So are you fluent?

It’s a good question. How am I supposed to answer that? Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred… interactions? Pages read? Accomplishments in my new country? I don’t know and to be honest I haven’t kept track.

How do you measure linguistic knowledge?

Is linguistic knowledge the same as fluency? Is total understanding necessary for fluency? Is flawless grammar and a wide range of vocabulary the basis for fluency?

I mean…

I’ve gotten my property stolen and given police reports.

I’ve been lost in the woods and gotten home, relying only on a local with a speech impediment.

I’ve started a business.

I’ve made friends to cry with, laugh at nothing with, get drunk with, and who will let me sleep on their couches when I can’t make it home (where is home, anyway? Whoops, let’s not pull at that string…)

I’ve testified in court.

I’ve been on national live TV.

I’ve held jobs in multiple sectors and taught multiple age groups in multiple subjects.

I’ve performed simultaneous interpreting at international conferences.

I got my drivers’ license, paid parking tickets, and have dealt with immigration and social services in small towns, big towns, and the capital city.

I’ve gotten myself to the ER, physical therapy, and specialist doctor visits, and as a lay-interpreter, accompanied other foreigners to the same.

I have read a couple of books in Czech, watched several films in Czech, regularly read articles in Czech on a variety of topics.

But when someone says, “it’s good” in response to my apology, I don’t know if they forgive me.

If someone complains nonstop about their atrocious working conditions, I don’t know why they won’t complain to the boss, or change jobs, or why they patronizingly tell me “oh, that’s not how things work here.”

When people are making long lines outside the bank to pick up commemorative banknotes, I don’t know why they say they are waiting for bananas.

When someone says, “we can talk it out,” I don’t know if they mean we will compromise, or if they will do what they want and make my life miserable unless I do too.

When I offer a guest something at my house and they say no, I don’t know if they really mean no or if I need to ask again and then prepare something anyway, or else I will seem stupid and rude.

When someone says they need to discuss something with me, I don’t know if they mean “we are all mad at you and you’re going to regret bringing this up,” or “let’s exchange some ideas about a topic that concerns both of us,” or “we are going to argue about something and it’s gonna be a fight.”

When I say “I mean it well” and they respond with “I don’t take it badly,” if I am supposed to feel badly for saying it as I did, or deal with it further, or let it go, or, or, or…

When they say, “we Czechs are direct, we will tell it like it is,” it doesn’t take you long to see that they use that as an excuse to be belittling, condescending, rude, or cruel.

I can talk clinically about the mechanics of artificial insemination in domestic animals and discuss radiographs and blood test results in humans and animals, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about my work/life balance with my mother-in-law.

I can give detailed descriptions of perpetrators and play-by-play relayals of events, but I can’t explain why I once misunderstood the words záda (back) and zadek (butt).

I can tell amazing jokes and make people laugh, but I am never totally sure if they are laughing with me or at me.

At conferences, if I have been listening to expert presentations all day, I couldn’t form the sentence “vidím Spota, jak běhá” (I see Spot run) to save my life.

In most every conflict, I try to be humble and take responsibility, and the other person either dismisses the problem or heaps more shaming and more responsibility for the conflict onto me, without accepting any responsibility.

When someone asks me why I am angry, all I can do is splutter. Even if I speak slowly and quietly and stick to the facts, I still get the same treatment as someone who is emotional, unpredictable and crazy.

Language is about more than words and grammar and syntax. Language is expression, and understanding. Language is connecting meaning to our experiences. Language is a way to connect as is necessary and distance as is beneficial.

By that definition, I don’t even know if I am fluent in English.

My other languages expand my mind and my understanding, and they give me countless beautiful opportunities I would not have had otherwise. I know if I stayed home and never experienced another culture, I would experience the same human angst as I do when I get strung up on the language barrier. But would it be such a lonely angst? I will never know.

So the answer is no, I guess I’m not fluent. But maybe I am as fluent as any of us will ever be.

In Other Words, Part 1

To those of you who did not watch the election last night, is there room under your rock for me? And the majority of my country? Because while most of us are jealous of you, at this point we would give our voting arm for the chance to join you. There’s never been a time when more people wanted to leave the country. But I want to share something with you from my own experience, because I GTFO of America before it was cool, or trending on social media. In case you, my dear American friends, are now wanting to leave, I want to tell you what you can expect.

 

1. Everyone who knows you are American will ask you your opinion on any American event. Political campaigns, celebrity scandals, cultural icons, etc. You will feel like a bug under a microscope under the pressure of fairly representing everyone in the most diverse country in the world to someone who already has their opinions of you and your community formed. In other words, they will treat you like the one black/Latino/Asian/Muslim/Indian/etc. person at the party.
2. They will patronize you, assuming that just because you want to treat others with dignity and respect, that you are a weak and emotional person crippled by “political correctness.” In other words, they will treat you like an emotional woman.
3. They will turn judgmental eyes directly at you when people in your country do something unthinkable, like elect Donald Trump president. When you want to cry and scream because of what is going on in the world, you will feel instead like you are naked in a fish tank in a room full of people. In other words, they will treat you like Muslims and people of near- and middle-eastern descent are treated.
4. When they hear your accent and grammatical errors, they might switch to a higher volume and childish words, rather than simply repeating what they said, like you asked. It won’t matter how many languages you speak, where you have traveled, whether or not you got your master’s degree with an academic scholarship at the age of 22. In other words, they will treat you like immigrants are treated.
5. They won’t understand you. Your life, from your birth to the most recent breath you took, will be from a place that they do not, and cannot understand. That is not their fault, and they will be kind, and they will try to reach out to you, but you will never be fully understood by them because they do not walk around in your skin. You will feel isolated and alone, and unable to cast any blame because it is the fault of no one that you (and they!) were born in your/(their!) respective skin. In other words, you will be treated like a person from a racial, ethnic, or LGBTQ-minority is treated.

I can tell you, when I watched the results of the election on live TV, the one American woman in a room full of Czech men (and one Czech woman), and all the cameras turned to me, I fully felt the weight of minority status and differences of privilege for the first time in my life.

I learned to drive in one of the most treacherous, icy, and snowy winters on record in Washington state, and I learned to drive in a 200 Ford Ranger. The rear wheel drive and lightweight frame meant that that bad boy slid around on the roads like Jaromir Jagr – until we weighted down the bed over the rear axles with snow. We filled that bed with packed snow and firewood, and that let me drive on. From now on, I choose to take the weight of being an immigrant in Europe, and let it stabilize and drive me in my work. I’m not done! And that work will be further described in the next (bilingual) blog post.

Reflections on two months injured, featuring pictures of baby animals

Ding!

Circle, yes, we got the right lead.

Five-four-three-two-one-

Wow, that was a big jump!

Better hold on tight and hope this ends well.

Oh shoot….This is not going to end well.

Oh God, so much pain, can’t breathe, you’re asking me in Czech what hurts, all I can think is EVERYTHING.

The picture is hysterical, almost profile-picture worthy. I laughed when I saw it… through teeth gritted in pain. My hip joint, pelvis, ribs, spine, and all connected musculature were  crippling pain for a week solid. I sucked it up and went back to work 36 hours later, limping, resting when possible, trying to laugh it off, and ignore the pain that didn’t go away, telling myself it was fine and any day now it would go away. I even rode Aba again after two weeks, thinking I just had to build up my strength again and that’s why I was still sore. After all, pain is weakness leaving the body, right?

Regardless, the pain in my hip was getting sharper and sharper, and numbness was extending down my leg, while my whole lower back, hip bone and pelvis was painful to touch or walk on. I gradually could walk without limping, and the ambient pain went down, but the nerve pain got worse. So… Jonáš and I decided to start the medical merry-go-round.

I tried hard to stay positive, and work more on developing my lunging skills, trick-training, and bombproofing. I do believe this training was important for Aba. However, I had hoped to show her all summer, ride her four days a week, and enjoy the summer from her back, and instead I watched her and myself getting fatter, and our fitness wasting away.

I finally broke down over Skype to my mom about the situation. After 6 weeks, a friend who’s  a physiotherapist did a full evaluation of my hip mobility and pain. He said it could be a number of things, possibly bursitis, a hematoma, a stress fracture of my pelvis or hip, a herniated disc, or some other sort of nerve damage. I was devastated, and had been in constant pain for six weeks. My positive attitude ran out at this point. I was crushed by uncertainty, discouragement, and the desperate feeling of wasting my lease of my beautiful mare.

Jonáš came through again, showing that he is strong in the areas I am weak. He believed in me, and said he was grateful I wasn’t hurt worse. He encouraged me to not wallow, but pour my energy into doing what I needed to recover. He also encouraged me to focus on the things I can be grateful for. He shared with me that he is grateful to God for what this experience has taught us. Allow me to list these things, what I am grateful for:

1. Showing me that I need to develop patience.
2. Showing me that I am stubborn, and sometimes fighting through things is not the right solution.
3. Letting me spend more time with this adorable little one, who is not a horse, but who still needs me.
4. There are many other things I have been able to do to enjoy the summer, and God has provided work, free time, and allowed me to be creative.
5. God has given me the two most amazing boys in my life whom I love with all my heart. 
6. I resurrected my passion for visual art through photography, and gotten lots of chances to develop that this summer.
7. Even though Aba is away at the stallion’s until further notice (her owners want to get a baby from her next year), I have these most adorable little subjects to love on and photograph in the meantime:
   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

    

8. I have a husband whom I absolutely adore.
9. I have a big crazy family, friends whom I treasure, and 2016 will see me in the U.S. two times.
10. In short, I have the choice to appreciate the gifts in my life. And how great is the number of those gifts! Ephesians 3:20-21

It’s not you, it’s ThUs – facing tragedy

Jonáš and I were standing around speaking Czenglish with another American yesterday, when I checked my phone and first saw the news about the shooting in Orlando. I said in Czech, “There was an attack in Orlando.” Jonáš and our American friend leaned in, asking follow-up questions and looking toward my screen. I skimmed fast, trying to get the basic details.

“Where did it happen?” asked our fellow American.

“In a gay club, early this morning,” I answered.

The other American pursed his lips a bit, and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ah. That should be interesting.”

Jet-lagged, homesick me got a picture of Teresa, Lupe, Matt, Peter, Sean, Terrence, Emily, Álvaro, and others in my mind. I looked up from my phone, and my shoulders squared to him. “Human lives are human lives,” and each word pointed more and more. He lifted his hands and shoulders. “Oh no, I know that, I’m just saying, that will be interesting.”

Mitosis is interesting. Kids’ opinions on Marvel superheroes are interesting. The plot twist in Shutter Island is interesting. 50 people dead and 53 seriously injured because of one man is not interesting. It is autocorrected-to-ducking tragic.

People are saying, “it’s an Islamic thing!” “It’s a guns rights thing!” “It’s a terrorism thing!” “It’s a Latin@thing!” “It’s a homophobia thing!” But it’s greater than all of these things. One sick man killed and injured a lot of people. That is evil. If we believe that we humans are truly equal, then if we believe that all people are equally capable of good, we must believe that all people are equally capable of evil. Then just as we share in humanity’s goodness, we must share in the blame of wickedness. We all bear up under the weight of the world. In this way, I believe Christianity does the best job at explaining human nature. It also gives the best hope, that there is a higher, better being than anything on this autocorrected-to-ducked-up globe.

It’s natural to shift blame after tragedy. I get it, I do it too. My thing is judgmental people. And I can tell people are judgmental just by looking at them. But the bottom line is that we are all holding up the weight of the world. If we start to look at others to shift the blame, the weight we bear will shift and hurt us and those around us. At best, we can just bear up under as much weight as we can handle, and help those around us to bear it up too. But it’s wrong to assume that anyone bears more blame than someone else. We always want to say, “it’s you, it’s your fault, we need to fix you!” Who is at fault for everything in the world? It’s them, but it’s also us. It’s ThUs. Ba-dum-PSH.

Back to seriousness for a minute. Ameerah, Imman, Amaly, Mariam: I’m sorry that they have made this about you.

Teresa, Lupe, Matt, Sean, Peter, Terrence, Emily, Álvaro, all the others: I’m sorry that they have made this about you.

One final thought. We live in a false pretense of a big world, with large webs of social media giving us a false sense of our own scope. Ironically, we people can only see the small space that our own limited perspective offers us. We see problems in terms of how they affect us in one way or another. So to close, I will ask you to read the last sentences with me (borrowed and adapted from G.K. Chesterton, I’m not that brilliant!):

 

What’s wrong with the world?

I am.

If I ever lose my eyes… I won’t have to cry no more

Sometimes, Cat Stevens lyrics just ring with your heart. It helps if the windows are rolled down and you’re driving through the countryside, with all the smells of spring.

I have been thinking a lot about people recently, thinking of seeing my old friends and a few family members again for all too short a time. Anyone who has traveled and moved know that goodbye is usually not forever, that paths find a way to cross most of the time. But when one is looking to go back to a place where they used to live, having changed much themselves while not being certain how your loved ones have changed in turn…. one feels a strange sense of apprehension. Mostly because one doesn’t know what to expect from their loved ones. How have they changed? How has life changed and shaped them? And how could you know…. when most of your loved ones haven’t spoken a word to you since you left them behind?

That sounds melodramatic, but as I heard Cat Stevens sing wistfully, that epiphany is much more liberating. In the first place, I’ve heard from plenty of faithful friends, and from that I believe in the bonds of true friendship. You know who you are, and I can’t wait to see you so soon!

But I feel like I constantly go through my life missing people. Friends from Spain, and Spokane, and St. Louis, from all the places I’ve lived and visited. People are valuable, and I love them. They hurt each other, they do and say stupid things, and I do prefer the company of four-leggeds any day of the week. But I love them, I love so very many of them.

Until today, I’ve had so many faces, voices, conversations, and memories in my mind constantly. Wondering, “what’s so-and-so doing? Where is that kid going to college? I wonder what’s happening with this situation in this client’s/student’s/friend’s life? What’s new with my cousins these days?” And a hundred other questions that I can’t possibly answer. I can’t possibly keep up with everybody, I know that, and they all have a million other things to keep up with besides me. I understand that, to be sure. I also let myself get too busy to stay in touch, and don’t make the effort that I should. But this understanding goes even deeper.

I remember two distinct times and places on my own that I realized where I fit in others’ lives. The first was my first spring in St. Louis living on my own, year 2013. I thought, “Oh, I really miss so-and-so. I should write to her… Wait…. I had this same thought two months ago. And a month before that. And all of those times I wrote to her. I wonder if she misses me as much as I miss her. Maybe I’ll just see how long it takes her to write to me.” She still hasn’t written to me.

Similar thing the summer of 2014, living in Prague, in the most uncertain and chaotic summer of my life, I experienced major culture shock and deep loneliness. I thought of specific people that I wanted to reach out to, and was really hurt that they hadn’t even written to see how life was going. When I tried reaching out to others, especially from church, to try and deal with these feelings, there was either silence or an apologetic “sorry, we have things going on.” With a few notable exceptions, I need to make clear! Those friendships, thankfully, are still going strong. Fortunately, in these times I clung more closely to my faithful friends, and to the man who started that summer as my boyfriend and ended that summer as my fiancé. I wouldn’t trade that fierce and faithful love I share with my husband, and the strength in my friendships with Teresa, Maya, Tracy, Terry and Heidi, Sarah, Lindsey, and others, for all the hurt in the world.

Fast forward to 2016. I’m hurt by people who told me they loved me and offered to mentor and stick by me who didn’t even congratulate me on my wedding. I’ve experienced firsthand the kind of racism and sexism that I’ve never before experienced outside of op-eds and articles. I’ve spent the last 8 months wrestling with my identity through career changes, marital status changes, moves, language and cultural shifts, and I’ve had my stomach churn as people mention things about home, and homesickness, and where I’m from. But starting today… I feel like those feelings were from a world I saw through old eyes. And Like Cat Stevens sang, “And if I ever lose my eyes, and my colors all run dry… I won’t have to cry no more.” Well, it looks like I don’t have to cry no more.

I’m the most happy and comfortable with myself that I have ever been. I felt like today for the first time, I understood I can let go of gripping tightly to every single one I meet and love. I can treat them all with respect and kindness, but I don’t have to miss them desperately or be hurt when they don’t keep in touch with me. I can’t do that anyway, even if I wanted to. Between social work and teaching in high school, I need to be a professional emotional-energy-invester right where I am right now. Not only that, I’ve got an amazing circle of tight-knit loved ones who I will NEVER let go. I’d rather invest my friendship in there. Plus an amazing, amazing husband who I adore more and more all the time. There’s music to be played, trails to be explored, laughs to be had… Life is for the living, not the missing.

By the way, I finally have a sincere answer for the question: kde je domov muj (where is my home)?

It’s right here:

We Live Pride, Under Pressure

Anyone who can name all three songs, and their respective bands, referenced in the title gets a jednička (A).

Anyway… It’s been a while since I added a blog post. Time has been a blur this winter-into-spring, but today at work my kids had a huge win, and I think I was the most proud I’ve ever been of them. It didn’t fit into a facebook status, so I decided to write it here, where I can brag about them as much as they deserve.

I got the idea a couple of weeks ago, actually. I know a handful of people who have done Model U.N. in the past, so I started scouring ye olde internet to see if it was something I could adapt. If I could sum up all relevant advice for living overseas for any reason it would be like this: Be ready to adapt anything and everything. And be ready to do it yourself.

I found some materials, including some entertaining “how-to” and “how-not-to” videos, that gave guidance to those wanting to start and run a Model U.N. group. I picked the topic of modern piracy, came up with a plan to adapt it for a 45 minute class period, and ran it past my students to see what they thought. I have never seen them so enthusiastic about anything. Not even Christmas! It was all at once, “I want to be Italy!” “Terka, be Czech Republic with me!” “Can Marketa and me be North Korea?” Yes, gentle reader, even North Korea was at our mock Model U.N. conference. Even with this enthusiasm, I had no idea how it would all go over, or if it would blow up in my face. In preparation, I told them to do some background research, and we talked a bit about modern piracy as a diplomatic, humanitarian, defensive, and economic issue. The day of, I put on my most “strong, confident, independent woman” business casual outfit (see photo), and brought cookies for the “afterparty” that was mentioned in several of those “how-to” and “how-not-to”videos. After that, all I could do was hope for the best. And as I was hoping for the best, I was blown off my red high heels.

They had researched examples of piracy all the way back to the 1700’s. They knew their country’s economy and military, as well as how their country had dealt with piracy in the past. They brought their talking points on paper, having decorated them with pirate flags and the flags of their countries. One kid even had the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack playing in the background as he offered his action plans. They ran the whole show, I just sat and kept the schedule, trying not to laugh at how hilarious they were being. Let me give some examples of the hilarity I thoroughly enjoyed:

• The Czech Republic was hard to convince to participate. They said “well, we have no sea, so piracy is not our problem.” However, when offered money from other countries for their refugee crisis, they changed their tune. All the same, when the other countries were debating the terms of their alliance, Czech Republic loudly announced that they were going for a beer.
• Italy said “mamma mia” every five minutes, talked over everyone else, pontificated about the glorious Costa Nostra (look it up), and tried to get everyone to join up with them through offering them the world’s best pasta.
• India tried to focus on humanitarian solutions the the problem, but when North Korea started threatening to nuke their enemies, India played Bollywood hits and adopted Yogi master poses while the arguing continued.
• The United States offered hamburgers and education to Somalia, and joined up with anyone who would go along with them.
• North Korea demanded benefits in exchange for alliances, and was generally very volatile in their interactions with everybody. The only benefit they offered their allies in return was abstaining from using their nuclear weapons on them.
• They agreed on a solution with minimal military activity
• Our “afterparty” involved my homemade chocolate chip cookies, whose recipe I have memorized, which disappeared in 30 seconds. I have never seen food disappear so fast, and I have spent my life surrounded by food-obsessed animals (not the homo sapiens kind). But those kids were SO. HAPPY. My heart felt full to bursting when I saw their faces light up.

 

My teaching experiment, I think, was a huge success. The kids remained enthusiastic, and blew me out of the water (pun intended) with how prepared they were for the activity. Their English was advanced and smooth, they negotiated world politics in a foreign language, and each of them brought their own personality to their portrayal of their country. There was laughter, smiling, interest, dialogue, negotiation, and music from Pirates of the Caribbean. It made me think a lot as I forced myself to sit back and watch, and not offer my own opinions.

It’s fascinating, from a sociological perspective, how people are all the same. I gave no guidance, it was a completely new experience for my students, and they behaved in a strikingly similar manner to adult politicians, adopting this behavior all on their own. It was a microscale of everything that is wrong with the world, with fighting and selfishness, while the voices of those most affected (Somalia) were absent. I’m curious to see how the debrief next week goes.

At the same time, these kids showed me what I love about teenagers most: they were goofy, theatrical, intelligent, creative, experimenting with thinking deeply, and trying to balance conflicting aspects of a global problem. They are walking the tightrope between childhood and adulthood, they’ve already gotten their share of lickings from this world, which wastes no time in forcing its young ones to grow up, but they still have the most valuable hearts and spirits. I love that they still assert their individuality, and they are not too scared yet to wear their hearts on their sleeves and their minds on their faces. I even love that they say the worst profanities when they hit their finger on a desk, because they still don’t know that there are things in life that hurt worse than a smacked finger. I love that when they smile and laugh at things, you can still see the adorable wonder of a small kid, if you’re just willing to laugh with them, and validate what they think is funny. Their self esteem is fragile enough that when they get sincere praise, and hear “you should be proud of yourself,” they look as happy and proud as a baby who has just taken their first steps.

And finally, everyone says that teenagers just care about themselves and their attitudes, but I can attest that they don’t. If you show them that you care about their opinions, that you think their thoughts are worth listening to, and if you show this consistently, they will open up to you and paint the walls of your heart the colors of the sunset. They have favorite music, favorite movies, they have amazing senses of humor, they think about things that happen in the world… I could go on, but I just have one more little honor that my students gave to me.

Back in November, I came up with an activity to teach modal verbs (things like “should,” “can,” “may,” etc.). I told the students to pretend that there were undercover cops coming to their school, and they had to give advice to these cops for how to fit in with the students. The astute among you will realize that I probably was inspired by the movie 21 Jump Street. Well, the kids liked it. And it’s all about the kids, right? Anyway, one thing they agreed on was that students can’t be too friendly with teachers. For this reason, I’ve been respectful of this with my students, and not tried to be too buddy-buddy with them. But I still strive to respect them and show them I care about them, mostly by making them laugh in class, and asking for their input for planning lessons. And I have to say… my heart soars when they run up to me in the grocery store or the train station or cross the street to say hi (#smalltowns), or when they tell me, “paní učitelko, have you seen the movie ____? I think you would really like it,” or when I’m sick, they email me their homework and tell me “I’m so sorry you were sick today, and I wish you a speedy recovery.” Today when I showed up in my “ready to take on the world” business casual outfit, the girl students GUSHED, telling me “wow, you look so beautiful, I love your outfit!” I even got respectful compliments from a few guys. Finally, one of my students came up to me to ask me if I had seen The Godfather, and we ended up talking for his whole break about gangster and dirty cop movies. What I’m trying to say is… I think I earned a relationship with my students. An honor is the only word I can think of to describe this.

In conclusion (finally!)… Yes, for all the great stories, I’ve had to bite my tongue plenty, I’ve given out plenty of pushups for horseplay and tardiness, there have been a couple instances of disrespect, and I doubt myself often. After the Easter disaster of ’16 (another story for another time), I came very close to quitting at this school. Ultimately, I decided to stay because of the students, and today chased away any lingering doubts. I certainly didn’t stay for the money, or for the administrators (well ok, one of them is pretty great). Because after all, isn’t everything we do as teachers about the students?

Thanks for reading. Now enjoy some lovely pictures of the Labe before a storm.

Part 1. A Muslim and a Christian walk into a teahouse (because everyone loves tea): What might they talk about over a cup of tea

To be human is to be an incarnate paradox. We believe we should treat others as we want to be treated. But as we pray on our drive to work we lose patience with the drivers who take the spot on the highway we were speeding towards. This lost patience is compounded by our frustration with the driver who honked at us five minutes ago as we cut him off. It’s not yet 8 am and we have been three times a hypocrite.

 

To be human is to have the memory of a flea. We praise God’s works with our lips, then five minutes later get overwhelmed with anxiety when one small thing goes wrong, thinking that God has abandoned us. Anna Sewell affirmed that there is nothing in the world more evil than ignorance, which is the Siamese twin of forgetting. It is in forgetting that we create the most ugly paradoxes with our fellow men.

 

We see someone do wrong, and we forget that we have done anything wrong as we condemn the other in our hearts and with our mouths.

 

We see someone who seems different and we forget that we people are at once all different and all alike.

 

We deceive ourselves in thinking that we are the standard for upstanding humanity. We Christians see someone of a different religion and alienate them as an enemy of God, forgetting that we also were once enemies of God.

 

We forget that our adoption into God’s family was not our work, but that of His grace alone – His grace to give us our family who taught us about Him, or His grace to bring us a friend who shared the Gospel with us, or His grace to help us conquer our sins, and His grace to change our hearts to want to follow Him.

 

 

To be human is to have our flaws compounded by each other.

 

We forget. Then we ignore. Then we judge. Then we hate.

 

The forgetting and the paradoxes it creates are all that seem to give sense to the things I see from Christians to Muslims. The xenophobia, and pride God’s people take in it, is jaw-dropping. While I know I have racial preferences and enjoy my privileges as a white American, to see Christians dragging an opportunity for compassion and love through the dirt …

 

We must not be silent. We cannot be silent.

 

This series is born first and foremost of God’s sanctification of me. I am lazy, cowardly, and apathetic when it comes to living out my faith, and greatest to be shamed is this: these are the qualities I condemn most vocally in the church as we face the Muslim refugee crisis of this decade. I would much rather sit behind my computer and condemn the loudest of the uninformed, ignorant racists and other fellow people who have been given access to the Internet. I would love to whitewash my own tomb by passive-aggressively commenting, liking, sharing, whatever on social media.

 

What a hypocrite I am! This is not the life in its fullness for which Christ came and saved me!

 

Mercifully, the world’s salvation is not dependent on the likes of me, but on a God who became flesh in a persecuted Middle-Eastern Man. Mercifully, God did not call me to save the world, but He loved the world enough to send His Son for that. You all have Him to thank and trust for that. Nevertheless, this little book is a step of obedience to God’s calling for His people: to defend the victims of the world’s injustices, to speak up for the voiceless, to love justice and mercy, to walk humbly with God, and to stand up for the orphans and widows (Micah 6:8, Isaiah 1:17, and James 1:27). This little book is an examination of what Christians are called to do as Muslims come into closer and closer proximity with them in Europe. I see the church only pulling more and more tightly into itself for a variety of reasons. At the same time, I see secular humanists stepping up to feed the hungry, house the homeless, clothe the naked, and bring smiles to tearful, traumatized faces.

 

Is this how we respond to the Lord filling our cup with blessings of grace – by pulling away and leaving a void to be filled by someone else? My friends, this must not be so.

 

This is not a series about the differences between Islam and Christianity (for such reading, I recommend Unveiling Islam by Ergun and Emir Caher, scholars of Islamic theology and history). It is, however, based on the belief that Christianity is the one way to the true, triune God, and the logical conclusion Christianity and Islam are fundamentally different religions. It is a series that calls for empathy and compassion for all humans as valuable image-bearers of God. Finally, this series affirms that the writings and teachings of a religion often differ from how it is practiced by its followers. For this reason, we must know and relate to people before we pass judgments of their character. While this series is written to address xenophobia and bad theology directed at Muslims, its principles may be applied to any of “the least of these,” from drug addicts to the homeless to gypsies to prostitutes to residents of white suburbia – anyone who needs the grace of God.

 

I’ll end this introduction with two mission verses that have driven this work:

 

“And let us consider how we may stir one another on to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the day drawing near.” Hebrews 10:24-25. Reading and knowing this verse, I have collected and dared to interpret some Bible verses on God’s calling to the church in the face of the current Muslim refugee crisis.

 

“Therefore, to him who knows to do good and does not do it, to him it is sin.” James 4:17 This verse is mostly for myself. I cannot be silent anymore as Christians get more and more scared of Muslims and say more and more hateful things about them. May God grant me the faithfulness to steadfastly pursue Him and obey what He calls me to do.

 

Up Next: That’s just, like, your opinion, man: How do we know what we know about Muslims?

Special thanks to my beloved editors 🙂

I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!

Riddle me this: what do games, mental illness, and adolescence have in common?

 

I know, I know. Try to narrow it down.

 

Give up? Ok, Yes, there are lots of things they have in common, but I’ll let you in on the answer I had in mind. I deal with all of them every week.

 

About a year ago, I came to terms with my mental illness, with my depression. Since then, I’ve been experimenting with coping strategies, including medication, exercise, mental self-control, and self-care. The year 2015 had a lot of triggers in it: moving twice, a career change, marriage, cross-globe move, new language and culture. It’s been thrilling, exhilarating, discouraging, encouraging, hysterical, tragic, fun…. New. The career change actually has been the arena in which these changes are the most noticeable and pronounced. I teach high school English as a foreign language, and I teach English and Spanish to adults and preteens. Teaching the teenagers while learning to manage my mental health through a strategy besides ignoring it and beating myself up on the inside has actually been incredibly enlightening. For those who don’t teach teenagers and can’t possibly imagine what this has in common with mental health, let me enlighten you:

 

1. For both, you have to embrace the fact that you have clearly lost your sanity at some point. I’m sure anyone can see the connection there. Many people offer me their condolences when I say I teach high schoolers, then say how much they admire me, but I’m sure they’re actually thinking, Man, she trippin! In fact, many of my most successful lessons with my kids have come when I’ve embraced my craziness and theirs, and we just roll with it on their level (which, if I’m honest, is more fun than the adult level). This is, I think, why they come up and say hi to me at the grocery store and the train station, but also why they quiet down when I just give them a teacher look. In the same way, with mental health, the sooner you openly admit that you have a problem and accept that it is a part of you, the more readily you can just pursue a solution to make it a livable problem.

2. No matter what happens, good or bad, you HAVE TO KEEP MOVING FORWARD. If the kids are crabby and not speaking any English, if they are laughing and gossiping while you are talking, if they are Snapchatting and texting under your nose, if they are having a lively and spirited discussion, if they ask you a totally unrelated question to your topic but they are all interested in speaking – regardless, just keep moving the lesson forward! Sometimes that means you have to totally change tracks, sometimes that means you need to give them a spontaneous test to get them working, sometimes that means you go with them down a rabbit trail and turn it into a lesson. Most of the time, you shouldn’t worry about how fast or slow you are moving. But keep moving forward and don’t let anything stall you. Same with mental health. You may be having a good day. You may be having a bad day. There may be a million good things going on but you still can’t fight the black clouds. There may be a million bad things in your life that make you want to curl up and cry. Regardless, just keep moving forward. Whether you just focus on the fact that you’re still breathing, whether that’s counting down the days till you see your horse again, whether that’s planning a singalong to the kids’ favorite music (thank the good Lord for YouTube lyric videos), or keeping Apples to Apples in your briefcase just in case, just keep things rolling forward. Create forward momentum that can carry you when there’s no more energy to fight your way forward.

3. No matter what kind of day you had today, tomorrow is a new one. Resolve to brush off whatever wasn’t ideal in the past, and treat each day like it’s new. Pray that your heart would be convinced by this, and that you would have love for others around you, especially yourself (who tends to be the root of most your problems 😉 )
4. Focus on others around you more than you focus on yourself. But do make sure you are taking care of yourself. Many of our problems and feelings, even real ones with concrete causes like depression, are compounded by our own navel gazing. This is why praying for love for others is so helpful – it trains the neural pathways in your brain (the physiological places where thoughts happen) to focus on others rather than yourself. Make sure your own ducks are in a row – plan your lessons, take your medicine, exercise the coping skills that work for you, make sure you are eating, sleeping, and exercising, show up to work on time and do your best to guide your students – but remember that it’s ultimately not about you, and loving others is the most nourishing self-care.
5. Be spontaneous, open, and flexible. Repeat after me: you can plan nothing. NOTHING. Some classes are bored with the first 9 activities you plan, then you wing a 10^th in frustration, and they love it. Some classes you hold your breath for, certain that they will be total rhymes-with-spits, and they are engaged, intelligent sponges for knowledge. Sometimes music lifts your spirits, and sometimes only a run will make you feel better. Sometimes you will still feel crappy after trying every coping mechanism you have thought of, and really it’s only going to bed that makes you feel better. The best you can do is come up with Plans A, B, and C, and be ready to try them and move on if they flop, remembering to always, what? That’s right – KEEP MOVING FORWARD.
6. Don’t sweat the little things. If a kid is lazy, that’s his/her problem, not yours. If a kid is mad at you for taking their phone when they were texting right under your nose, that’s most definitely their problem. If you don’t upload grades right away, just upload them as soon as you can and resolve to do better next time. If you didn’t get the laundry done, think of how to plan your time better and just do that. If there’s a crap ton of dishes that you didn’t do right away, just go do them now. Don’t let little things like that wreck your satisfaction with your life.
7. The success is in the little things, so celebrate the little things. For this one, I’m just going to demonstrate how I measured success this week:
   1. One of my lowest-level students had a spontaneous, complete, perfect English sentence in the middle of class.
   2. One student told another one to stop it when he was making racist jokes.
   3. A student who is normally late to class came early.
   4. I caught a student snapchatting, took his iPad and posted an obnoxious selfie to his My Story, with the caption “I was on snapchat in class.”
   5. I made enough chocolate chip cookies for all the English contest winners.
   6. I played guitar for a full hour one day and it diffused my anger.
   7. I didn’t have anxiety-driven insomnia before any of my teaching days this week.
   8. These furballs exist in the world and they’re mine
      

      

      

      

      
   9. I can think of a lot of other beautiful and wonderful things in my life, so much that it overwhelms me to think of them. Much like having 100 high school students – so many wonderful things in my life to be grateful for, so many good things that overwhelm me. Ephesians 3:20-21

Shoe sharing – opening young people’s eyes to privilege.

Those who have been following my journey have known what a struggle immigration, assimilation, and self-identification have been since I’ve moved here. I’ve recently been confronted with negative views on immigration and racism, and it has hit me hard. I decided I felt both comfortable and uncomfortable enough to try and stand up to it in my little circle of influence: my classrooms.

We talk about controversial and cutting edge things in my classes. I try to think of topics and plan lessons that are relevant to my students’ lives and interests, so they will be highly motivated to talk to each other. We have talked about Marvel movies, comedies, drugs and addictions, relationships, and most recently, racism. I made like I was trying to find out Czech people’s opinions on refugees and immigrants, even though I’ve already gotten an earful. In response to my questions, I heard them animatedly saying things I’ve heard before, laughing about terrorists, saying that immigrants were leeches that come wanting to take state help, who want to take over Europe by having a million babies. I burst out laughing at that (me?! Having a million babies?!), and they looked at me like they couldn’t figure out why I was laughing.

I took a breath, and asked, “Well, what do you guys think I am?” I explained the difference between refugee, immigrant, and expat, and we concluded that I’m an immigrant (I have an earlier blog post on that). I asked them, “what do you think now, those things you hear people say about immigrants, when you see one standing here in front of you?”

 

They looked at me like they had never seen me before.

 

Next I showed them this link (http://www.upworthy.com/humans-of-new-york-went-to-europe-to-see-the-refugee-crisis-firsthand-the-photos-are-striking) to the Humans of New York story on immigrants in Greece as they began making their way across the European Union. I had them do it as a read-aloud exercise, and I watched their faces as they read about the woman who lost her husband, the child who lost her mother, the man who left his country and had to start all over. Those of you who teach high schoolers know that the air is rarely still in a room full of teenagers. The molecules vibrate more vigorously, sound and sight travel at different rates than anywhere else. Even when they’re bored, the molecules in a room of teenagers radiate boredom, pushing against the teacher. Today though, as the kids listened to each other read these stories, the molecules in the room got still. I’ve never felt a stillness like that in a room full of teenagers. Even the most animated and energetic in the group sat like stones as they listened and read. My last words for them were this: The refugee crisis is serious, with no good or easy solution. But I hope you learned that these are people. These children had favorite toys, just like you did. They have mothers and fathers, and they have favorite foods, just like you do. They’re just people, like you.”

 

The other activity I did was a privilege walk. I came up with a bunch of identities of different types of people, from a 16-year-old pregnant gypsy girl to a professional athlete and a business man. I randomly had students draw names, and had them stand in a line. Then I had questions and instructions intended to get people to realize their privilege. Statements like, “If there were more than 50 books in your house growing up, take one step forward;” “If you grew up in an area with crime and drugs, take one step back;” “If you speak with a foreign accent, take one step backward;” “If you see members of your race portrayed negatively in the media, take one step back;” among others. These are the questions I used, I adapted some of them to make them relevant for Europe:

https://ginsberg.umich.edu/content/privilege-walk-activity

Each class did this two times. Then I asked them, “Who moved the most?”

The 16-year-old pregnant gypsy girl went the furthest back, and the 30-year-old businessman from Prague went the furthest forward.

I continued, “What were some differences between you all?”

Race, money, gender, age, education, and experience were the most common ones. They said that money and race made the biggest difference in where they ended up.

Finally I asked them this: “How much control did you have over where you ended up?”

I watched the lightbulbs come on as they responded, “None. I had no control over it.” One character said they might have let an opportunity pass at some point in their life, but that was all.

I ended with this: “Think about this, guys. Many times we look at people and assume it’s their fault they ended up where they are in life. But that’s not always the case. Many times it’s because of things they had no control over. Think about that.”

 

I don’t know if any long-term impact came from that, or what kind of impact it will actually have on my students or the Czech Republic. I don’t even know if they thought about it any longer than five minutes. But I did see them think about it for five minutes. And I have a feeling it was five minutes longer than they thought about it the day before. And I have some satisfaction, knowing that I did something in my little circle of influence, and I spoke for people who as of yet have no voice in those spaces.

Those who stay – musings from a place of nostalgia, saudade, i toulavost

I’m writing this from a place of homesickness, and from feeling again like an outsider. It turns out that Czech people are not so open to pranks as Americans. Who would have guessed? I’ll just have to find other ways to assuage the social anxiety of being an outsider in the group, an anxiety which is compounded by navigating a really difficult language. This experience made me think about how my wanderlust has been changed by my wandering. That’s the reason we travel, isn’t it, to be changed and shaped by our experiences in new places? But I never thought my philosophy about travel would change so much. 17-year-old-me would have been shocked to think that 24-year-old me would be married and not planning on moving soon. But here I am, and here I wrestle.

 

While walking my dogs today, I was thunderstruck by the Czech countryside: it’s at once charming, and beautiful, and rugged, and wide-open. I thought of wanderlust, and how I all at once was thrilled to be in this beautiful place but also couldn’t wait to see what was on the other side of that hill. And I thought of what Americans value as a culture: individuality and freedom. Wanderlust seems to fit that exactly: the desire to travel where we want to go when we want to go there. “Wanderlust” is the lovechild of freedom and individuality, conceived in the bed of privilege. I believe that our culture glamorizes nomadism and disconnectedness in the name of these goals. We jam to Steve Miller as he plays his music in the sun and gets his loving on the run. We cry with Zach Brown as he tells us we have a gypsy soul to blame, and that we were born for leaving. We bob our heads as we see that even the beautiful Stevie Nicks affirms our gypsy nature. But as we rock out to these songs, we tend to close our eyes, and in this we miss the people who surround us.

 

Perhaps I’m being too hard on wanderlust. After all, I have a bad case of it. I’ve traveled to 20 countries and over 30 states in the U.S., I have lived in 3 countries, plus I speak three European languages. I have needed every one of those experiences to make myself the person I am today, and I would not change a thing about my life thus far. But I’m realizing the nature of the bank of wanderlust, in which traveling is exchanged for relationships. Traveling is like a credit card: with it you can access attractions with the local currency wherever you are or want to go, but you see a lot less of what has actual value: the people you grow to love. The more you travel and the less time you spend with people where you are, the less deep the relationships can be, and the less long-term support you draw from each one.

 

This winter, we have had a lot of guests and spent a lot of time with American friends. My friend from high school stayed with us, my parents stayed with us, we have invited friends and their friends over for dinner and games nights, and we have made great friends on a local basketball team. But I’ve come to notice another guest at each gathering with our American friends. He stands in the background, just a shadow in our peripheral vision, like an ominous grandfather clock in the corner of the room, counting the undetermined minutes of our visit. He counts because our time together is finite. He is The Leaving and he holds an hourglass in his hand, and we know that when the sand runs out, he will put the hourglass on the table wordlessly, and that will be the end. When that comes, the Americans will go out the door, on to the next step, the next bricks on their yellow brick road to their emerald city.

But not all of us will go out the door. Not all of us will go off to another path less travelled. We’ll stay, and quietly do the dishes, smile at the newly made memories and the love we have for those who enriched our time. Then we’ll go to bed, wait to fall asleep in the dark, and get up in the morning. Same as we did before we met them, same as we will do every day here after, after The Leaving has taken them away.

 

It’s ok that we do the dishes, returning to life as they go off to another adventure. The weird thing is, I’ve always been one that The Leaving took away, the lover-and-runner, the gypsy soul who was born for leaving, who played her music in the sun and got her loving on the run. I’ve never been one of those who stayed. And I think if I had known what it meant to stay, what it does for relationships when people stay, I might have done some things differently.

If I had not been too proud to admit that I needed others, if I had not been so damn preoccupied with running from fear and from bad memories, if I had not been so greedy to want everything right now when I was young, if I had not been so focused on my own wants and dreams, then maybe I might have had more energy to invest where I was. Maybe I wouldn’t be just another rich, white, privileged American who could just up and leave when she was ready for something else. Yet my gypsy soul that stays and watches others leave can rest in this: the same God who steadied my wings as I flew has prepared my nest for the season I’m in. He guided me around His beautiful world filled with His infinitely valuable creations. He did this that I may proudly stand where I am one of those who stays.