to go.

As I said, there are many unknowns. But strangely, they don't worry me very often: who is going to care for my cats, who will live in my house, where will I be a year from now? Recently the plans I've had in my head for months got turned upside down, which stressed me out momentarily. But after thinking further, I realized it was just God's way of letting me know who's in charge. If I'm truly going to follow the pull, I have to REALLY follow it, not just pretend.

And so the plans continue to unfold...

Crash

2010-07-15T10:37:00.000-04:00

A few days ago I went to visit my brother and his family. I got started a little later than I’d wanted to (really only about a half hour) and had my sister’s GPS to guide me. If you have a GPS, you know it will give you an ETA (estimated time of arrival). I was a little obsessed with the ETA, especially since I succeeded in making it go down a minute or two in my first hour of driving.

And then the progress I’d been making ended. Traffic slowed…and then stopped momentarily, and then picked up, but only to a speed of about 7 to 10 MPH. “Oh, no!” I thought, “How will this impact my ETA?” I was annoyed with whatever or whomever was causing the delay.

Then I noticed that across the median there was no traffic going in the opposite direction; zero cars were passing by. At that point I knew that the cause of my frustration wasn’t construction. It was an accident and a pretty bad one to have stopped traffic in one direction and slowed it down considerably in the other. A minute or two later, I saw, going in the same direction as I but in the lanes across the median, two ambulances speeding to the scene.

That was when my ETA obsession disappeared. So what if I arrived a little later at my brother’s house? At least (I hoped), I was going to arrive there. There were other people whose plans had changed a lot more than mine. I would ultimately arrive at the destination I set out for. Others were instead going to a hospital. Knowing that, my short-term priorities were set straight.

I sometimes seem to have a split personality. There are times when I think I do a decent job putting others first. That morning I had worked with a group of students at a food bank. There are other times when I know my life is way too focused on me. That afternoon I was (at least initially) annoyed with people who would dare to inconvenience me by slowing me down. Hmmm…

I think my desire to write about this comes from my own need for reminders that life is not all about me and what I want. It is not about speeding from place to place. It is about caring for others. It is about noticing others- not just those I want to notice, but those who need my attention, whom I might otherwise overlook. While I couldn’t do anything to help those at the crash scene, I could pray for everyone there… and I did. I could be thankful for my own good fortune…and I was and am. I find it unsettling that it often takes witnessing someone else’s misfortune to remind me of the abundant blessings in my life. Perhaps this particular reminder will help me to recognize the blessings without first observing a contrasting tragedy…Perhaps it will help me notice and reach out to those who need my care and my prayers, even when giving them that attention disrupts my own self-centered plans…

Cracks in the Sidewalk

2010-07-01T12:03:00.001-04:00

I wrote the following in May of this year...

I was pulling weeds the other day. I haven’t had time to do much in my yard and there are lots of weeds. That day I focused on the weeds in the cracks in the sidewalk. I was amazed at how many weeds there seemed to be in cracks no larger than a centimeter wide…

When I work in my garden, I let my mind wander. That day it wandered to my students. We are nearing the end of the school year and there are a few students who have been, to put it nicely, trying. I have been frustrated. I have been wondering if I have gotten through to some of my kids.

As I was pulling weeds, I was reminded of the parable of the sower, who throws seed on all sorts of ground and in all but the fertile soil, the seed-throwing seems fruitless. Sometimes when I am teaching, I see some growth from the seeds I plant and I feel like I am throwing onto fertile soil. Most of the time I see nothing come of it… I wonder…I feel like I am throwing seeds onto something as life-depleting as my concrete sidewalk.

Except…there are cracks in the sidewalk. And in those cracks, it was clear to me that day, things can grow. Lots of things can grow. In fact, the growth I find in those cracks any time I try to clean them up is persistent, insistent upon growing. What I see growing there, what I pull up, I call weeds. I didn’t plant them. And yet they’re there.

What if I did throw seeds there? What if I planted seeds there, trusting that there could be growth in those small openings? How many of my students seem to have a rock-solid exterior, but really, within the tough exterior have some cracks? How many are waiting for someone to notice the cracks and to plant seeds in those spaces? How many might allow those cracks to widen if they know that care will be taken with those fragmented places, those places others might call weakness?

Even in the smallest spaces, life finds a way. In fact, it is from those times and places of weakness, when we "crack," that we experience growth. It is when someone takes the time to tend to our cracks that unexpected life emerges. We may not know what’s coming, but life springs forth.

And so I continue throwing seeds, even towards those students who appear to be a concrete sidewalk, even when it looks like doing so is a waste of time and seed. Maybe there are cracks there that I cannot see…Being generous with the seed-throwing, I won’t have to pull out weeds that just happened to take root there. Instead, if I take the time to notice, I may be delighted by the beautiful growth that emerges from just a tiny crack.