I have almost made my decision. I love working here in Jordan. I love being a special-education teacher. I love how seamless this transition has been. I love being the "foreigner" and changing perceptions about Americans. I LOVE my deaf-blind children. And I probably won't extend my term here. No need for lamentation.
I felt a distinct calling to do SALT. It had nothing to do with a preconceived notion that I am a light to others, and I should by all means travel the world to illuminate the lives of others. It was simpler than that, and hopefully less naive. I did my best to clear my mind, eliminate personal and cultural pressures. I wanted to feel a bit more surrendered. To engage the idea of service without presupposing that I have spectacular calling to which I must adhere. No obligations except to listen, carefully. Delicately, painfully cutting through my own intentions to find the faintest of whispers. I don't really know what I found, but I just knew it was clear once personal motivations were shed, at least to the greatest extent my flawed perspective was capable of.
In considering extending my SALT term, I haven't been doing that. I examined what I love, and what I want. It isn't that those things wouldn't coincide with service, but ultimately, that doesn't necessarily integrate with faithfulness. It comes down to cutting through the inessentials, to find that one important thing. A "calling" sounds so exclusive, but it is usually the language I subscribe to. I'll bypass that here in favor of expressing this process as "listening". It sounds like a cop out, as if I am waiting out God, hoping to have the direction provided. That isn't how I see it. I am just trying to keep my limited (often selfish) perspective from poisoning my decision, under pretense of righteousness. I very much doubt I can entirely eliminate my fallibility, but poison in small amounts is bearable, without toxically endangering the outcome.
I am usually the obstacle in a relationship. No amount of sincerity can overcome personal motives. So, I want this decision to be made without sincerity. Yeah, now I'm confused too. It should be self evident. That is the nature of truth. It just is. Can't contain it, can't own it. You just experience it. Sincerity not required. With open eyes, open heart, open mind, I hope to get there. As of now, my motives excluded, I am experiencing a new feeling. I feel a bit closer to God, and I feel like I won't be in Jordan next year. It is, quite surely, more real than the reasons to stay, which I have conjured up over the past few months. But rather than following a host of important things, I think I am closer to following the one important thing. Peace.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Dichotomy
I could tell you about my week, the joys of teaching, the successes and failures, and how life is Jordan is shaping up. But I won't. You might even want to hear about those things, but I am too far away for you to hold significant authority over the content of my blog. Seriously, what are you going to do? Send me a strongly worded email? Defile my image on your prayer card with a less than flattering addition of a curly moostache? (emphasis on the "moooo") Put a delicious cake in a box, then send it to me knowing that the postal service in Jordan is less than reputable, resulting in a rather dissappointing delivery of a moldy surprise 6 weeks later? Trivial responses that hold no power here.
Instead, I will tell you about my realization (or acknowledgement of what I already knew) yesterday, while fulfilling my duties as resident painter. I have two competing mindsets. One that tells me I should continue to be guided towards a vocation, and another that tells me that to love others is my vocation. I think both to be valid, and each has varying degrees of selfishness involved. Once I decided to do SALT, I didn't have to worry about each. An assumption was made that I would do this for a year, and then I would know what to do afterwards. It wasn't ignorance, or a naive sense of purpose, or even some presupposition that I could do whatever I want and God would eventually direct me. I just figured that the answer was somewhere in the future, to be stumbled upon.
Ha. You are picturing me, the fool, tripping over a rock? No. I am sitting here. I saw the rock 10 steps before I could have tripped. So, now, I sit before it. Deliberating. Pondering. A tranquil state of pensiveness. Quite content.
I know there isn't an answer. An answer would insinuate that there was a question. There isn't one. Just a decision. And each path has varying degrees of selfishness, accompanied by genuine passion and relevance. Could I extend my term with MCC? To continue working with "my" deaf-blind children. To continue to be so far from family. To continue to be a cultural anomaly. To continue volunteering for the sake of a cause, for the sake of love and service. To wonder how significantly it would alter future paths if I stayed. To continue to be unabashedly captivated by the wonders of my job. I have seen the negatives, and have felt the drudgery of this schedule. The exhaustion comes and goes. And none of it, at any point, has concealed the truth. I love this place, and after the first month here, I was already thinking about how hard it would be to say goodbye. Maybe it would be selfish to put off the need to say goodbye...
And then, there is the other side. I could leave it at one year. Seems practical. Find my niche when I return to the U.S., resume my position in familiarity. Actively discern God's calling, and integrate my SALT experience in a newly formed perspective, allowing for the pursuit of a vocation that reflects my convictions and integrates my gifts. Reconnect with friends. Spend time with family. Make some money, pay the rent, establish a plan for the future. Good stuff. An allure of returning to familiarity carries undertones of selfishness as well...
Just because I am in Jordan doesn't mean I can't feel your thoughts. You think this is a tough position for me to be in. Alone, working through a seemingly important decision. So many things to consider, with implications galore. I relish this. I am at an all-time high. I can't lose, because no matter which way I go, it will be the right decision. As long as I am aware of my motivations, and push them all aside to ultimately choose where God can best use me, then the degree of difficulty and loss of the "other path" become irrelevant. I can't anticipate when the decision will need to be made, and I don't know if I'll truly "know" which path I'm on until I stop again to look back. For now, I'll sit here and play with this rock for a while. Maybe I'll even take it with me when I resume walking, just in case I want another stumbling point in the future. Peace.
Instead, I will tell you about my realization (or acknowledgement of what I already knew) yesterday, while fulfilling my duties as resident painter. I have two competing mindsets. One that tells me I should continue to be guided towards a vocation, and another that tells me that to love others is my vocation. I think both to be valid, and each has varying degrees of selfishness involved. Once I decided to do SALT, I didn't have to worry about each. An assumption was made that I would do this for a year, and then I would know what to do afterwards. It wasn't ignorance, or a naive sense of purpose, or even some presupposition that I could do whatever I want and God would eventually direct me. I just figured that the answer was somewhere in the future, to be stumbled upon.
Ha. You are picturing me, the fool, tripping over a rock? No. I am sitting here. I saw the rock 10 steps before I could have tripped. So, now, I sit before it. Deliberating. Pondering. A tranquil state of pensiveness. Quite content.
I know there isn't an answer. An answer would insinuate that there was a question. There isn't one. Just a decision. And each path has varying degrees of selfishness, accompanied by genuine passion and relevance. Could I extend my term with MCC? To continue working with "my" deaf-blind children. To continue to be so far from family. To continue to be a cultural anomaly. To continue volunteering for the sake of a cause, for the sake of love and service. To wonder how significantly it would alter future paths if I stayed. To continue to be unabashedly captivated by the wonders of my job. I have seen the negatives, and have felt the drudgery of this schedule. The exhaustion comes and goes. And none of it, at any point, has concealed the truth. I love this place, and after the first month here, I was already thinking about how hard it would be to say goodbye. Maybe it would be selfish to put off the need to say goodbye...
And then, there is the other side. I could leave it at one year. Seems practical. Find my niche when I return to the U.S., resume my position in familiarity. Actively discern God's calling, and integrate my SALT experience in a newly formed perspective, allowing for the pursuit of a vocation that reflects my convictions and integrates my gifts. Reconnect with friends. Spend time with family. Make some money, pay the rent, establish a plan for the future. Good stuff. An allure of returning to familiarity carries undertones of selfishness as well...
Just because I am in Jordan doesn't mean I can't feel your thoughts. You think this is a tough position for me to be in. Alone, working through a seemingly important decision. So many things to consider, with implications galore. I relish this. I am at an all-time high. I can't lose, because no matter which way I go, it will be the right decision. As long as I am aware of my motivations, and push them all aside to ultimately choose where God can best use me, then the degree of difficulty and loss of the "other path" become irrelevant. I can't anticipate when the decision will need to be made, and I don't know if I'll truly "know" which path I'm on until I stop again to look back. For now, I'll sit here and play with this rock for a while. Maybe I'll even take it with me when I resume walking, just in case I want another stumbling point in the future. Peace.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Thanksgiving in Jordan
Thanksgiving was spent on the following, thrilling activities: reading, exercising, shopping for food, cleaning, and welcoming guests. I will articulate what each entailed in utterly captivating detail.
Reading: I recently received, from my sister, an electronic reader. It is a nifty little toy than contains all the books my heart could desire. I have quickly put it to use, and enjoy its convenience. Still, it was a bit disappointing that customs put an egregious tax on the package, approximately equaling three-fourths the value of the item itself. Such is life...
Exercising: I have concocted a rather unique aerobic workout, which takes place in the 5ftx5ft open space in my room. It is a seamless unification of many techniques, including (though not limited to) the following: kick-boxing, tae-bo, yoga, interpretive dance, running in place, jumping and jumping jacks (flailing arms included), static muscle flexing (I don't know if that is really a term), and push-ups (if there is time). It is a simple combination of awesome wrapped in mind-numbing intensity baked in creativity. Yes, I think that accurately describes it.
Shopping: Food is something towards which I lack proper sense of necessity. I can go without food for weeks, maybe even years (I am pretty sure). But, when placed in the heart of a convenience store (which, in Jordan, only involves stepping through the door), I quickly become victim to poor judgment. Upon this day, though, I triumphantly conquered. I bought food for the next two days for only 2.35 JD. Bread, hoummus, tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, and two grapefruit. Incidentally, I recognize that, while tempting to use, "grapefruits" is not an acceptable plural. Regardless, the grapefruit was exceptional, perhaps the best I have ever had. Or, maybe it just seems that way because of my context and extensive deprivation. Still, it was delectable.
Cleaning: The bathroom in my flat had progressed from the "disgusting and in disrepair" category to the "stifling putrescence" stage. This isn't to say that efforts hadn't been made to make it better, but thusfar, my efforts had been largely unsuccessful, and almost entirely disheartening. So, in addition to my food shopping, I stocked up on cleaning ammunition. No-nonsense sponge, 2 metal scouring pads, and a 30 oz. bottle of industrial strength cleaner (clearly marked with warnings, likely illegal in the U.S.). This was war. For 2 hours, the battle was waged, hands burning from chemicals, metal shavings working their way through the epidermis, porcelain spitting forth the most unsavory of insults. When I had finally put up the white flag, downtrodden and humbled, a rinsing revealed my foe to have retreated in a fog of orange and brown. Behold, before my eyes, a tub of white stood, a welcome ally. Casualties would not be suffered on this day, and my injuries would heal with time. Below are the results.
Guests: As I was finishing up my cleaning, I got a knock on my door. Outside were 2 unfamiliar faces, a young man from Switzerland and a young woman from the U.S. Couldn't have been much older than me. They were on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the young man started in Switzerland and was joined by his companion in Istanbul, and had walked the entire distance to Salt. (Side note: The young woman had gone to Lancaster Mennonite High School, and when she found out I was working for MCC, it was a "wow moment".) I conversed with them for a time, offered to share some sweets, listened to their story, and just had a relaxing time talking with some really interesting people. I was fascinated by their commitment, they were intrigued by my work. And, they used my newly cleaned shower. The first people to do so, and I felt honored.
Thanksgiving was great. It wasn't about having family to share it with, or turkey, or recognizing what I have been blessed with (still worth doing everyday, not just one day a year), or pie, or even familiarity. It was focused on where I am, whoever happens to be here with me, and the incredible service opportunity that I have been given. There is thankfulness in being blessed by the things that you missed, without feeling like you really missed out. I am here, you are there, and as long as we're doing what we're supposed to, nobody has to miss anything. Keep doing what you're doing, and glorify the God through whom you do it. I'll try to do the same. Peace.
Reading: I recently received, from my sister, an electronic reader. It is a nifty little toy than contains all the books my heart could desire. I have quickly put it to use, and enjoy its convenience. Still, it was a bit disappointing that customs put an egregious tax on the package, approximately equaling three-fourths the value of the item itself. Such is life...
Exercising: I have concocted a rather unique aerobic workout, which takes place in the 5ftx5ft open space in my room. It is a seamless unification of many techniques, including (though not limited to) the following: kick-boxing, tae-bo, yoga, interpretive dance, running in place, jumping and jumping jacks (flailing arms included), static muscle flexing (I don't know if that is really a term), and push-ups (if there is time). It is a simple combination of awesome wrapped in mind-numbing intensity baked in creativity. Yes, I think that accurately describes it.
Shopping: Food is something towards which I lack proper sense of necessity. I can go without food for weeks, maybe even years (I am pretty sure). But, when placed in the heart of a convenience store (which, in Jordan, only involves stepping through the door), I quickly become victim to poor judgment. Upon this day, though, I triumphantly conquered. I bought food for the next two days for only 2.35 JD. Bread, hoummus, tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, and two grapefruit. Incidentally, I recognize that, while tempting to use, "grapefruits" is not an acceptable plural. Regardless, the grapefruit was exceptional, perhaps the best I have ever had. Or, maybe it just seems that way because of my context and extensive deprivation. Still, it was delectable.
Cleaning: The bathroom in my flat had progressed from the "disgusting and in disrepair" category to the "stifling putrescence" stage. This isn't to say that efforts hadn't been made to make it better, but thusfar, my efforts had been largely unsuccessful, and almost entirely disheartening. So, in addition to my food shopping, I stocked up on cleaning ammunition. No-nonsense sponge, 2 metal scouring pads, and a 30 oz. bottle of industrial strength cleaner (clearly marked with warnings, likely illegal in the U.S.). This was war. For 2 hours, the battle was waged, hands burning from chemicals, metal shavings working their way through the epidermis, porcelain spitting forth the most unsavory of insults. When I had finally put up the white flag, downtrodden and humbled, a rinsing revealed my foe to have retreated in a fog of orange and brown. Behold, before my eyes, a tub of white stood, a welcome ally. Casualties would not be suffered on this day, and my injuries would heal with time. Below are the results.
Guests: As I was finishing up my cleaning, I got a knock on my door. Outside were 2 unfamiliar faces, a young man from Switzerland and a young woman from the U.S. Couldn't have been much older than me. They were on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the young man started in Switzerland and was joined by his companion in Istanbul, and had walked the entire distance to Salt. (Side note: The young woman had gone to Lancaster Mennonite High School, and when she found out I was working for MCC, it was a "wow moment".) I conversed with them for a time, offered to share some sweets, listened to their story, and just had a relaxing time talking with some really interesting people. I was fascinated by their commitment, they were intrigued by my work. And, they used my newly cleaned shower. The first people to do so, and I felt honored.
Thanksgiving was great. It wasn't about having family to share it with, or turkey, or recognizing what I have been blessed with (still worth doing everyday, not just one day a year), or pie, or even familiarity. It was focused on where I am, whoever happens to be here with me, and the incredible service opportunity that I have been given. There is thankfulness in being blessed by the things that you missed, without feeling like you really missed out. I am here, you are there, and as long as we're doing what we're supposed to, nobody has to miss anything. Keep doing what you're doing, and glorify the God through whom you do it. I'll try to do the same. Peace.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Visit From the King
To begin, you may view the two-week aftermath of the bite of Haazim.
In all his splendor, King Abdullah II made his way to the Holy Land Institute this past week. It was quite a spectacle. I wasn't completely excited, but the overflowing enthusiasm from the students did spill over a bit.
I won't go into detail of his caravan of SUV's, or of the extensive personnel that were sent to the school for security purposes. He came quickly, and he left quickly, and we were thankful that he made the time to do so.
It was, however, quite fun to see the excitement of the students as they waited for his arrival. It was even more fun to take pictures of the king as he shook the hands of staff and children alike. And it was the best when he gave a traditional Arabic greeting to Mohammed, which I actually got a picture of.
Really, though, I was reminded that I am more fond of my deaf-blind children than I am of any celebrity. The blessing of smile from them far outweighs the "honor" of shaking the hand of a king. And I am honored to work with these children. Still, I will give you a picture of the king, as well as a picture of me with one of my favorite students. But, teachers don't have favorites, and all my students are my favorite, but she is just my utmost favorite. Peace.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Three Months
Tomorrow I will hit the three-month mark, a milestone that will continually expand the record for most time consecutively spent away from Kansas. This are still going eerily well, and I will not seek out any opportunities to ruin that.
In the past few weeks, I have had some exciting moments. One of my students bit my hand, leaving what will hopefully become a delightful scar (an unplanned memento, but still one I will relish once the healing process is completed). A pitiful attempt at navigating Amman by foot, in which I walked for over an hour away from my intended destination. A pancake brunch with some of the other volunteers. Two straight days of rain, in amounts greater than what most residents can recall having consecutively. Weather becoming hot, then cold, then perfect (as in sunny, mild, and comfortable). Seeing Muhammed become ecstatic at the appearance of the mysterious water that issues forth from the sky. Things are good.
In a recent meeting with the MCC reps in Amman, I had a chance to actually evaluate how things are going. This is something that I do daily, but it isn't often that I express my perspective with more than a few signs, or some simplified English. Yet, the chance to do so made me realize that even the things I classify as challenges are some of the things I enjoy the most. When forced to analyze and characterize my experience, it seems that only good things come to mind. It is slightly taxing to have to produce a list of negatives.
While this is more than premature, this experience has unexpectedly illicited a bit of indulgent entertaining of ideas relating to continued work in Jordan. I wouldn't say that I am seriously considering extending my term with MCC, and as of now the possibility of simply finishing my SALT term and returning to the U.S. would be far more likely. Still, it is notable that I am considering a possibility of considering the opportunity to stay. But, considering beginning a consideration is far detached from having dipped into the consideration itself, so don't jump to conclusions.
I suppose that the message that I hope to convey is simply this: I enjoy my life. I wouldn't say I am adequately adapted to this culture, or qualified for my job, or even settled in. It doesn't prevent me from loving the work I do, nor does it so engulf my being that I forget about the people I love back in the U.S. And while my existence seems so far removed from your daily life, I assure you that a connection is maintained. You are in my thoughts and prayers, not forgotten. We are separate, but not apart. And in that sense, a part of this experience is yours as well. It has been enjoyable so far, and I hope you feel a bit of that, if only through me. Peace.
In the past few weeks, I have had some exciting moments. One of my students bit my hand, leaving what will hopefully become a delightful scar (an unplanned memento, but still one I will relish once the healing process is completed). A pitiful attempt at navigating Amman by foot, in which I walked for over an hour away from my intended destination. A pancake brunch with some of the other volunteers. Two straight days of rain, in amounts greater than what most residents can recall having consecutively. Weather becoming hot, then cold, then perfect (as in sunny, mild, and comfortable). Seeing Muhammed become ecstatic at the appearance of the mysterious water that issues forth from the sky. Things are good.
In a recent meeting with the MCC reps in Amman, I had a chance to actually evaluate how things are going. This is something that I do daily, but it isn't often that I express my perspective with more than a few signs, or some simplified English. Yet, the chance to do so made me realize that even the things I classify as challenges are some of the things I enjoy the most. When forced to analyze and characterize my experience, it seems that only good things come to mind. It is slightly taxing to have to produce a list of negatives.
While this is more than premature, this experience has unexpectedly illicited a bit of indulgent entertaining of ideas relating to continued work in Jordan. I wouldn't say that I am seriously considering extending my term with MCC, and as of now the possibility of simply finishing my SALT term and returning to the U.S. would be far more likely. Still, it is notable that I am considering a possibility of considering the opportunity to stay. But, considering beginning a consideration is far detached from having dipped into the consideration itself, so don't jump to conclusions.
I suppose that the message that I hope to convey is simply this: I enjoy my life. I wouldn't say I am adequately adapted to this culture, or qualified for my job, or even settled in. It doesn't prevent me from loving the work I do, nor does it so engulf my being that I forget about the people I love back in the U.S. And while my existence seems so far removed from your daily life, I assure you that a connection is maintained. You are in my thoughts and prayers, not forgotten. We are separate, but not apart. And in that sense, a part of this experience is yours as well. It has been enjoyable so far, and I hope you feel a bit of that, if only through me. Peace.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Vitality is a Must
Something about the word must...it has an allure. It is an absolute certainty that I should add it to my list of funny words (amongst others, such as duty, muffin, pewter, etc.).
I came to Jordan without many thoughts on what I "must do", but have heard reports from others. You must visit Petra. You must go to the Dead Sea. You must try the magloubeh (which I did, and it definitely isn't a must). You must call your parents (admittedly, I don't do this often enough). You must be homesick. You must get exhausted and tired of the monotony of your job. You must experience culture shock. The list would be excruciatingly long...
There are some good things in that list. All of it is good, actually, either by merit or by the humor it provides me. Months have zipped by, all too quickly, and I still have many more to go, and a lot of the "musts" will probably be lost along the way. With this in mind, I am already picking and choosing which ones will make the "MUST must" list. I think I'll stick with...call parents. Petra will likely make be retained as well. Dead Sea...been there, done that. And I hate to be so exclusive, because homesickness and culture shock could surely play a valuable role. I really do strive to get the complete "SALT experience". And I try to advocate equality without judgment, which makes it all the more painful to be so exclusive. Regrettably, that's the way it is. Hayk, in Arabic.
Still, this is my maintained reality. I intend to make, above other things, vitality a must. A sort of unquenchable passion, an energy that my life exudes. That is a must. And it is, in a way, much easier to do with the specifics of my job. I am at the school for around 12 hours each day. If there is chapel, it can stretch upwards of 14 hours. I don't get a lot of free time, nor do I need it. I wake up each day and work, then have time at home in the evening to unwind. Watch a movie, color a picture, read a book, eat some falafel, listen to music, exercise, maybe even study if I am feeling especially productive. I might be confused, but am I supposed to want something else? Am I supposed to wish that my circumstances fit ideally into an image of perfection? I think the crux, the intrinsic juxtaposition here lies only in the application of perfection. A perfect dream is much different than a perfect perspective. The dream relates to something fantastical, while the perspective is applicable to reality. I like the perspective, as a perfect perspective transforms a marred reality into something more beautiful than a dream can create. Just yesterday, I was painting, and I accidently leaned against the railing, leaving a line of wet paint on my white shirt. I looked down, and in that diagonal line, I saw an incomplete heart. So, I finished the figure, albeit a lopsided depiction. There is grace in turning a wrongly perceived mistake into a beautiful form worth rejoicing over. But perspective is key.
Living intentionally (as opposed to wandering, as if by accident) deprives the cruelties of circumstance from defining your reality. Intentions allow you to create your own reality.
You just have to intend to break that list of "musts" sometimes. Peace.
I came to Jordan without many thoughts on what I "must do", but have heard reports from others. You must visit Petra. You must go to the Dead Sea. You must try the magloubeh (which I did, and it definitely isn't a must). You must call your parents (admittedly, I don't do this often enough). You must be homesick. You must get exhausted and tired of the monotony of your job. You must experience culture shock. The list would be excruciatingly long...
There are some good things in that list. All of it is good, actually, either by merit or by the humor it provides me. Months have zipped by, all too quickly, and I still have many more to go, and a lot of the "musts" will probably be lost along the way. With this in mind, I am already picking and choosing which ones will make the "MUST must" list. I think I'll stick with...call parents. Petra will likely make be retained as well. Dead Sea...been there, done that. And I hate to be so exclusive, because homesickness and culture shock could surely play a valuable role. I really do strive to get the complete "SALT experience". And I try to advocate equality without judgment, which makes it all the more painful to be so exclusive. Regrettably, that's the way it is. Hayk, in Arabic.
Still, this is my maintained reality. I intend to make, above other things, vitality a must. A sort of unquenchable passion, an energy that my life exudes. That is a must. And it is, in a way, much easier to do with the specifics of my job. I am at the school for around 12 hours each day. If there is chapel, it can stretch upwards of 14 hours. I don't get a lot of free time, nor do I need it. I wake up each day and work, then have time at home in the evening to unwind. Watch a movie, color a picture, read a book, eat some falafel, listen to music, exercise, maybe even study if I am feeling especially productive. I might be confused, but am I supposed to want something else? Am I supposed to wish that my circumstances fit ideally into an image of perfection? I think the crux, the intrinsic juxtaposition here lies only in the application of perfection. A perfect dream is much different than a perfect perspective. The dream relates to something fantastical, while the perspective is applicable to reality. I like the perspective, as a perfect perspective transforms a marred reality into something more beautiful than a dream can create. Just yesterday, I was painting, and I accidently leaned against the railing, leaving a line of wet paint on my white shirt. I looked down, and in that diagonal line, I saw an incomplete heart. So, I finished the figure, albeit a lopsided depiction. There is grace in turning a wrongly perceived mistake into a beautiful form worth rejoicing over. But perspective is key.
Living intentionally (as opposed to wandering, as if by accident) deprives the cruelties of circumstance from defining your reality. Intentions allow you to create your own reality.
You just have to intend to break that list of "musts" sometimes. Peace.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Teacher Initiation
A couple days ago, the unyielding thrills of my job were suddenly increased, a veritable "ante up" of excitement. It initially appeared to be just like any other Thursday, with the students in the deaf-blind unit being prepared to go home and well aware that being menaces would go without punishment on this day. Little did I know, this was apparently "Teacher Initiation Day"...
It started with an attempt at deviation from the mundane (I say mundane only because it seems boring for Muhammed, not becuase it is a shot at the curriculum) lesson plan, and the intention of teaching Muhammed to count on his fingers. I knew it would be difficult, but I decided to work on the number 2, and spent all of 45 minutes just trying to train Muhammed to move his fingers independently of one another. If I may, I will attempt to illustrate the exceptional level of complication which Muhammed might have been experiencing. Hold your hand out in front of you and attempt to bend your pinky to the palm of your hand, without bending your thumb or any of your other fingers. It is impossible. An exercise in futility. But for Muhammed, I think it is essential for him to spend hours, days, weeks, even months just learning how to manipulate his hands, as it will allow him to progress in his sign language much farther than where he is now. Otherwise, the signs are always muddled by the lack of specificity that comes with the orientation of his fingers. I am fine with failing in my attempt, but I will keep trying, as I have patience in abundance.
The next occurrence was with Haazim, the instigator of all tantrums, and to whom I am now the officially designated diffuser. Haazim knows me because, at my own risk, whenever I come in to restrain him, my first action is to force his hand to run through my hair, identifying what I like to call "getting down to business". Haazim seems to be most calm when in my presence, either out of fear or a higher level of comfort with me, but when I am intervening he is not very fond of me. Usually, it is an expression of frustration, but on this day, his malice was sharp and frustration quickly evolved into downright loathing of my existence. I am considerably stronger than this young boy, but he shows surprising power when he wishes to inflict pain on the unknown forces that so enrage him. As I have no training, my best option is to put him in a position where he has limited mobility, preferably on my lap to prevent his feet from gaining any leverage. I am then, of course, vulnerable to kicking and possibly a reverse head-butt (which, fortunately, Haazim doesn't seem to be aware of). He is also cunning, and will slouch and squirm, forcing me to adjust the position of his arms to prevent him from either biting me or himself. But he is too smart, and at the precise moment he feels me adjust, he goes in for blood. Though he managed to get his teeth on my arm, he thankfully never landed a successful bite. At my own disappointment, though, he scares me enough to slip out of my grasp, and bites himself. Overall, I spent at least a half an hour grappling with him before he finally calmed down a bit...so exhausting.
Lastly, I was quite drained after those ordeals, and gladly sat down for a calm dinner. But there was more still on the way, in the form of a innocent (innocent-looking) young girl of maybe 6 years-old. She was, at the least mischievous, and knew how to manipulate the cuteness-factor. I didn't really mind, and then I saw her making the sign for "Christian". I nodded a "yes" in response, and what ensued was a series of signs to signify her apparent loyalty to Islam and an apparent opinion that Christians are detestable, poignantly concluded with an emphatic slap to my face. I was a bit shocked, but as a volunteer, this was an opportunity to establish a bit of authority. While I am not one to get mad often, I plastered an expression of rage upon my face and leaned in towards her. She smiled, even giggled a bit, but after about 15-seconds she realized that something was wrong here. As discomfort overtook her, I simply pointed to myself and gave her the sign for "teacher", followed by forcefully grabbing her hand and re-enacting the slap, the signing "never". She was terrified. I ended with a simple question, signing "What do you say?". Ashamed and apologetic, she signed "Sorry." I broke character, smiled, and let her know it was okay. Discipline, complete.
Today is a day off, and I hope to save some of the excitement for next week. I don't want it to run out, after all. Peace.
It started with an attempt at deviation from the mundane (I say mundane only because it seems boring for Muhammed, not becuase it is a shot at the curriculum) lesson plan, and the intention of teaching Muhammed to count on his fingers. I knew it would be difficult, but I decided to work on the number 2, and spent all of 45 minutes just trying to train Muhammed to move his fingers independently of one another. If I may, I will attempt to illustrate the exceptional level of complication which Muhammed might have been experiencing. Hold your hand out in front of you and attempt to bend your pinky to the palm of your hand, without bending your thumb or any of your other fingers. It is impossible. An exercise in futility. But for Muhammed, I think it is essential for him to spend hours, days, weeks, even months just learning how to manipulate his hands, as it will allow him to progress in his sign language much farther than where he is now. Otherwise, the signs are always muddled by the lack of specificity that comes with the orientation of his fingers. I am fine with failing in my attempt, but I will keep trying, as I have patience in abundance.
The next occurrence was with Haazim, the instigator of all tantrums, and to whom I am now the officially designated diffuser. Haazim knows me because, at my own risk, whenever I come in to restrain him, my first action is to force his hand to run through my hair, identifying what I like to call "getting down to business". Haazim seems to be most calm when in my presence, either out of fear or a higher level of comfort with me, but when I am intervening he is not very fond of me. Usually, it is an expression of frustration, but on this day, his malice was sharp and frustration quickly evolved into downright loathing of my existence. I am considerably stronger than this young boy, but he shows surprising power when he wishes to inflict pain on the unknown forces that so enrage him. As I have no training, my best option is to put him in a position where he has limited mobility, preferably on my lap to prevent his feet from gaining any leverage. I am then, of course, vulnerable to kicking and possibly a reverse head-butt (which, fortunately, Haazim doesn't seem to be aware of). He is also cunning, and will slouch and squirm, forcing me to adjust the position of his arms to prevent him from either biting me or himself. But he is too smart, and at the precise moment he feels me adjust, he goes in for blood. Though he managed to get his teeth on my arm, he thankfully never landed a successful bite. At my own disappointment, though, he scares me enough to slip out of my grasp, and bites himself. Overall, I spent at least a half an hour grappling with him before he finally calmed down a bit...so exhausting.
Lastly, I was quite drained after those ordeals, and gladly sat down for a calm dinner. But there was more still on the way, in the form of a innocent (innocent-looking) young girl of maybe 6 years-old. She was, at the least mischievous, and knew how to manipulate the cuteness-factor. I didn't really mind, and then I saw her making the sign for "Christian". I nodded a "yes" in response, and what ensued was a series of signs to signify her apparent loyalty to Islam and an apparent opinion that Christians are detestable, poignantly concluded with an emphatic slap to my face. I was a bit shocked, but as a volunteer, this was an opportunity to establish a bit of authority. While I am not one to get mad often, I plastered an expression of rage upon my face and leaned in towards her. She smiled, even giggled a bit, but after about 15-seconds she realized that something was wrong here. As discomfort overtook her, I simply pointed to myself and gave her the sign for "teacher", followed by forcefully grabbing her hand and re-enacting the slap, the signing "never". She was terrified. I ended with a simple question, signing "What do you say?". Ashamed and apologetic, she signed "Sorry." I broke character, smiled, and let her know it was okay. Discipline, complete.
Today is a day off, and I hope to save some of the excitement for next week. I don't want it to run out, after all. Peace.
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