Focal Point

I am currently on retreat in Egypt, and the relaxation is bountiful.

And due to that, I get to thinking. I wonder, in my feigned busyness, what have I been neglecting. There is certainly a lot of things that I assumed SALT would accomplish for me (many of which have played themselves out in their own way). Spirituality presenting in new ways, though certainly leaving a lot of room for growth. Solidifying particular aspects of my identity, while giving rise to dissension or protest of other parts. I am comfortable with being belittled by coworkers, undertaking responsibilities I am clearly not qualified for, being isolated. I struggle with how to humbly consider my own flaws, how inexperience profoundly affects those I work with, and if being a social enigma is acceptable.

I articulate these things in my mind throughout my day, literally every day. I also fit in the a sincere pursuit of sarcasm and silliness, plastering posters for personal amusement within the confines of my esoteric realm. I can seamlessly transition from considerations on ways to be more spiritually focused into thoughts of how to creatively startle the sickly cats I encounter in Salt. And, I can do this without feeling disrupted (it would be alarming, I suppose, if this was due to a spirituality that relies upon frightening felines in order to feel close to God...I assure you this isn't the case). When I really need to be focused, I can do it without being serious. Allotting time to be pensive seems to be so much better spent if you can combine the arduous with the ridiculous. Considering your future is tough, maybe even frightening. But considering your future, with the possibility of acquiring the technology to become a cyborg, well, that is not only fun, but COMPLETELY practical. Plus, it leads to other thought processes. What percent robot should a person be allowed to become and still maintain status as a human? Would a four-arm cyborg model be efficient, or entirely against the green movement? Should a cyborg be ordained within the church? If not, could we acknowledge that Jesus loves cyborgs, all the same?

And those thoughts bring me back around to what I have been neglecting. If asked about myself, a lot of my identity is currently invested in a particular community, and specifically, the individual with whom I work with. And it seems no matter the topic, my mind is brought back to him. Really, it isn't a bad thing, and definitely not detrimental to my sanity. Better than constantly looking at myself as an imperfectly formed object, unworthy of redemption. Better than thinking of some girl, as if my life is empty and in need of some different kind of love. Better than simply daydreaming about that perfect moment, right before chemoreceptors on your tongue are sent into a blissful frenzy upon encountering the soothing textures of a well-crafted cupcake. You know, just as your teeth sink in, and you anticipate that spongy goodness issuing a formal salutation to your taste buds, probably something along the lines of, "Good day sir. Our fates are intertwined, and at this moment, I believe it practical to engage in a metaphorical tango of tastiness." That moment, while extremely important, and worth recognition, doesn't function as a part of my experience as a service worker.

Still, even in those thoughts of my student, there has been neglect. And I think I know what is lacking. I am still in awe, and still see God in the children I work with, the community that is a part of my context here in Jordan. But, I haven't really gone much further than saying, "God is here." And today, I tried to go past that. I didn't find a lot that will have meaning for my readers (I guess that is presumptuous...I'll let you decide what is meaningful). But, I started to wonder if I am spiritually deafblind, and if my student has more to teach me about God than I give him credit for.

To be spiritually deafblind, that is not a condemning statement. But, like a deafblind person, it implies an inherent lack of mechanisms to fully process God. I think I have some very specific ways in which I experience my relationship with God, but it definitely isn't all-encompassing. To be spiritually deafblind, then, is also to only have a small portion of God within your proximity, and you are only capable of being aware of (at best) that piece.

And I, then, am in need of a lot of guidance. Grace. You can't just take those bits, and make them your own. You would get a distorted world view (or, a distorted God). It isn't about being content with what is there, and the few means you have to process it. Just like a deafblind child, you have got to have help, and you have to want to leave your isolation to be a part of the incomprehensible and ineffable. A bigger world, a bigger context. God. I see my student make that effort daily, and I am trying to realize that intentional approach in my own spirituality. Still, it is hard to stop rocking back and forth, especially if you are convinced that the sensation of motion is the same as actual locomotion. As progress. But that starts with a tap on the shoulder, a pause, and a chance at deliberation. I have been neglecting to notice the taps, but I hope to be more aware. Peace.

24

I have always been fond of the number 24. It is divisible by so many numbers, with 3 being the most important (basketball related). I would always request it for my jersey number. If you add up the numbers of my year of birth, 1986, what do you get? 24. The highest consecutive number of 3's I have ever made while practicing? 24. If you multiply each individual digit of my birthday, 4-24-1986, what do you get? 13,824. Which is actually 24 cubed. So, to be simple, you could actually just write my birthday as 24-24-24. If I had 3 pies, I would invariably cut them each into 8 pieces, resulting in....24 pieces. Coincidence? No. The number 24 is practically perfect. It is orderly, predictable, reliable.

Today it is the 24th. This day will consist of 24 hours. It marks my 24th birthday.

A long time ago, I was under the impression that I would have accomplished a lot by this age, this magnificent milestone of 24. I was supposed to be in my rookie season in the NBA. I was supposed to be married, and have my own house. I was supposed to have an overwhelmingly large circle of friends, all of whom absolutely adored me. With my signing bonus on my contract with the Sacramento Kings (realistically the only team I could play for), I would have started establishing myself as a great philanthropist, with donations to cancer research, special education programs, and contributions to my small (but important) liberal arts college. I was supposed to have picked up an instrument, and kicked my stage fright in favor of a boisterous personality that only had room for confidence. I was supposed to have flowing hair, like a blazing flame that fuels the inception of great ideas within my perfectly molded cranium. And, I was supposed to have a pet ferret. Or, a cocker spaniel at the least.

In all ways, then, I guess that I have failed spectacularly. And, this day is less of a milestone, and more of a sullen occasion.

But, I am not sulking. All the things I was supposed to have established by now, well, they just didn't play out. And, now that I am 24, I think I am fine with it. But, I think I should start on a new list of things I am supposed to be/do by age...30 (2+4=6, so 6 years down the road should work). Here goes:

1) Shed 30lbs. to get back to my high school weight of 135.
2) Have a pet plant, which requires minimum care.
3) Convince people I am bald by choice.
4) Be able to do a mean robot dance.
5) Effortlessly shoot 3-pointers from 35 feet out.
6) Have a Mini-Cooper, and a Ducati.
7) Be able to do a Tomahawk dunk, which would have force substantial enough to bring even Bill Walton to his feet, proclaiming, "Throw it down, big man. Throw it down."
8) Write a self-help book, probably titled "6 Instant Ways to Slowly Make Huge Changes in Your Behavior Which Will Result in Very Small Changes in Your Life in the Very Distant Future"
9) Have a newly discovered species of crustaceans named after me
10) Learn how to untie any knot (I don't care so much about tying them)
11) Be able to make my own clothes
12) Have eaten my own weight in cheese through the course of an intense one-month cheese diet
13) Be able to cry without actually shedding tears
14) Appear in an episode of House, as a patient presenting with a rare, genetic, expanding eye disorder
15) Have a handlebar mustache on Tuesdays and Thursdays
16) Free-hand draw perfectly parallel lines on command
17) Be fluent in an imaginary language
18) Look professional in a suit jacket, tie, pajama pants, and sneakers
19) Develop an intuitive sense of what is in the trunk of any car I pass
20) Be the president of a company that aims to provide all children in the world with old school roller skates
21) See my family more than once every year
22) Be involved in service work, no matter what my career is, because my vocation is a calling much higher than a job
23) Be able to doubt things that I know are true
24) Change my favorite number to 30

Pretty good set, I think. Today, I have a day off. I have time to relax, to think, to be in fellowship with the people around me. Earlier today, a new volunteer noticed a calendar hadn't been changed for over a month, so she flipped it to April 24. I glanced, and saw that the words for today were "God is love and love is God." A perfect reminder, and a perfect gift, on my birthday. I hope you enjoy my birthday as much as I am right now. Peace.

Twitching...With Excitement?

I wish I had a good story for this. An epic tale of self-sacrifice, in which I took on so many responsibilities, helped initiate the construction of a bridge between desperation and salvation. A grandiose odyssey into abysmal circumstances and emerged triumphant, though not without sustaining heavy emotional scars. The type of burdens that don't haunt dreams, but are in actuality twisting the perception of reality. Terrorizing every waking hour, manifesting themselves in unforeseen ways. A certain onset of darkness, in which I have only fragmented glimmer of light that I still hold on to. But in doing so, my being is so visibly shaken that I appear outwardly broken, contorted into a marred physical form while remaining internally strong, fortified by faith.

My story isn't quite that good. No vast expanses to traverse. No triumphant emergence. No hauntings. Just an awkward physical symptom.

In fact, I can't even pinpoint the origin. There is only a distinct point in time in which I noticed it. I was working out in the gym (the Institute has recently put up basketball goals, and I have been a gym rat since then). After shooting around for a bit, I was lifting weights. I don't know how many times it happened before I became conscious of it, but I realized it felt as if a blood vessel had exploded in my left, lower eyelid. Perhaps it had occurred the day before, or in the morning, or at that moment. I have no idea.

I didn't think much of it, and just didn't worry about it. This was two weeks ago. A few days after the initial occurrence, it persisted. One night, I tried to look in the mirror for a problem, and saw nothing....until the slightest of a twitch glared at me. A quiver of the eyelid. The lower left eyelid, to be precise.

An enigma that presents with such minute movement that I doubt anyone would ever spot it. Even if you were looking for it, I don't think you could catch it. But I know it is there. So, I decided to amateurishly investigate. Of course, anything on the internet is fun. In China, a twitch in the left eye is good luck (boom goes the dynamite). In India, it is the opposite...faulty fuse. A left eye twitch that presents suddenly is generally considered to be entirely harmless. More than likely a sign of stress (hah, that is doubtful), lack of sleep (probable), caffeine or alcohol (nope), or dry eyes (conceivable).

I could also go into Psych 101 and say this is the presentation of an emotional issue buried deep in the subconcious, which is manifesting itself physically and will only go away when the issue is addressed. That sounds the most appealing of all possibilities, but I really have no clue. As of now, though, the twitch makes me feel more sane than crazy, which might be crazy in itself.

The reality, though, is that things are becoming more consistent, and I am continually feeling better about my position here. I have good things happening all around me. There is a strong possibility of revamping the deaf-blind program to facilitate higher learning for one of the more advanced students whom I work with. A woman from the Perkins Institute (look it up) is coming to advise on possible changes, and hopefully mentor me to become a "legit" teacher. My Arabic is progressing, I am competent in Jordanian sign language, I spend more time at the school, am forming more relationships, help the school with additional projects, play basketball and work out regularly, and do so without feeling the need for extra time at my apartment watching movies. I found out my college roommate got engaged to a college friend. March Madness lifted me like nothing else, until KU floundered....but I recovered quickly. I have a 10-day Easter vacation approaching after this week. Then, in early May, an MCC retreat to Egypt. And, in the far distance, my older sister's wedding.

The only downside, was that for the first time, I experienced a bad week. Not bad in the sense that it was difficult, or overwhelming, or anything negative. It was bad by evaluation of my actions. I had moments where I felt like I was a good teacher, but for the most part I was out of sync. I still don't really know how to do my job, but it was simply a week where I felt like I even messed up the things I did know how to do. Very humbling to look back and see such poor performance, even in basic social interactions. And, a good reminder of how much I can learn, how much I need to rely on help, and the power of grace. I have a new week starting tomorrow, and I will do a better job. Heading into Easter, it was good to have a week of monumental failure, if only to think about how even those closest to Jesus had a miserable time doing the right thing when the path was so clear. It is clearer this week than it was last week. I am thankful for that. Peace.

Halftime

The title of this post isn't, in any way, related to the length of my SALT term. Nope. I am just updating as wait for the second half of the Big 12 Championship game to start. And yes, watching it live did require me to wake up, and come to school to have internet access, but KU basketball is always worth it.

This will be nothing significant, since I cannot afford to spend too much time typing, at risk of missing valuable game time.

Recently, I made a significant impact on the deaf community. I did something so selfless, and inspiring, that I cannot help but wonder if they will make a statue to commemorate this act of service. It was the perfect opportunity, as the older students gathered to celebrate recent birthdays. I baked cookies for the party, but no, dear reader, this was not the famous incident. No, that came later. At a different party. Another, more important party. That would set the stage for the single most important event in my time as a SALTer.

Dancing. The students have been pushing me since my time at the Institute began. So, with the music blaring, and the threats being issued towards me, I reluctantly stepped out on the dance floor. I don't know if you have even seen me dance, but it is a sight to behold. Since I NEVER dance in public, there are only rumors of the elegance and prowess that my style possesses. I think time stood still, as all eyes were upon me. Then, I was simply overcome by a series of passionate, robotic convulsions, which the students mistook for "dancing". Not only that, they emulated it. As I awoke from this nightmare, it became apparent that I had actually "danced", in some form of artistic expression.

The students still compliment what they perceived to be a creative interpretation of American hip-hop culture. They even snapped a few pics of it with my camera. Unfortunately, my camera was broken later in the evening, and all evidence was wiped from the face of the Earth. Too bad.

A Report

So, as it happened, a woman who was visiting the institute wanted to get some information on the deaf-blind unit. The director was away for the afternoon....so of course I was the obvious person to interview. The volunteer with no background in special education, who has only been here for a few months. Limited knowledge of students' personal history and progress. Yeah, I'm the man for the job.

I did my best to come up with some important points. First, I think the most considerable thing to grasp when trying to understand deaf-blind children is a unifying quality of all people. The world doesn't exist outside of our head. We have tools to perceive what we believe is going on in the space around us, and beyond. Ultimately, though, we rely on the brain's ability to interpret every signal that our sensory systems are capable of capturing. The deaf-blind person is deprived of the distance senses, shrinking the perceivable world from everything within earshot or line of sight to simply all things within their immediate proximity.

But, that world is still accessible. Since it is the brain which creates the awareness of this world, it is just as real, as true, and relevant as the world you and I experience. The approaches to facilitate proper awareness, though, are not quite as apparent. With visual and auditory cues, communication is just...picked up. Cause and effect can be collected on a time-line to promote intellectual formations of basic principles. Life skills are observed and copied. For a deaf-blind child, though, the disadvantage lies in an initial existence in a world of darkness and silence. When education is eventually started, all of the things the sighted and hearing take for advantage need to be deliberately taught. Discipline can't be understood unless the effects of an action are understood. The effects of an action can't be understood unless a moderate awareness of physical space and physical properties is understood. The awareness of physical space can't be meaningful unless a distinction is made between self, objects, and others. And this distinction can't be made until communication (in some form) has opened up a channel in the brain, which allows for thoughtful processing to evaluate the connections of everything within in that immediate proximity (and eventually even things beyond).

Truly, just because an action elicits a response in a deaf-blind, it doesn't mean understanding has occurred. More than likely, it is just a conditioned response. Additionally, a positive conditioned response doesn't necessarily mean progress. If cognitive processes of awareness, interaction, and understanding aren't the medium, then the signals between the cues and the responses are not much more than noise. You might end up with a well behaved child, but you don't have one with the ability to truly perceive the world.

And that is the challenge. Breaking the barrier of jumbled signals, to foster the meaningful connections that lead to emergence. The emergence from chaos into a peaceful, sensible world. A world that is within their grasp. How long does it take for an infant to develop language, self-awareness, and basic senses of the order of universe? The time needed is significant. For a deaf-blind child, a lot must be undone before the process of teaching is even conceivable. Then, add on to the fact that creativity is essential for tapping into the unique mechanisms of the deaf-blind brain. You end up with a child that is, in fact, not limited by their own disability. Instead, it seems more accurate to say that they are limited by the incompetence of the people around them to express the world in meaningful ways.

I suppose, then, you could say that my job is to creatively express the world. Its truths, absent of the sights and sounds, which in themselves do not contain any meaning other than what we assign to them. Pretty rockin' job. Peace.

Having a Spot Without Fitting In

I still don't really have a classification. I mean, I am a foreigner. I am a volunteer. I work at the Institute. But that doesn't make me really fit into a role. I am a teacher, but not quite. I am a guest in the community, but also a member of the community. I am hearing, but sometimes pretend to be deaf when outside the school (just easier than faking adequate knowledge in Arabic).

For instance, I work long days. The teachers in the deaf-blind unit are here from 8:30am to 4:00pm, with a lunch break from noon to 1:15pm (Sunday through Thursday). I work from 8:30 to 6:00, eating lunch with Haazim and having an allotted break on Sunday and Thursday from 12:30 to 1:15 (the other days I spend that time block on the play ground working with him). Then, as a volunteer, I also work on Fridays, 8:30 to 5:00 with a one-hour lunch break. Surprisingly, this hasn't caught up with me. I would rather be working with the deaf-blind children for those hours than sitting at home. I would rather work a full day Friday and be with the deaf community than work a half day and be rather useless (or at least feel that way). I suppose that is just how I am. But, it makes me appear to be distinctly overworked. I don't look at very many of my hours as work, though, which seems to make it all sustainable.

Still, I don't really fit into a descriptive category. The expectations are completely different for me. A unique set of flexible conditions that shift according to my availability and willingness.
I recently undertook a task of compiling, revising, and finalizing a list of PE equipment for HLID. In my incompetence, I spent many hours trying to locate and inquire about items through an online form, which was both tedious and...less than fruitful. After being at a prayer meeting, I stayed at the school until midnight trying to complete the task. I was bested, though, and quit without anything to show for my efforts. Exhaustion won the day. The next morning, running on 12 hours of sleep over the past two nights, the intensity of my work took its toll. I wanted to be focused. I wanted to be able to communicate in more than blinks and a greatly diminished vocabulary, whittled down to "sorry", "huh?", and "oh, right". Truly pitiful. And yet, without a category, it was like I wasn't at all accountable. I was told to take a nap. Perhaps I should hold myself more accountable for time management...

Slowly, this has been fading, though, and I am thankful for it. Wait....thankful? What? Why give up a lack of accountability? Why move away from being a perpetual guest, who is always allotted understanding, given excessive hospitality, and admired for doing such "good work"? Why trade that in for expectations and responsibility? I am not exactly masochistic, so it doesn't seem to make sense. It's like choosing to swallow grapes whole when you are perfectly capable of chewing. Yes. Exactly like that. Perfect metaphor.

And here's why: Everyone here swallows grapes whole. Dang. Lie. Metaphor proves to be inconsistent. Roll with it. By jumping into the trend, I get to be more than the foreigner. It won't make me Jordanian. It won't make me deaf (maybe mute if a couple grapes take up residency within my vocal chords). Instead, it makes me a little more dismantled. I might not fit in, but there is continually a place for me. The more I am dismantled, the easier I transition into said role. I don't really feel like I am serving if everyone has to constantly adapt to accommodate me. That sounds like vacation....

Today, we had a farewell party for a coworker in the deaf-blind unit whose last day of work is tomorrow. Everyone chipped in to help buy a gift and give some extra money for her as she is moving to Bahrain. I have only been here for a few months, but I have felt very welcomed by her, and consider her a good friend. But...I am still the American Christian, who is just a volunteer. So, I was just going to take pictures while we celebrated the gifts she has shared with us daily, through her work and friendship. When the gift was given to her, though, I was asked to do something special. The gift was a matching bracelet and wrist-watch, which I was asked to put on her wrist. I was taking the role of her brother. Maybe it didn't mean that much. But to me, that is substantial.

There is not an ounce of me which is qualified to assume that position, and yet the spot was there. I don't fit, which is what makes it even more perfect. I don't fit into most of the roles given to me, but I am asked to do them. I try to take on that responsibility humbly, and fulfill it with a sense of purpose. And each day, this is placed in front of me. If I lose sight of God within the children I work with, or the community I am placed in, surely I'll see God when I reflect on the serendipitous occurrences which so directly impact me. And, if my eyes are really open, maybe I'll have the wisdom to make the slightest of an impact the this community as well. Peace.

Not Just Because I Can

Over Christmas, I have a visit from a great friend by the name of John Miller. I think this photo captures the essence of our friendship.

On to other things...

I am extending. I don't know all the details. I am planning on adding two years, but there are still things to work out. I am not extending just because I can, or because I love this school, or because I have nothing else to do. I have so many options. But staying here does not mean I will miss out on anything. You might contend that opportunities are gone, friends might fade, and my life's course will drastically deviate from "what could have been" (maybe even a sigh would accompany such a thought). I am not the type to imagine an omniscient sense of how the future plays out based on my decisions now. By some exclusive property, yes, I will admit that I am passing up on unknowns that the future would hold if I were in the US. To say that I could care less would carry undertones of apathy that are misleading. In theory, I don't think I can be dissatisfied with what I am doing if I truly believe that I am acting out of Christian faith. I am certainly not perfect, though, and maybe I made this decision based on the wrong criteria. Maybe I made it at the wrong time. Maybe I made it in the wrong context, with the wrong reasons.

All those musings seem confuddling (not a word). I made this decision based on what I have. I didn't want to make it in my comfortable, US context. That would have been cheating. I didn't desire for different criteria. That would have discounted what I am doing now. I didn't want to make it a different time. That would have degraded my connection to this community. And I certainly didn't want different reasons. That would have cut God out of my equation.

Perhaps I will feel differently in a year. Perhaps that should be scary. I can just as easily contend that perhaps I would be miserable back in the US, with thoughts of "what could have been in Jordan" (again, *sigh*). Conjectures, though, are boring.

I am not comfortable in this culture (I can't imagine how hard it would be for a female). I certainly don't understand a lot of what goes on around me. I constantly have ideas about how I would like to improve the educational approach here, but am not in a position to really even suggest reform. I am certainly not intoxicated by this place. Definitely not needed. Slightly appreciated. Increasingly blessed. Inadequately thankful. Evidently happy. Peacefully content.

Recently, I have had some awesome experiences. A veritable explosion of utterly nonsensical, raucous laughter from Mohammed as I tried to convince him that a stuffed animal was fluent in sign-language. Witnessing Haazim independently execute his first sign ever, under my instruction after only a few days of extra work with him (which I was initially ungrateful, even indignant about being assigned to). Continued excitement during a game, as Haazim went into fits of joy in response to my signing of "correct" with inappropriately loud verbalizations of the Arabic word to accompany it. And, the simple moments, when Mohammed (without reason or prompting) approaches me to point his finger into my chest, then makes a horizontal "V" with his hand, brings it to his head, and closes it as his hand moves away. It means, "You are happy." And he is always right.

I anticipate these experiences will keep coming, but they are not the reason for my extended term. Maybe it will get harder, but I do love the people here. I love this spiritual community. Love doesn't have a contingency that allows it to fade when things get hard. Or when I think about missing out on another alumni game at Bethel College. Or wonder if I'll ever get married. Or doubt that I'll find the vocation that God is calling me to. But the love from God that I know is consistent. It is fulfilling. I hope that my service here is directly accessing a vein of that love. And the reason that I can extend is because of that infallible, unfailing well which I have access to. I have a lot of work to do. I have a lot of growth to undergo. God is helping me, and is with me. It was an important decision, but not a difficult or big one. And if you know me, you probably can understand the laid-back-ishness that I convey here. I don't fret over decisions when I make them, because as long as I feel God at work, I am at peace. And I have that, which seems adequate. Peace.