Sometimes, I just choose a blog title, then actually try to relate the content to the chosen title. I don't think this one will work.
I have been slightly overwhelmed by looming responsibilities, most of which I haven't the slightest notion of how to approach. This pertains, quite specifically, to doing my job. I have before me the task of unifying goals for the next year within a comprehensive curriculum. I even have activities, and plenty of resources. But actually putting it all together may take weeks, even months. In the meantime, I am simply trying to integrate new things as they are produced. Which has been somewhat less than successful. I tend to lazily shift blame to my student, accusing him of lacking motivation. The precision of my job, though, actually requires me to make the learning process as successful as possible. Instead, I often make it quite difficult, and boring.
I look forward to learning from my continued failure to bring energy and excitement into education. Still, it is often hard to play it entirely off the cuff. There is usually uncertainty that accompanies each attempt, and it becomes really difficult when most methods have an implied question mark attached. A question mark changes everything. A question mark changes everything?
There has been some success in continually narrowing down my methods (basic process of elimination), which gives me hope. I am also finding new ways to motivate. I find push-ups are a perennial powerhouse of motivation. When Mohammed had been refusing to focus on reading the braille in front of him, and I told him to do some push-ups in order to "wake-up". I was quite amused when he asked to be punished with a time-out instead. I forcefully said no.
Still, all things considered, I don't take much notice of the things I should be tremendous leaps and momentous milestones. The actual progress that has been made. With a month of Arabic, followed by several months of summer holiday, and then 3 weeks since I have been back, Mohammed has developed a significant vocabulary. I often scoff at the simple knowledge of words like "food", "car", "bathroom", and even just having a recollection of the names of people he works with. But, 5 months ago, Mohammed didn't even know that Arabic existed. He didn't know there were such things as "letters". Words were anomalies, somehow connected to bumps on a page. None of it made sense, and it was all a monotonous sequence. Now, it is still repetition, but he is accumulating the awareness that is needed. It all feels normal to me, unless I actually evaluate it. It is truly incredible.
More than 8 months ago, I was scoffed at for trying to teach Mohammed how to sign the numbers 1-6. It was perceived as being useless, a waste of time on an impossible endeavor. Now, several months later, Mohammed is fingerspelling and brailling the names of the teachers that doubted he could manipulate his index finger independently to signal the number one. Perhaps this is his ever so subtle way of metaphorically manipulating his middle finger...nevermind. And I get to sit back and feel blessed by his success (and it is his, not mine). With tactful arrogance, I just let his brilliance communicate to others what I have been thinking all along the way, which is, "How about them apples?" I am by no means venerable, and perhaps could use some humility along with the pride I feel for being able to work with him. There. Tie-in. A mystical elixir of humility. The Humility Elixir. I like elixirs. You didn't even see that coming.
I have had some of my responsibilities cut back, and although they were exhausting a year ago, I also miss them. I miss my daily lunch battles with Haazim, where I would obstinately insist he must feed himself, and he would invariably reply "I want water" (or simply scream and bite the table, or attempt to bite the hand of anyone daft enough to think they should intervene). And then having the opportunity to teach him signs right after the meal, as we ventured together to a land of wonderment known to most simply as "the school". I cringe when I see him being force-fed, and simply being led around, pulled from location to location and having an implied message of "do what I force you to do". Progress is slow, but people do notice it. So, I take solace that people observe how I interact with him in hopes of figuring out how to actually communicate with him. I take solace in the knowledge that he has been angry with me several times, and for good reason, but has not yet thrown a fit while I am working with him (which is a daily, perhaps even hourly occurrence a vast majority of the time). I take solace that he smiles and casually walks back to the deafblind unit with me when I say, "Swinging is finished, now we are walking back "home" together."
Amidst the pressures, the stressors, the time constraints, and the responsibilities, there is so much goodness that goes unrecognized. And being thankful that we are given the opportunity to experience the spectrum is renewing. I am being careful, though, not to characterize the pressures, stressors, constraints and responsibilities as being on the opposite end of the spectrum. If those are a part of my job as a service worker, as a faithful follower of Christ, then I think they are wholly good by association. I just have to take the time to recognize that as well. Peace.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
Newness in the Same Place
After a home leave that lasted seven weeks, I feel blessed to have returned to a Jordan that is recognizably the same, and intuitively different than when I first arrived. The intriguing newness of Jordan that happily accompanied me a year ago has deserted me in favor of other bright-eyed, vibrant young adults that venture into foreign lands. Instead, a rather faithful contentedness has revealed its commitment and consistency, perhaps keeping me uncomfortably comfortable.
It is strange to return to a familiar place, but to acknowledge its changing form. A once inconsequential step that lies three floors below the deafblind unit has taken on meaning. It is where Haazim learned his first sign, and where I cried my first joyful tear with him. Hand rails and fences surround the premises, and were once simply noted as landscape. Now, they are a part of my service, comprised of hundreds of hours of painstakingly meticulous painting, which was more often unappreciated due to its pace rather than applauded for its quality. The gates, through which I entered, a barrier between my American culture and a Jordanian deaf culture which I was invited into with a painfully evident clause to clarify my temporary status. A year later, that gate is my own door, and when I enter I am welcomed home as an old friend.
While inconspicuous, I notice the subtle difference. A newness has nonchalantly crept in, daring to redefine a place that I was quite fond of in the first place. A swelling reserve of experiences here combined with the continuity of a growing perspective and spirituality makes it impossible to return.
In truth, I was hoping to return to the place I came to a year ago. Following many opportunities for reflection, new friendships, moments of reconnection, and much valued time with family, I strangely anticipated the oddly revitalizing feeling of being a stranger again. Upon my arrival at the institute, I felt anything but that. And as touching as the hugs, kisses, and handshakes from the childre were to those who accompanied me as I moved back to Salt, it was strikingly disheartening to me at the moment. To be greeted as a brother, instead of as a detached American simply passing through, that brought on a moment of clarity. That moment, in itself, was the consummate expression of acceptance, and it was certainly not one that I had expected. A sort of newness that I thought would be unattainable, and did not even realize I had been moving towards over the past year.
I don't mean to sound ungrateful for it, but initially, that moment caused me great distress. It brought on a bit of worry, and worrying is definitely not one of my strong suits (I even worried a bit about the worrying, which is a quite vicious cycle). It was obvious that I now have an identity in my context in Jordan, and I also have an identity to those who know me in the US. To me, the two are the same, but the expression in each context has fashioned a being that is simply not sustainable. In each context, it is a simple matter to be myself. To be in one context, though, and hope to maintain each interaction from the other context...well, that is about as easy as trying to write in Arabic with my feet.
Simply, I realized the constancy that would be required of me if I were to attempt to unify both expressions within one context. To be both in Jordan, and continue to relish the lavish relationships that I experienced briefly during my time back in the US. The pursuit, even pondering the pursuit, was quite occupying. It was so daunting, especially feeling like I had to sort it out in solitude.
Henri Nouwen brings an interesting perspective in Making All Things New, writing "Today worrying means to be occupied and preoccupied with many things, while at the same time being bored, resentful, depressed, and very lonely." I certainly was utilizing an incomplete understanding to approach all of these occupying roles. A teacher. A student. A friend. A mentor. A son. A brother. Maybe without processing, I could have very well moved towards crippling experiences and delved into a dark place.
Somehow, though, when I was looking through the roles, "a Christian" was skipped. That is terrifying. I call it lack of clarity, and am thankful that moment has passed. I realized that if I want to continue to do service work, my identity has to be built upon the foundations that Jesus Christ has laid out. First and foremost, I must be faithful to that. In doing so, all of the occupying roles can seamlessly be integrated, although that is not to say there will be much deliberate planning and intentional shifts in how I utilize my time. I cannot be everywhere and do everything, but I can be present in the place and context I currently am in, share the stories of my work and life with those that I love and whose relationships I am blessed to share in (wherever they may be), and do so with the intention of serving Jesus Christ's vision. That is my prayer as I begin the next two years. Peace.
It is strange to return to a familiar place, but to acknowledge its changing form. A once inconsequential step that lies three floors below the deafblind unit has taken on meaning. It is where Haazim learned his first sign, and where I cried my first joyful tear with him. Hand rails and fences surround the premises, and were once simply noted as landscape. Now, they are a part of my service, comprised of hundreds of hours of painstakingly meticulous painting, which was more often unappreciated due to its pace rather than applauded for its quality. The gates, through which I entered, a barrier between my American culture and a Jordanian deaf culture which I was invited into with a painfully evident clause to clarify my temporary status. A year later, that gate is my own door, and when I enter I am welcomed home as an old friend.
While inconspicuous, I notice the subtle difference. A newness has nonchalantly crept in, daring to redefine a place that I was quite fond of in the first place. A swelling reserve of experiences here combined with the continuity of a growing perspective and spirituality makes it impossible to return.
In truth, I was hoping to return to the place I came to a year ago. Following many opportunities for reflection, new friendships, moments of reconnection, and much valued time with family, I strangely anticipated the oddly revitalizing feeling of being a stranger again. Upon my arrival at the institute, I felt anything but that. And as touching as the hugs, kisses, and handshakes from the childre were to those who accompanied me as I moved back to Salt, it was strikingly disheartening to me at the moment. To be greeted as a brother, instead of as a detached American simply passing through, that brought on a moment of clarity. That moment, in itself, was the consummate expression of acceptance, and it was certainly not one that I had expected. A sort of newness that I thought would be unattainable, and did not even realize I had been moving towards over the past year.
I don't mean to sound ungrateful for it, but initially, that moment caused me great distress. It brought on a bit of worry, and worrying is definitely not one of my strong suits (I even worried a bit about the worrying, which is a quite vicious cycle). It was obvious that I now have an identity in my context in Jordan, and I also have an identity to those who know me in the US. To me, the two are the same, but the expression in each context has fashioned a being that is simply not sustainable. In each context, it is a simple matter to be myself. To be in one context, though, and hope to maintain each interaction from the other context...well, that is about as easy as trying to write in Arabic with my feet.
Simply, I realized the constancy that would be required of me if I were to attempt to unify both expressions within one context. To be both in Jordan, and continue to relish the lavish relationships that I experienced briefly during my time back in the US. The pursuit, even pondering the pursuit, was quite occupying. It was so daunting, especially feeling like I had to sort it out in solitude.
Henri Nouwen brings an interesting perspective in Making All Things New, writing "Today worrying means to be occupied and preoccupied with many things, while at the same time being bored, resentful, depressed, and very lonely." I certainly was utilizing an incomplete understanding to approach all of these occupying roles. A teacher. A student. A friend. A mentor. A son. A brother. Maybe without processing, I could have very well moved towards crippling experiences and delved into a dark place.
Somehow, though, when I was looking through the roles, "a Christian" was skipped. That is terrifying. I call it lack of clarity, and am thankful that moment has passed. I realized that if I want to continue to do service work, my identity has to be built upon the foundations that Jesus Christ has laid out. First and foremost, I must be faithful to that. In doing so, all of the occupying roles can seamlessly be integrated, although that is not to say there will be much deliberate planning and intentional shifts in how I utilize my time. I cannot be everywhere and do everything, but I can be present in the place and context I currently am in, share the stories of my work and life with those that I love and whose relationships I am blessed to share in (wherever they may be), and do so with the intention of serving Jesus Christ's vision. That is my prayer as I begin the next two years. Peace.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
SALT Should Include an F
I don't have a countdown. I know the date that I fly back to the US. I know the date I fly into Kansas. But I honestly don't know the specific number of days between now and then. Unless, of course, I look at a calendar. I am practically flawless when it comes to basic addition and subtraction, and as long as we're not in triple digits, I am confident I could figure out the time frame between now and then.
I have one more week at the school, and for that week, a couple deafblind students come back. I am ecstatic. Not "buy gummy bears" ecstatic, but "randomly break out robot dance moves without prompting" ecstatic (which is, quite evidently, a much better kind of ecstatic).
And, although I don't mean to slight my return to the US, it is the coming week and the coming school year that attract my attention. Being in the US with friends and family will be important, fun, meaningful, but won't require so much deliberation. Kind of like putting on pants. Or swallowing food. I am a savant at both.
So, while I have some plans for my time in the US, and a bit of anticipation, it all seems routine. Almost like I have done this before. And, with that kind of feeling, it is hard to have that bubbly excitement which makes you suddenly homesick and overtly expressive about how long you have been waiting for this. Similarly, if I planned to eat ice cream on the coming Saturday, I don't suppose that would encounter a longing for the magic of flavored milky crystals accompanied by some inane compulsion to spread the news that Saturday is gonna be brilliant. I still like ice cream, all the same, and I might mention to someone in passing that I will be engaging in frosty bliss at a specific point in time, but like I said, it still seems rather normal. (If you got lost in the metaphor (which was so elegantly stated), the point: I am happy to be going home, without regard for the amount of time that has passed between the last time I was there.)
But, meanwhile, my inexperience in the job I will continue doing for the next two years, it is chiding me. Reminding me that I will be returning to teach. Prodding me, calling me childishly ignorant names like "Mr. Bumbleface" or "gulpy pants" or "brazen hussy" (words hurt). And, poignantly issuing out memos, referencing instances of failure.
Which is what made SALT so fun. And, even though I would love for SALT to include an "F" for fun (or just meld the words together, instead of Serving, Learning, and Fun Together, you get Servarnunther, which just rolls off the tongue), I would much rather applaud the distinct precision of "F"ailure. In SALT, I encountered failures of a uniquely prodigious nature. Jumping into deafblind education, I knew I would fail, but I didn't anticipate the impressive regularity of the occurrences. There were so many more, which varied in frequency. Failing to get on the right bus. Failing to communicate an important, or irrelevant thought in Arabic. Failing to follow cultural norms. Failing to lock a door. Failing to finish a painting job quickly. Failing to use correct signs. Failing to maintain spiritual focus. Failing to be motivated to study. Failing to have a basic conversation.
So many ways to fail, some familiar, many atypical and uncannily simple. And it has been a blast. Every morning, I get the sense that I am developing extrasensory perceptions, based purely on my ability to anticipate that a new day will bring epic foundering and higher acuity in regards my inadequacies. How absolutely delightful!
And even so, I am not entirely sure my ego has been kept in check. I still feel a bit proud, stubborn to allow failure to shape me in more significant ways that it has. Seems shameful to be proud of acknowledged failure. But, I do like that I am able to withstand, and even be thankful for failure. It has, perhaps, been the best part of SALT.
Still, failing to fail in a manner that brings about tangible change is the worst thing I can do. I hope SALT has taught me to be better at failing. I certainly look forward to not only continuing to do so in the future, but to creatively one-up myself. Peace.
I have one more week at the school, and for that week, a couple deafblind students come back. I am ecstatic. Not "buy gummy bears" ecstatic, but "randomly break out robot dance moves without prompting" ecstatic (which is, quite evidently, a much better kind of ecstatic).
And, although I don't mean to slight my return to the US, it is the coming week and the coming school year that attract my attention. Being in the US with friends and family will be important, fun, meaningful, but won't require so much deliberation. Kind of like putting on pants. Or swallowing food. I am a savant at both.
So, while I have some plans for my time in the US, and a bit of anticipation, it all seems routine. Almost like I have done this before. And, with that kind of feeling, it is hard to have that bubbly excitement which makes you suddenly homesick and overtly expressive about how long you have been waiting for this. Similarly, if I planned to eat ice cream on the coming Saturday, I don't suppose that would encounter a longing for the magic of flavored milky crystals accompanied by some inane compulsion to spread the news that Saturday is gonna be brilliant. I still like ice cream, all the same, and I might mention to someone in passing that I will be engaging in frosty bliss at a specific point in time, but like I said, it still seems rather normal. (If you got lost in the metaphor (which was so elegantly stated), the point: I am happy to be going home, without regard for the amount of time that has passed between the last time I was there.)
But, meanwhile, my inexperience in the job I will continue doing for the next two years, it is chiding me. Reminding me that I will be returning to teach. Prodding me, calling me childishly ignorant names like "Mr. Bumbleface" or "gulpy pants" or "brazen hussy" (words hurt). And, poignantly issuing out memos, referencing instances of failure.
Which is what made SALT so fun. And, even though I would love for SALT to include an "F" for fun (or just meld the words together, instead of Serving, Learning, and Fun Together, you get Servarnunther, which just rolls off the tongue), I would much rather applaud the distinct precision of "F"ailure. In SALT, I encountered failures of a uniquely prodigious nature. Jumping into deafblind education, I knew I would fail, but I didn't anticipate the impressive regularity of the occurrences. There were so many more, which varied in frequency. Failing to get on the right bus. Failing to communicate an important, or irrelevant thought in Arabic. Failing to follow cultural norms. Failing to lock a door. Failing to finish a painting job quickly. Failing to use correct signs. Failing to maintain spiritual focus. Failing to be motivated to study. Failing to have a basic conversation.
So many ways to fail, some familiar, many atypical and uncannily simple. And it has been a blast. Every morning, I get the sense that I am developing extrasensory perceptions, based purely on my ability to anticipate that a new day will bring epic foundering and higher acuity in regards my inadequacies. How absolutely delightful!
And even so, I am not entirely sure my ego has been kept in check. I still feel a bit proud, stubborn to allow failure to shape me in more significant ways that it has. Seems shameful to be proud of acknowledged failure. But, I do like that I am able to withstand, and even be thankful for failure. It has, perhaps, been the best part of SALT.
Still, failing to fail in a manner that brings about tangible change is the worst thing I can do. I hope SALT has taught me to be better at failing. I certainly look forward to not only continuing to do so in the future, but to creatively one-up myself. Peace.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Reflections on Teaching
I lied in my title. You thought you would be getting some juicy material. Maybe even delving into the realm of the philosophical. Not gonna go there.
Still, there is just a week left of school before the kids go home for the summer. Then, I get to paint, to finish off my SALT experience. Which will give me endless hours to process a year in Jordan.
Here is the part that might leave you, dear reader, disappointed. I could ramble on and on about my time here. The culture. The things I have learned. The stories. The falafel. The "life-changing" experience. I won't. Because I am interested in something else.
What have you been doing? I am in a different part of the world, away from you. There is value in what I am doing, and in this context, it is DEFINITELY an experience. But it isn't more valuable than what you are doing. And while it has revealed things about me based on the unfamiliar, uncomfortable, strange circumstances I am faced with daily, (SPOILER ALERT) it hasn't changed a whole lot about me. From my perspective, I think it has just allowed me to actually understand myself from a different angle. Refreshing. Not life changing.
So, as I was saying, what have you done in the past year? I hope you have been praying. I hope you have been focused on God. I hope you have felt a sense of calling in the things that you do. I hope you've loved and felt loved. I hope you have served faithfully. I hope you have done justice, loved kindness, and walked humbly with your God. I don't care how or where, because that is irrelevant. Jordan. Israel. Bolivia. America. Botswana. Indonesia. I hope you're doing the same thing I'm doing. Probably better than I'm doing it.
And if you think I am selling my experience short, too bad. If you think I am supposed to be changed, many apologies. If you think there are profound realizations that will come about as a result of the last year, you are entirely correct. But you have that too. A year in SALT doesn't give me a monopoly on God, on service, on change, or on growth and paradigm shifts.
The point: While I doubt I'll get much feedback here, if you want a simple, semi-focused, mildly humorous, probably sarcastic assessment of some of the things I have experienced through SALT, shoot me an email (brentalanstutz@gmail.com). Tell me about your past year. It has been just as important as mine. I'll do my best to be diligent in responding.
And lastly, here is a teaser. One thing I have learned in Jordan: Dune jumping in Wadi Rum is fantastic.
Still, there is just a week left of school before the kids go home for the summer. Then, I get to paint, to finish off my SALT experience. Which will give me endless hours to process a year in Jordan.
Here is the part that might leave you, dear reader, disappointed. I could ramble on and on about my time here. The culture. The things I have learned. The stories. The falafel. The "life-changing" experience. I won't. Because I am interested in something else.
What have you been doing? I am in a different part of the world, away from you. There is value in what I am doing, and in this context, it is DEFINITELY an experience. But it isn't more valuable than what you are doing. And while it has revealed things about me based on the unfamiliar, uncomfortable, strange circumstances I am faced with daily, (SPOILER ALERT) it hasn't changed a whole lot about me. From my perspective, I think it has just allowed me to actually understand myself from a different angle. Refreshing. Not life changing.
So, as I was saying, what have you done in the past year? I hope you have been praying. I hope you have been focused on God. I hope you have felt a sense of calling in the things that you do. I hope you've loved and felt loved. I hope you have served faithfully. I hope you have done justice, loved kindness, and walked humbly with your God. I don't care how or where, because that is irrelevant. Jordan. Israel. Bolivia. America. Botswana. Indonesia. I hope you're doing the same thing I'm doing. Probably better than I'm doing it.
And if you think I am selling my experience short, too bad. If you think I am supposed to be changed, many apologies. If you think there are profound realizations that will come about as a result of the last year, you are entirely correct. But you have that too. A year in SALT doesn't give me a monopoly on God, on service, on change, or on growth and paradigm shifts.
The point: While I doubt I'll get much feedback here, if you want a simple, semi-focused, mildly humorous, probably sarcastic assessment of some of the things I have experienced through SALT, shoot me an email (brentalanstutz@gmail.com). Tell me about your past year. It has been just as important as mine. I'll do my best to be diligent in responding.
And lastly, here is a teaser. One thing I have learned in Jordan: Dune jumping in Wadi Rum is fantastic.
Friday, May 7, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)