"...let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream." Amos 5:24
2013 RHHP Thanksgiving dinner
12 years ago
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
I spent this past weekend in Sarajevo visiting with my region representatives and another service worker in the region. We went on a hike through the mountains near Sarajevo and went to this waterfall, which was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. I don't think I even realized how sad I have been until I was standing on this bridge, feeling the spray of the waterfall on my face... it sounds stupid, I'm sure, but there was something healing about it.
"...let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream." Amos 5:24
"...let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream." Amos 5:24
Ne razumem...
I haven't written anything for a while, and I apologize to those of you who have been waiting on the edge of your seats. I would love to tell you that I have been too busy learning Serbian to write anything, but then you might ask me to say something, and I would have to admit that I still know next to nothing.
In theory I work at the kindergarten from 8 until 1, and then have Serbian lessons from 4- 5:30 during the week. I also have about an hour and a half of homework every day. So, that means I am spending about five hours a day working, and three hours a day learning the language. In truth, however, I learn much more Serbian at the kindergarten than I do in my lessons. At work learn things like "Don't put that in your mouth!" "Sit down!" "Eat your cabbage!" and "Don't open the bunny cage!". In my lessons I learn things like "There is a shift and change of stress in many Class I disyllabic masculine nouns with the short-rising accent on the first, and the length on the second syllable. The accent shifts to the middle syllable and changes into the long rising one in all cases except the vocative singular." Incidentally, I always thought I was good at learning languages before I tried to learn Serbian. It turns out I happen to have studded easy languages.
People in Belgrade tend to speak very good English. In fact, the only people I have met who ACTUALLY don't speak English are either elderly or under 10. Many people between those two groups will claim they don't speak English, but they usually do and are just being modest (or don't want to talk to me). There seems to be an attitude here that everyone *should* know English, and when people think their English isn't very good, they're embarrassed. I have even been asked by more than one person why I am trying to learn Serbian, because it is "such a small language", and "only relevant here." I hardly know what to say to those people. I am learning Serbian because I LIVE here, because I look like an idiot in the grocery store, because I can't talk to my students, because I respect you enough to try to address you in your native tongue... the list for THAT goes on and on.
Despite my genuine efforts to progress, I still fail at most things most days with this language. Some fun examples:
(At work):
Kindergartner: Maggie, you are American?
Maggie: Yes I am.
Kindergartner: Do you LIVE in America??
Maggie: (confusing the verb "to live" with the verb "to come from") Yes, I do!
Kindergartner: WHOAAAAA!!!!!!
(Several hours later)
Maggie: (to self) Why was she so shocked that I am from the US?? OH CRAP she asked if I lived there NOW... she thinks I am commuting every day to Belgrade from DC... oh dear.
(With friends)
Friend: (sneezes)
Maggie: (literal translation) Shhh, kitty!
Friends: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Maggie: What!? Isn't that what you say when someone sneezes??
Friend: That is what you say when you are 6 and someone sneezes.
(guess where I learned it?)
(At the grocery store)
Maggie: (struggles to figure out how to get the little scale to print the sticker so she can buy her lemons. Motions to the clerk for help).
Clerk: (points at lemons) Lemons?
Maggie: (conditioned response) I don't speak Serbian.
(At home)
Doorbell rings. Maggie is home alone and answers it. A large, very scary looking man is standing there.
Man: Hello.
Maggie: Hello.
Man: Is your TV working?
Maggie: (WTF? Did Milana call someone to fix the TV? Shouldn't he have some kind of uniform on if he works for the TV company? Maybe they don't have uniforms for TV guys in Serbia. If I let him in, he will probably kill me, but it might be culturally insensitive to not let him in. It's raining, maybe he wants coffee. Maybe if I make him coffee he won't kill me...)
Man: IS... YOUR... TV.... WORKING?
Maggie: (what the hell) No, it is not working.
Man: OK. (enters house. Messes with TV.) (bunch of stuff in Serbian)
Maggie: (nods)
Man: (bunch of stuff in Serbian), understand?
Maggie: yes.
Man: (bunch of stuff in Serbian) TV not works (something in Serbian) understand?
Maggie: Yes.
Man: (Bunch of stuff in Serbian) understand? (Messes with TV. Bunch of stuff in Serbian that sounds like a question.)
Maggie: Yes?
Man: Yes??
Maggie: No?
Man: Good. (bunch of stuff in Serbian. TV starts working. Bunch more stuff in Serbian.) You speak Serbian well.
Maggie: Thank you. I am learning the language.
So it goes.
Another MCC worker in the region had some really interesting things to say about learning the language. He will be serving in Sanski Most, Bosnia and Herzegovina, but is living in Sarajevo for a few months to study language. You can read his thoughts here: http://matthewharms.wordpress.com/2009/10/25/what-exactly-am-i-speaking/ (it isn't letting me put it in as a link and my computer skills are as limited as my language skills, so you can cut and paste. I trust you).
If you can't tell from that post, he knows a LOT more of the language than I do. I bet if asked if he was buying lemons, he would say, yes, I am buying lemons. The he would probably proceed to have a conversation in the local language about Yugoslavian literature. Not that I am bitter. I am learning the language, too... polako, i malo po malo.
In theory I work at the kindergarten from 8 until 1, and then have Serbian lessons from 4- 5:30 during the week. I also have about an hour and a half of homework every day. So, that means I am spending about five hours a day working, and three hours a day learning the language. In truth, however, I learn much more Serbian at the kindergarten than I do in my lessons. At work learn things like "Don't put that in your mouth!" "Sit down!" "Eat your cabbage!" and "Don't open the bunny cage!". In my lessons I learn things like "There is a shift and change of stress in many Class I disyllabic masculine nouns with the short-rising accent on the first, and the length on the second syllable. The accent shifts to the middle syllable and changes into the long rising one in all cases except the vocative singular." Incidentally, I always thought I was good at learning languages before I tried to learn Serbian. It turns out I happen to have studded easy languages.
People in Belgrade tend to speak very good English. In fact, the only people I have met who ACTUALLY don't speak English are either elderly or under 10. Many people between those two groups will claim they don't speak English, but they usually do and are just being modest (or don't want to talk to me). There seems to be an attitude here that everyone *should* know English, and when people think their English isn't very good, they're embarrassed. I have even been asked by more than one person why I am trying to learn Serbian, because it is "such a small language", and "only relevant here." I hardly know what to say to those people. I am learning Serbian because I LIVE here, because I look like an idiot in the grocery store, because I can't talk to my students, because I respect you enough to try to address you in your native tongue... the list for THAT goes on and on.
Despite my genuine efforts to progress, I still fail at most things most days with this language. Some fun examples:
(At work):
Kindergartner: Maggie, you are American?
Maggie: Yes I am.
Kindergartner: Do you LIVE in America??
Maggie: (confusing the verb "to live" with the verb "to come from") Yes, I do!
Kindergartner: WHOAAAAA!!!!!!
(Several hours later)
Maggie: (to self) Why was she so shocked that I am from the US?? OH CRAP she asked if I lived there NOW... she thinks I am commuting every day to Belgrade from DC... oh dear.
(With friends)
Friend: (sneezes)
Maggie: (literal translation) Shhh, kitty!
Friends: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Maggie: What!? Isn't that what you say when someone sneezes??
Friend: That is what you say when you are 6 and someone sneezes.
(guess where I learned it?)
(At the grocery store)
Maggie: (struggles to figure out how to get the little scale to print the sticker so she can buy her lemons. Motions to the clerk for help).
Clerk: (points at lemons) Lemons?
Maggie: (conditioned response) I don't speak Serbian.
(At home)
Doorbell rings. Maggie is home alone and answers it. A large, very scary looking man is standing there.
Man: Hello.
Maggie: Hello.
Man: Is your TV working?
Maggie: (WTF? Did Milana call someone to fix the TV? Shouldn't he have some kind of uniform on if he works for the TV company? Maybe they don't have uniforms for TV guys in Serbia. If I let him in, he will probably kill me, but it might be culturally insensitive to not let him in. It's raining, maybe he wants coffee. Maybe if I make him coffee he won't kill me...)
Man: IS... YOUR... TV.... WORKING?
Maggie: (what the hell) No, it is not working.
Man: OK. (enters house. Messes with TV.) (bunch of stuff in Serbian)
Maggie: (nods)
Man: (bunch of stuff in Serbian), understand?
Maggie: yes.
Man: (bunch of stuff in Serbian) TV not works (something in Serbian) understand?
Maggie: Yes.
Man: (Bunch of stuff in Serbian) understand? (Messes with TV. Bunch of stuff in Serbian that sounds like a question.)
Maggie: Yes?
Man: Yes??
Maggie: No?
Man: Good. (bunch of stuff in Serbian. TV starts working. Bunch more stuff in Serbian.) You speak Serbian well.
Maggie: Thank you. I am learning the language.
So it goes.
Another MCC worker in the region had some really interesting things to say about learning the language. He will be serving in Sanski Most, Bosnia and Herzegovina, but is living in Sarajevo for a few months to study language. You can read his thoughts here: http://matthewharms.wordpress.com/2009/10/25/what-exactly-am-i-speaking/ (it isn't letting me put it in as a link and my computer skills are as limited as my language skills, so you can cut and paste. I trust you).
If you can't tell from that post, he knows a LOT more of the language than I do. I bet if asked if he was buying lemons, he would say, yes, I am buying lemons. The he would probably proceed to have a conversation in the local language about Yugoslavian literature. Not that I am bitter. I am learning the language, too... polako, i malo po malo.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Cute fuzzy kittens
Yesterday night as I was coming home from a cafe I saw a kitten on the corner of my street. He looked like he was about 6 weeks old and was black and white. It was a very cold night, and he looked so cute, and I have really wanted a cat lately, so I seriously considered picking him up and taking him home. I wasn't sure how my roommate feels about cats, though, and I don't really have enough money to buy cat food, so I left him there.
Today on my way home from work I saw him again a little further up the street. This time he was lying dead on the sidewalk with his throat ripped open. It looked like one of the stray dogs got him.
Some days are harder than others. I guess that's true no matter who and where you are, though.
Today on my way home from work I saw him again a little further up the street. This time he was lying dead on the sidewalk with his throat ripped open. It looked like one of the stray dogs got him.
Some days are harder than others. I guess that's true no matter who and where you are, though.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Concrete Phoenix
The careful observers among you may have noticed the title change to this blog. "like a concrete phoenix" is a reference to Belgrade in the Bradt guidebook to Belgrade by Laurence Mitchell that the previous SALTer gave me. The full description is this:
Belgrade has the dubious distinction of the only European city to have been bombed on five separate occasions in the same century: during WWI (twice), followed by Nazi bombers in 1941, Allied bombers in 1944 and NATO bombers in 1999. Somehow, Belgrade always manages to rebuild and resurface like a concrete phoenix, only too aware that, lying as it does on a geopolitical, religious and cultural fault line, 'inconveniences' such as war, invasions and air raids inevitably go with the territory.
If it is not clear from this paragraph, the description- and the entire book- is clearly written with love by someone who deeply admires the beauty and strength and limitless character of this city. And I don't just say that to make up for loving on Sarajevo in the last post.
Anyway, that description always interested me, and now it has taken on special meaning. I am going to take a cue from beautiful Beograd and bear my own burdens with grace and strength. If Belgrade can survive- and, dare I say, thrive- through and despite all that it has, I can certainly spend this year (or years) in this place growing and learning through and despite my own circumstance of loss and pain and sorrow. I don't dare claim to be a concrete phoenix myself, but I aim to be at least worthy to live in one.
Further encouragement to stick it out came today in two wonderful letters, one from my grandmother and one from a dear childhood friend. They were both written before my father died, but could not have come at a better time or with more appropriate words. My grandmother writes "...think only of what is being added to your life, not what you miss," and my friend writes, "dig your toes in deep, love, do not let go."
I can't promise either of those things, but I will do my best... like a concrete phoenix.
Belgrade has the dubious distinction of the only European city to have been bombed on five separate occasions in the same century: during WWI (twice), followed by Nazi bombers in 1941, Allied bombers in 1944 and NATO bombers in 1999. Somehow, Belgrade always manages to rebuild and resurface like a concrete phoenix, only too aware that, lying as it does on a geopolitical, religious and cultural fault line, 'inconveniences' such as war, invasions and air raids inevitably go with the territory.
If it is not clear from this paragraph, the description- and the entire book- is clearly written with love by someone who deeply admires the beauty and strength and limitless character of this city. And I don't just say that to make up for loving on Sarajevo in the last post.
Anyway, that description always interested me, and now it has taken on special meaning. I am going to take a cue from beautiful Beograd and bear my own burdens with grace and strength. If Belgrade can survive- and, dare I say, thrive- through and despite all that it has, I can certainly spend this year (or years) in this place growing and learning through and despite my own circumstance of loss and pain and sorrow. I don't dare claim to be a concrete phoenix myself, but I aim to be at least worthy to live in one.
Further encouragement to stick it out came today in two wonderful letters, one from my grandmother and one from a dear childhood friend. They were both written before my father died, but could not have come at a better time or with more appropriate words. My grandmother writes "...think only of what is being added to your life, not what you miss," and my friend writes, "dig your toes in deep, love, do not let go."
I can't promise either of those things, but I will do my best... like a concrete phoenix.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Home again, home again.
Ask me how my trip back to Serbia was. I dare you.
I knew it would be a long day of travel. We decided it would be best for me to spend a few days with other MCC people in Sarajevo, Bosnia before returning to Belgrade, so I was supposed to fly from Washington DC to London, London to Belgrade, and then Belgrade to Sarajevo (it was cheaper to fly into Belgrade and then to Sarajevo than it was to change my destination from Belgrade to Sarajevo). That is a lot of flying, and with connections on top of it, I knew to expect a lot of movement and perhaps some stress. I did not know to expect the Spanish Inquisition.
My flight from DC into London was a bit late, and I missed my connecting flight by about 45 seconds. The plane wasn't at the gate, the passengers had to take a little bus out to the plane on the runway, and I literally saw it pull away. The people at the desk said it couldn't come back for me, and that I should go to the information desk to sort out how to get to Belgrade. That seemed reasonable enough, so I went to the desk and explained the situation. I asked when the next flight to Belgrade was, and the woman said, "same time tomorrow." This was about 7:30 AM in London, 2:30 AM body time, and I hadn't slept at all on the plane. I was tired and confused and did NOT want to stay overnight in London, so I did something I'm not super proud of. My voice wavered a little bit and my eyes (conveniently!) filled with tears as I explained, "I'm not sure if tomorrow will work... I'm actually traveling for a funeral." Please notice that I didn't lie, per se. I didn't say I was GOING to a funeral, I said I was TRAVELING for one, which I was. The funeral is why I was traveling right then... I just happened to be traveling HOME from it... four weeks later. The woman's face changed, and she said she would "see what she could do." I said thank you, and fought back tears, which were about 50% genuine and 50% to get me on a quicker flight. She was able to get me on a 2:30 PM flight to Belgrade with JAT airlines. She got very serious and said I needed to be quite quick, as I would need to go to another terminal to catch that flight. I said that was fine, and the plan was set.
In Washington or Chicago or New York or ANY OTHER AIRPORT I have EVER been in, going to another terminal involves walking a bit, maybe getting on a little tram or bus, and walking a bit more. At Hethrow, however, going to another terminal involves 4 times zones and requires a sherpa. First, I had to be escorted out of the current terminal BY SECURITY. So that was fun. Then I had to go through immigration, fill out the little card thing, and even got a UK stamp on my passport (which was actually pretty exciting, I'll take all the stamps I can get!). Then I had to go collect my luggage. I should point out now that I had a LOT of luggage. I kept thinking of more and more things at my mom's house that I could use in Serbia, and I was bringing gifts for the other service workers and a few Serbian friends, and I had bought a lot of clothes in the US because I had done such a terrible job packing. As a result, I had two giant 50 pound suitcases, one of which was mostly full of maple syrup. Thankfully my luggage hadn't made it onto the flight either, so I was able to collect it, go through customs (thankfully they didn't ask why I had 4 bottles of vanilla extract...)and was off to find terminal 2!
Terminal 2 is, apparently, in northern Africa. After officially entering the UK, I have to get on a subway system- WITH my 100 pounds of syrup and 30 pounds of carry-on luggage- and ride to the next train stop. I finally lugged all the bags onto the train and found a seat. Then I watched the informational video of the TV in front of me about the on board showers, wireless internet, sleeping cars, and- hold up. SHOWERS? Where the hell was this TAKING me?
The train ride really wasn't that long, maybe 10 minutes. True to their word, the Brits had put helpful signs directing me from the train platform to terminal 2. What the neglected to put on the signs was that it is about 400 miles, uphill, while- again- carrying about 130 pounds of things that I suddenly could not remember why I ever wanted after not having slept for a day. I finally found terminal 2 and no one was at the JAT counter because it was more than 3 hours before the flight.
I should point out that, at this point, I didn't even care if I got on a flight to Belgrade. I would have happily gotten on a plane to Sarajevo, or Sofia or Istanbul, for that matter. I would have gotten on a school bus if they told me it would take me to the Balkans. But there was no school bus, and no one offered Sofia, so I waited for the JAT airline people, checked in, re-checked my bags, and went to wait in the airport.
I supposed the rest of the trip was uneventful. Once in Belgrade I had to go through customs again, collect my bags again, then re-check them to Sarajevo, and go through security again (twice! I was very secure). When I landed in Sarajevo it was about 10:00 pm and I hadn't slept since Sunday night in the US. There was also snow on the ground, and I was in a dress... note to self: when in Sarajevo in October, wear pants. Maybe 2 pairs.
The time in Sarajevo was wonderful, though. I hope Belgrade won't feel like I am cheating on it when I say that Sarajevo is a beautiful, beautiful city. It has such great intensity of passion and depth of character. It has been though some pretty deep shit but wears even the wounds of war with dignity. It is a place where a foreigner can feel safe and welcome, but it also doesn't reveal all that it is and has seen and survived all at once and, thus, remains endlessly interesting. If that city were a man, I would marry him, no questions asked.
I knew it would be a long day of travel. We decided it would be best for me to spend a few days with other MCC people in Sarajevo, Bosnia before returning to Belgrade, so I was supposed to fly from Washington DC to London, London to Belgrade, and then Belgrade to Sarajevo (it was cheaper to fly into Belgrade and then to Sarajevo than it was to change my destination from Belgrade to Sarajevo). That is a lot of flying, and with connections on top of it, I knew to expect a lot of movement and perhaps some stress. I did not know to expect the Spanish Inquisition.
My flight from DC into London was a bit late, and I missed my connecting flight by about 45 seconds. The plane wasn't at the gate, the passengers had to take a little bus out to the plane on the runway, and I literally saw it pull away. The people at the desk said it couldn't come back for me, and that I should go to the information desk to sort out how to get to Belgrade. That seemed reasonable enough, so I went to the desk and explained the situation. I asked when the next flight to Belgrade was, and the woman said, "same time tomorrow." This was about 7:30 AM in London, 2:30 AM body time, and I hadn't slept at all on the plane. I was tired and confused and did NOT want to stay overnight in London, so I did something I'm not super proud of. My voice wavered a little bit and my eyes (conveniently!) filled with tears as I explained, "I'm not sure if tomorrow will work... I'm actually traveling for a funeral." Please notice that I didn't lie, per se. I didn't say I was GOING to a funeral, I said I was TRAVELING for one, which I was. The funeral is why I was traveling right then... I just happened to be traveling HOME from it... four weeks later. The woman's face changed, and she said she would "see what she could do." I said thank you, and fought back tears, which were about 50% genuine and 50% to get me on a quicker flight. She was able to get me on a 2:30 PM flight to Belgrade with JAT airlines. She got very serious and said I needed to be quite quick, as I would need to go to another terminal to catch that flight. I said that was fine, and the plan was set.
In Washington or Chicago or New York or ANY OTHER AIRPORT I have EVER been in, going to another terminal involves walking a bit, maybe getting on a little tram or bus, and walking a bit more. At Hethrow, however, going to another terminal involves 4 times zones and requires a sherpa. First, I had to be escorted out of the current terminal BY SECURITY. So that was fun. Then I had to go through immigration, fill out the little card thing, and even got a UK stamp on my passport (which was actually pretty exciting, I'll take all the stamps I can get!). Then I had to go collect my luggage. I should point out now that I had a LOT of luggage. I kept thinking of more and more things at my mom's house that I could use in Serbia, and I was bringing gifts for the other service workers and a few Serbian friends, and I had bought a lot of clothes in the US because I had done such a terrible job packing. As a result, I had two giant 50 pound suitcases, one of which was mostly full of maple syrup. Thankfully my luggage hadn't made it onto the flight either, so I was able to collect it, go through customs (thankfully they didn't ask why I had 4 bottles of vanilla extract...)and was off to find terminal 2!
Terminal 2 is, apparently, in northern Africa. After officially entering the UK, I have to get on a subway system- WITH my 100 pounds of syrup and 30 pounds of carry-on luggage- and ride to the next train stop. I finally lugged all the bags onto the train and found a seat. Then I watched the informational video of the TV in front of me about the on board showers, wireless internet, sleeping cars, and- hold up. SHOWERS? Where the hell was this TAKING me?
The train ride really wasn't that long, maybe 10 minutes. True to their word, the Brits had put helpful signs directing me from the train platform to terminal 2. What the neglected to put on the signs was that it is about 400 miles, uphill, while- again- carrying about 130 pounds of things that I suddenly could not remember why I ever wanted after not having slept for a day. I finally found terminal 2 and no one was at the JAT counter because it was more than 3 hours before the flight.
I should point out that, at this point, I didn't even care if I got on a flight to Belgrade. I would have happily gotten on a plane to Sarajevo, or Sofia or Istanbul, for that matter. I would have gotten on a school bus if they told me it would take me to the Balkans. But there was no school bus, and no one offered Sofia, so I waited for the JAT airline people, checked in, re-checked my bags, and went to wait in the airport.
I supposed the rest of the trip was uneventful. Once in Belgrade I had to go through customs again, collect my bags again, then re-check them to Sarajevo, and go through security again (twice! I was very secure). When I landed in Sarajevo it was about 10:00 pm and I hadn't slept since Sunday night in the US. There was also snow on the ground, and I was in a dress... note to self: when in Sarajevo in October, wear pants. Maybe 2 pairs.
The time in Sarajevo was wonderful, though. I hope Belgrade won't feel like I am cheating on it when I say that Sarajevo is a beautiful, beautiful city. It has such great intensity of passion and depth of character. It has been though some pretty deep shit but wears even the wounds of war with dignity. It is a place where a foreigner can feel safe and welcome, but it also doesn't reveal all that it is and has seen and survived all at once and, thus, remains endlessly interesting. If that city were a man, I would marry him, no questions asked.
Monday, October 05, 2009
And so it goes.
Well.
When all of this first happened, there was no doubt in my mind that I would go back to Serbia. For one, what would I DO in the US? I doubt I could find a job, and if I could, there is no way I would love it as much as I love my job in Belgrade. I don't like leaving things undone. I signed up to live in Belgrade for at least a year, and wasn't ready to let go of it.
Then I started thinking about what going back would actually look like. I adore Belgrade, I love my job, and have met some really lovely people. The fact of the matter, however, is that I still don't have any close friends there, and certainly no network of friends and family who know me intimately and love me no matter what I do. Living alone in a country where I know no one and can't speak the language was difficult and lonely at times. Losing my father has been incredibly painful. I started to wonder... do I want to combine something very lonely with something very painful? That seems like a bad combination.
There was a day or two where I thought I couldn't go back. I was too sad, too tired, too scared to do anything. I talked to my region directors about how to get my belongings back to the US. I talked to my family about living here. And I talked to a pastor who knows me well from college. He didn't tell me what to do, didn't even really offer advice, but he asked the kind of leading questions I needed to be asked. A specific Bible verse came to mind while speaking to him (perhaps in part because it was the first Bible verse I learned in Spanish while in Nicaragua with this pastor). The verse is 1st John 4:18, "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear..." If I stayed in the US it would be because I am scared. I am scared to be alone, scared to fail, scared that if I leave again something else terrible will happen to my family. But fear has nothing to do with love, perfect love casts out all fear. Because God is love, I know that this fear is not from God, and therefore I can be free from its influence. So, yesterday I emailed my region representatives and committed to going back to Serbia. I have my ticket and everything. I am still scared, of course, but I also have the strength and confidence to face the fear.
Like many things I say, this is an idea that has been expressed often (and often more eloquently!) by people before me. So, I will borrow John Newton's words to sum it up:
Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come
It was grace that lead me safe this far, and grace will lead me home.
When all of this first happened, there was no doubt in my mind that I would go back to Serbia. For one, what would I DO in the US? I doubt I could find a job, and if I could, there is no way I would love it as much as I love my job in Belgrade. I don't like leaving things undone. I signed up to live in Belgrade for at least a year, and wasn't ready to let go of it.
Then I started thinking about what going back would actually look like. I adore Belgrade, I love my job, and have met some really lovely people. The fact of the matter, however, is that I still don't have any close friends there, and certainly no network of friends and family who know me intimately and love me no matter what I do. Living alone in a country where I know no one and can't speak the language was difficult and lonely at times. Losing my father has been incredibly painful. I started to wonder... do I want to combine something very lonely with something very painful? That seems like a bad combination.
There was a day or two where I thought I couldn't go back. I was too sad, too tired, too scared to do anything. I talked to my region directors about how to get my belongings back to the US. I talked to my family about living here. And I talked to a pastor who knows me well from college. He didn't tell me what to do, didn't even really offer advice, but he asked the kind of leading questions I needed to be asked. A specific Bible verse came to mind while speaking to him (perhaps in part because it was the first Bible verse I learned in Spanish while in Nicaragua with this pastor). The verse is 1st John 4:18, "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear..." If I stayed in the US it would be because I am scared. I am scared to be alone, scared to fail, scared that if I leave again something else terrible will happen to my family. But fear has nothing to do with love, perfect love casts out all fear. Because God is love, I know that this fear is not from God, and therefore I can be free from its influence. So, yesterday I emailed my region representatives and committed to going back to Serbia. I have my ticket and everything. I am still scared, of course, but I also have the strength and confidence to face the fear.
Like many things I say, this is an idea that has been expressed often (and often more eloquently!) by people before me. So, I will borrow John Newton's words to sum it up:
Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come
It was grace that lead me safe this far, and grace will lead me home.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
I have often wondered what makes a person an adult. I certainly didn't feel like an adult at 18 (or 19, 20, 21, or 22), didn't feel particularly grown up when I graduated from college, and until now, have sort of been wondering when that transition would happen. I know it doesn't have to be an all-at-once transformation, but I also anticipated things like marriage or childbirth being strong indicators of adulthood. I did not think the death of a parent would be my first major growing up moment, and find it almost funny that it has had such an effect on my self perception. Not "haha", funny, of course, but funny because I feel like an adult for the first time at a point when more than ever I want to curl up in someone's lap, cry, be held, have my hair stroked, and all my decisions made for me.
One of the (many) challenges I am seeing in the aftermath of my father's death is that it feels like I am living two incomplete lives. I am here in the states with my family until the 12th of October, but don't really have anything to do. While my sisters and mother return to their homes and slowly begin their daily activities, I wait... feel sad... find things in the house to clean... but as much as it feels like there is nothing for me here, there is, perhaps, almost less for me in Belgrade. Here I have so many dear friends, and of course my family... in Belgrade I have an apartment and a job (and all of my physical possessions) but little in the way of a support network. Where does that leave me, then? In limbo, in neutral, in the in-between, stalled, frozen, STUCK. Between where I grew up and where I want to be, between my responsibilities to my family and my aspirations for my career, between childhood and an adult life for which I might not be ready.
Of course, no one asked if I was ready. I keep thinking about the last time I talked to my dad on the phone, and the chances I had to call home that I turned down. The fact of the matter is, however, no matter when the last time I spoke to him was or could have been, I wouldn't have known it would be the last time, so I wouldn't have known to make it special. That paradox hurts. I am living day by day, moment to moment, taking the fears and sorrow and hope in bite size amounts, because that is all I can do right now (and, in the larger sense, all any of us can ever do).
One of the (many) challenges I am seeing in the aftermath of my father's death is that it feels like I am living two incomplete lives. I am here in the states with my family until the 12th of October, but don't really have anything to do. While my sisters and mother return to their homes and slowly begin their daily activities, I wait... feel sad... find things in the house to clean... but as much as it feels like there is nothing for me here, there is, perhaps, almost less for me in Belgrade. Here I have so many dear friends, and of course my family... in Belgrade I have an apartment and a job (and all of my physical possessions) but little in the way of a support network. Where does that leave me, then? In limbo, in neutral, in the in-between, stalled, frozen, STUCK. Between where I grew up and where I want to be, between my responsibilities to my family and my aspirations for my career, between childhood and an adult life for which I might not be ready.
Of course, no one asked if I was ready. I keep thinking about the last time I talked to my dad on the phone, and the chances I had to call home that I turned down. The fact of the matter is, however, no matter when the last time I spoke to him was or could have been, I wouldn't have known it would be the last time, so I wouldn't have known to make it special. That paradox hurts. I am living day by day, moment to moment, taking the fears and sorrow and hope in bite size amounts, because that is all I can do right now (and, in the larger sense, all any of us can ever do).
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The following might seem like a strange thing to put on a blog. This is an incredibly public place, and every day it seems I find out another person I know is reading it. Even some people I DON'T know read it, and to them, this might seem particularly odd. Still, I feel compelled to write it, because if this is supposed to document my year in Serbia, it would be painfully inaccurate if I didn't talk about it. I also hope that in some small way, sharing this with however many people will see it will make it an easier load to bear.
My father died last Tuesday. It was his 60th birthday. In fact, my first whole Serbian sentence that I made up myself, not from a book or for homework, was "Danas je moj onacov rođendan! Srećan rođendan, tata" which (I think) means, "Today is my father's birthday. Happy birthday, dad." (I wasn't 100% sure on the possessive). Anyway, as I was writing that sentence (and feeling proud of myself for being able to), my father had a heart attack while taking a nap and died in his sleep. I found out at about 10:00 pm Belgrade time, and was home in DC by Wednesday evening.
It hurts. I don't recognize my life or my family or myself. I have never felt anything like this before, and I am not a big fan. The neighbors bring food, so we eat it. We put it in our mouths, chew, swallow, and agree that it is good. We are sure it is, but we don't know, because we can't taste yet.
It is exactly like playing in the snow too long. There isn't any pain when your hands and feet are red and raw and numb. The pain comes when you go inside, and the numbness starts to leave. I remind myself that, just like hands numb from the cold, this pain is a good thing. The pain means that the blood is starting to flow to that part of you again, that your heart is beating, that feeling is coming back. Knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less, though. I hear that at some point it will hurt less, but I don't know when that is yet.
I feel like I have gotten to know my father more through the open house and funeral and reception than I did when he was alive. I keep thinking about how much he would have enjoyed the reception after the service, or how pleased he would be to know that they talked about him on NPR. Mostly I keep thinking about the things I want to say to him, the things I didn't think to say when I still living my old life, the life of a child, so I will say them now. Dad, if you're still reading this blog, I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that I am proud of you, and that I miss you, and that I think I am starting to understand how much you loved me, and that you were proud of me, too. I want you to know you were on NPR, and in the Washington Post, and on the home page of the Newseum website. Mostly I want you to know that I love you.
Tears come in waves, and cards and flowers and emails come by the truck load. So many times I have remained silent when someone I know has lost someone, because I never knew what to say. Now I know that the important thing is just to say SOMETHING, because every text message, facebook post, email, card, and phone call mean something... mean a lot, actually. Each one brings a little hope, a little peace.
I will be going back to Serbia. I don't know when yet, but I know I will go back. I love my life there, and my dad would want me to go back. I know that, because he loved me, and he was proud of me.
Doviđenja, tata. Volim te.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/09/21/AR2009092103716.html
http://www.newseum.org/news/news.aspx?item=nn_PAGE090917&style=f
http://www.kansas.com/news/obituaries/story/975616.html
My father died last Tuesday. It was his 60th birthday. In fact, my first whole Serbian sentence that I made up myself, not from a book or for homework, was "Danas je moj onacov rođendan! Srećan rođendan, tata" which (I think) means, "Today is my father's birthday. Happy birthday, dad." (I wasn't 100% sure on the possessive). Anyway, as I was writing that sentence (and feeling proud of myself for being able to), my father had a heart attack while taking a nap and died in his sleep. I found out at about 10:00 pm Belgrade time, and was home in DC by Wednesday evening.
It hurts. I don't recognize my life or my family or myself. I have never felt anything like this before, and I am not a big fan. The neighbors bring food, so we eat it. We put it in our mouths, chew, swallow, and agree that it is good. We are sure it is, but we don't know, because we can't taste yet.
It is exactly like playing in the snow too long. There isn't any pain when your hands and feet are red and raw and numb. The pain comes when you go inside, and the numbness starts to leave. I remind myself that, just like hands numb from the cold, this pain is a good thing. The pain means that the blood is starting to flow to that part of you again, that your heart is beating, that feeling is coming back. Knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less, though. I hear that at some point it will hurt less, but I don't know when that is yet.
I feel like I have gotten to know my father more through the open house and funeral and reception than I did when he was alive. I keep thinking about how much he would have enjoyed the reception after the service, or how pleased he would be to know that they talked about him on NPR. Mostly I keep thinking about the things I want to say to him, the things I didn't think to say when I still living my old life, the life of a child, so I will say them now. Dad, if you're still reading this blog, I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that I am proud of you, and that I miss you, and that I think I am starting to understand how much you loved me, and that you were proud of me, too. I want you to know you were on NPR, and in the Washington Post, and on the home page of the Newseum website. Mostly I want you to know that I love you.
Tears come in waves, and cards and flowers and emails come by the truck load. So many times I have remained silent when someone I know has lost someone, because I never knew what to say. Now I know that the important thing is just to say SOMETHING, because every text message, facebook post, email, card, and phone call mean something... mean a lot, actually. Each one brings a little hope, a little peace.
I will be going back to Serbia. I don't know when yet, but I know I will go back. I love my life there, and my dad would want me to go back. I know that, because he loved me, and he was proud of me.
Doviđenja, tata. Volim te.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/09/21/AR2009092103716.html
http://www.newseum.org/news/news.aspx?item=nn_PAGE090917&style=f
http://www.kansas.com/news/obituaries/story/975616.html
Friday, September 11, 2009
Death by stupidity.
I know we all thought that a draft would be what killed me, but it turns out there is another contender for my life: Belgrade's trams.
First, a confession: I am not great with public transportation. I am not afraid of it, but I am not very good at it, either. I can get around just fine on the DC metro, but that is about it (and I have been doing it since I was a child). In Baltimore I sometimes took the bus home from work, but most days it was actually faster to walk. I took the metro in Baltimore once, with housemates, and never used the lightrail. In Belgrade I have been using the buses, trams, and trolleys, but usually with a Serbian friend. I can take the tram to work, but usually walk because the weather is so nice and the bakeries smell so good. So, while I am certainly capable of using public transport, I'm not great at it. I admit that and have come to terms with it. Now I might need to get over it.
Two days ago a friend at work called the internet company to find out why there still wasn't internet in my apartment. He told me that everything was set up, but I had to go to the office to pay them. He explained where the office was, near the city center, which I am pretty familiar with. Another friend looked at the address and said it was near Kalamegdan, which I am also quite familiar with. Another friend had previously told me that tram 5 would take me from my house to Kalemegdan. So, I put two and two (and two) together, and decided that I could be brave and independent and take tram 5 to Kalemegdan, walk towards the city center, find the internet place, give them money, and come home to working internet. Easy. Fast. Non-lethal.
After work I hopped on tram 5. I took a seat and figured I would ride until I saw Kalemegdan, and then I would get off. It seemed a reasonable enough plan. After a few minutes, most people got off the tram... eventually I was the only one in the car (which was the last car, not the one with the driver). That made me a little nervous, but I hadn't seen Kalemagden, so I held my ground. Then I saw that there wasn't anyone in ANY of the cars, except the driver... this made me a little more nervous, but darn it, I wanted internet, and if that meant riding in an empty tram, well, I was going to do it. Then the tram went off the road into a little turn-around kind of place, and turned around. Then it stopped. Then it turned off. Then the driver got out and walked away.
"Nervous" quickly became "quite alarmed", but I thought, you know, I am a strong, young, independent woman, and if nothing else, I can just walk around until I know where I am. I went to the door and pushed the button to open it and... nothing. I was downright terrified now, and ran to the other door and pushed that button and... nothing. I tried to get a few fingers between the doors o pry them open, but they wouldn't budge. One or more of the signs may have had emergency opening procedures on it, but they were all in Serbian (Cyrillic, on top of it! That's just mean, the two alphabets thing...). I tried to open the windows, but they didn't open, either. I saw my life pass before my eyes, and it seemed far too short with not nearly enough traveling. Of all the ways to die, starving or suffocating or simply being scared to death on a tram at the end of the line in Belgrade is really not up there on my list.
There was nothing left to do except yell (and hyperventilate). I could see the driver down the way a bit, smoking a cigarette. I pounded on the windows as loudly as I could, and since neither my Serbian phrase book nor my Serbian lessons covered "For the love of God I am trapped inside the tram", I yelled "MOLIM?? MOLIM??" Which means please, and you're welcome, and is what you say when you answer the phone or when someone says your name to get your attention. It seems like a generally all around polite word, but I was screaming it at a not very polite volume. The driver didn't flinch. I figured maybe my accent was so good he thought I was just a very loud polite Serbian, so I decided to try to convey more of the distressed foreigner persona. "HELLO????" I yelled, still banging on the windows as loudly as possible. The (surprised) driver turned around, and waved at me. Yeah, not the response I was hoping for. I waved back, and then gestured frantically at the doors in my best cross-cultural "OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR" charade. He slooowwwllly walked to the tram, turned it on, and opened the doors. I have never exited anything so quickly in my life.
As I walked past the front car, he said something to me in Serbian (my best guess at translation is: You are the biggest idiot ever. Also, you should find a paper bag to breathe into." I did my best to smile. "...ja sam Amerikanka...", I said meekly. "Ahhh...." he said nodding, as all confusion left his face. Of course you are an American. Americans are often in the habit of not knowing where the end of the tram line is, staying on too long, and then having panic attacks in the back of the car. That explains everything. On your way, then....
As I walked away (and got my bearings- we were at the zoo, behind Kalemegdan... I hadn't seen that side before and didn't recognize it) I couldn't help but laugh.... and laugh and laugh and laugh. A few minutes later the same tram with the same driver passed me on the street. He had only wanted to smoke a cigarette before heading back the other side of the route. Nothing- and I mean nothing- brings more joy than the realization that you will live to see another day in Belgrade... except maybe the realization that you are a huge idiot and need to get off the tram when everyone else gets off the tram.
I paid the internet people, by the way, and am writing this from my apartment. Also, it took me 40 minutes, but I decide to walk the whole way home.
First, a confession: I am not great with public transportation. I am not afraid of it, but I am not very good at it, either. I can get around just fine on the DC metro, but that is about it (and I have been doing it since I was a child). In Baltimore I sometimes took the bus home from work, but most days it was actually faster to walk. I took the metro in Baltimore once, with housemates, and never used the lightrail. In Belgrade I have been using the buses, trams, and trolleys, but usually with a Serbian friend. I can take the tram to work, but usually walk because the weather is so nice and the bakeries smell so good. So, while I am certainly capable of using public transport, I'm not great at it. I admit that and have come to terms with it. Now I might need to get over it.
Two days ago a friend at work called the internet company to find out why there still wasn't internet in my apartment. He told me that everything was set up, but I had to go to the office to pay them. He explained where the office was, near the city center, which I am pretty familiar with. Another friend looked at the address and said it was near Kalamegdan, which I am also quite familiar with. Another friend had previously told me that tram 5 would take me from my house to Kalemegdan. So, I put two and two (and two) together, and decided that I could be brave and independent and take tram 5 to Kalemegdan, walk towards the city center, find the internet place, give them money, and come home to working internet. Easy. Fast. Non-lethal.
After work I hopped on tram 5. I took a seat and figured I would ride until I saw Kalemegdan, and then I would get off. It seemed a reasonable enough plan. After a few minutes, most people got off the tram... eventually I was the only one in the car (which was the last car, not the one with the driver). That made me a little nervous, but I hadn't seen Kalemagden, so I held my ground. Then I saw that there wasn't anyone in ANY of the cars, except the driver... this made me a little more nervous, but darn it, I wanted internet, and if that meant riding in an empty tram, well, I was going to do it. Then the tram went off the road into a little turn-around kind of place, and turned around. Then it stopped. Then it turned off. Then the driver got out and walked away.
"Nervous" quickly became "quite alarmed", but I thought, you know, I am a strong, young, independent woman, and if nothing else, I can just walk around until I know where I am. I went to the door and pushed the button to open it and... nothing. I was downright terrified now, and ran to the other door and pushed that button and... nothing. I tried to get a few fingers between the doors o pry them open, but they wouldn't budge. One or more of the signs may have had emergency opening procedures on it, but they were all in Serbian (Cyrillic, on top of it! That's just mean, the two alphabets thing...). I tried to open the windows, but they didn't open, either. I saw my life pass before my eyes, and it seemed far too short with not nearly enough traveling. Of all the ways to die, starving or suffocating or simply being scared to death on a tram at the end of the line in Belgrade is really not up there on my list.
There was nothing left to do except yell (and hyperventilate). I could see the driver down the way a bit, smoking a cigarette. I pounded on the windows as loudly as I could, and since neither my Serbian phrase book nor my Serbian lessons covered "For the love of God I am trapped inside the tram", I yelled "MOLIM?? MOLIM??" Which means please, and you're welcome, and is what you say when you answer the phone or when someone says your name to get your attention. It seems like a generally all around polite word, but I was screaming it at a not very polite volume. The driver didn't flinch. I figured maybe my accent was so good he thought I was just a very loud polite Serbian, so I decided to try to convey more of the distressed foreigner persona. "HELLO????" I yelled, still banging on the windows as loudly as possible. The (surprised) driver turned around, and waved at me. Yeah, not the response I was hoping for. I waved back, and then gestured frantically at the doors in my best cross-cultural "OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR" charade. He slooowwwllly walked to the tram, turned it on, and opened the doors. I have never exited anything so quickly in my life.
As I walked past the front car, he said something to me in Serbian (my best guess at translation is: You are the biggest idiot ever. Also, you should find a paper bag to breathe into." I did my best to smile. "...ja sam Amerikanka...", I said meekly. "Ahhh...." he said nodding, as all confusion left his face. Of course you are an American. Americans are often in the habit of not knowing where the end of the tram line is, staying on too long, and then having panic attacks in the back of the car. That explains everything. On your way, then....
As I walked away (and got my bearings- we were at the zoo, behind Kalemegdan... I hadn't seen that side before and didn't recognize it) I couldn't help but laugh.... and laugh and laugh and laugh. A few minutes later the same tram with the same driver passed me on the street. He had only wanted to smoke a cigarette before heading back the other side of the route. Nothing- and I mean nothing- brings more joy than the realization that you will live to see another day in Belgrade... except maybe the realization that you are a huge idiot and need to get off the tram when everyone else gets off the tram.
I paid the internet people, by the way, and am writing this from my apartment. Also, it took me 40 minutes, but I decide to walk the whole way home.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
My dreams are toast.
There is a quote in the little book the kindergartners gave me that I have been repeating to myself a lot lately. I don't have it with me, but it says something along the lines of, "If you were lucky enough to wake up in Belgrade this morning you should ask nothing more of life. To ask for more would be immodest."
I guess I got greedy. Today I was supposed to get a TV and a toaster and possibly maybe I was hoping for internet in the apartment, but no go on any of it. For some reason the toaster is the most disappointing loss. I really miss toast. There are a lot of things I would like to have here in Belgrade... friends would be nice. Internet in the apartment would be great. A cheap way to talk to all my friends I (foolishly!) left in the states would be wonderful. An instant ability to speak and understand Serbian would help a lot. None of those things, though, feel like immediately realizable, concrete goals. As any nanny or parent or preschool teacher will tell you, the most important thing about goal setting is that the goals be realizable, and while I certainly hope at SOME point to have friends and internet and the ability to speak Serbian, those aren't things I can control or achieve this very weekend. I thought a toaster was... and it wasn't. That being said, I was lucky enough to wake up in Belgrade this morning, and the air was cool and fresh and I am blessed to be here. I repent of my immodest longings for toast, but to be honest, I am still in the market for a toaster. Just because this one didn't work out I'm not giving up ALL hope. One day I will toast again, and that day will be beautiful.
Other than that, things are going well. I have started my official Serbian lessons, which are hilarious because the teacher doesn't really speak English. I suppose that will help me learn more quickly, but it is also frustrating at times. The must be working at least a little, though, because this week I understood my first real Serbian sentence (not one about greetings or polite conversation). A little girl at work asked me if it was Friday, and I understood her. Yes, I said, it IS Friday! I was far more excited about my proficiency than she was. Hopefully I will continue to learn and learn quickly, because nothing- and I mean nothing- makes me feel more ridiculous than standing in the grocery store looking at my Serbian-English dictionary trying to figure out what is laundry detergent and what is floor cleaner. Don't put pictures of flowers and apples on the bottles, people, put pictures of THE FLOOR or CLOTHES or a TOILET or a COUNTER. This would make my life much easier.
Finally, based on comments on my last post it seems some real live Serbians have been reading this, which shocks and delights me. In the off chance that any of you continue to read, I have a question. Why in God's name have you been keeping ajvar from the rest of the world? That stuff is delicious. We do NOT have it in the US and the first person to start exporting it will make a lot of money. Please, have compassion on your fellow human beings who have lived long enough without this deliciousness.... spread the ajvar love.
I guess I got greedy. Today I was supposed to get a TV and a toaster and possibly maybe I was hoping for internet in the apartment, but no go on any of it. For some reason the toaster is the most disappointing loss. I really miss toast. There are a lot of things I would like to have here in Belgrade... friends would be nice. Internet in the apartment would be great. A cheap way to talk to all my friends I (foolishly!) left in the states would be wonderful. An instant ability to speak and understand Serbian would help a lot. None of those things, though, feel like immediately realizable, concrete goals. As any nanny or parent or preschool teacher will tell you, the most important thing about goal setting is that the goals be realizable, and while I certainly hope at SOME point to have friends and internet and the ability to speak Serbian, those aren't things I can control or achieve this very weekend. I thought a toaster was... and it wasn't. That being said, I was lucky enough to wake up in Belgrade this morning, and the air was cool and fresh and I am blessed to be here. I repent of my immodest longings for toast, but to be honest, I am still in the market for a toaster. Just because this one didn't work out I'm not giving up ALL hope. One day I will toast again, and that day will be beautiful.
Other than that, things are going well. I have started my official Serbian lessons, which are hilarious because the teacher doesn't really speak English. I suppose that will help me learn more quickly, but it is also frustrating at times. The must be working at least a little, though, because this week I understood my first real Serbian sentence (not one about greetings or polite conversation). A little girl at work asked me if it was Friday, and I understood her. Yes, I said, it IS Friday! I was far more excited about my proficiency than she was. Hopefully I will continue to learn and learn quickly, because nothing- and I mean nothing- makes me feel more ridiculous than standing in the grocery store looking at my Serbian-English dictionary trying to figure out what is laundry detergent and what is floor cleaner. Don't put pictures of flowers and apples on the bottles, people, put pictures of THE FLOOR or CLOTHES or a TOILET or a COUNTER. This would make my life much easier.
Finally, based on comments on my last post it seems some real live Serbians have been reading this, which shocks and delights me. In the off chance that any of you continue to read, I have a question. Why in God's name have you been keeping ajvar from the rest of the world? That stuff is delicious. We do NOT have it in the US and the first person to start exporting it will make a lot of money. Please, have compassion on your fellow human beings who have lived long enough without this deliciousness.... spread the ajvar love.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Serbs say...
Before coming here I spent a decent amount of energy convincing people that Serbia is a place where I will be quite safe. A lot of what people in the US know about the region relates to the wars, so when they hear names like Bosnia and Belgrade, they get nervous. Over and over again I explained that I would be safe, I knew what I was getting into, and that I almost certainly would not die.
I am sorry to say I have to take back those comments. It turns out I probably WILL die this year, and according to some Serbs, it's a wonder I haven't already. The following is a BRIEF list of all the things that Serbians are sure will kill me and/or cause me to be infertile (which seems to be a major concern over here):
If I go outside with wet hair, I will die.
If I stand or- God forbid- sleep in a drafty place, I will die.
If I use the AC too much, I will die.
If I drink too many cold drinks, I will die.
If I sit on cold concrete, my ovaries will freeze and I will become infertile (this is my favorite!)
If I walk around without shoes or socks on inside, I will become infertile, and then die.
If I let a wet bathing suit dry on my body, I will get a UTI, become infertile, and then die.
If I swim in a cold lake I will get a UTI, become infertile, and die.
I had no idea the dangers I was getting into when I signed up for this. I certainly didn't think my potential future children would be in danger from all the concrete steps I'm prone to sit on... I guess I just like living on the edge.
Oh, I should also address the other fear that people (read: my mother) had about this year. My mom (and, OK, some of my close friends... actually, anyone who knows me well...) was afraid that I would move to Serbia, fall in love, get married, and stay forever. I am sorry to tell you all over the internet, but this, too, is a fear realized. I am deeply, passionately, and blindly in love with... Turkish coffee. It's like I have been living a lie with all of that drip and filter and french press nonsense I drank before. Coffee! That's nothing! I have met my beverage soul mate in the thick, strong, sometimes overpowering wonder that is served in tiny, adorable cups, and I will never, ever go back.
I am sorry to say I have to take back those comments. It turns out I probably WILL die this year, and according to some Serbs, it's a wonder I haven't already. The following is a BRIEF list of all the things that Serbians are sure will kill me and/or cause me to be infertile (which seems to be a major concern over here):
If I go outside with wet hair, I will die.
If I stand or- God forbid- sleep in a drafty place, I will die.
If I use the AC too much, I will die.
If I drink too many cold drinks, I will die.
If I sit on cold concrete, my ovaries will freeze and I will become infertile (this is my favorite!)
If I walk around without shoes or socks on inside, I will become infertile, and then die.
If I let a wet bathing suit dry on my body, I will get a UTI, become infertile, and then die.
If I swim in a cold lake I will get a UTI, become infertile, and die.
I had no idea the dangers I was getting into when I signed up for this. I certainly didn't think my potential future children would be in danger from all the concrete steps I'm prone to sit on... I guess I just like living on the edge.
Oh, I should also address the other fear that people (read: my mother) had about this year. My mom (and, OK, some of my close friends... actually, anyone who knows me well...) was afraid that I would move to Serbia, fall in love, get married, and stay forever. I am sorry to tell you all over the internet, but this, too, is a fear realized. I am deeply, passionately, and blindly in love with... Turkish coffee. It's like I have been living a lie with all of that drip and filter and french press nonsense I drank before. Coffee! That's nothing! I have met my beverage soul mate in the thick, strong, sometimes overpowering wonder that is served in tiny, adorable cups, and I will never, ever go back.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Playing house.
I am pleased to announce that I am now the proud resident of a Belgrade apartment. I'm not positive I can find my way back there from this internet cafe, but the important thing is I have the keys and all my stuff is there. The past few weeks have been a bit rough... after spending a year in Baltimore (which was bad enough!) I spent three days in the hospital, 4 days at my parents' house, 6 days in Akron, PA, 3 days in Sarajevo, 2 days in Novi Sad, 3 days living above a Swedish pentecostal church in Belgrade, and 4 days living with a woman from work in her one bedroom apartment. There has been A LOT of moving, so when I actually got to unpack today, it was quite a celebration.
My first day at the kindergarten the kids gave me a bag of gifts, including a little book called "I Love Belgrade", which is full of famous (and semi-famous) quotes about this lovely city. Seeing as how I'm more or less an actual resident now, my favorite is this:
"Typical Belgrade girls are good-looking, bold, gracious, but they possess a touch of Belgrade-style naughtiness that does not spoil their femininity, and is a mark of courage and wit, qualities that one must be born with."
Now, I'm not saying that being the owner of keys to an apartment in Belgrade makes this apply to me, but it is good to have goals :o)
The apartment is technically furnished, but we went to a church bazaar at the church next to the kindergarten where I work to pick up some extra things. The bazzar was pretty much like any church bazaar in the US, with a few important differences. 1. Everyone was speaking Serbian, which I still find a bit alarming. 2. All of the prices were in Dinars, so I had no idea how much anything cost, and 3. Middle aged Serbian women kept handing me things they insisted I needed to start my household. At the end of the day the bare essentials we left with included, but were certainly not limited to:
every day plates
fancy plates
plates that are only for cake
coffee mugs
tiny cups that are only for Turkish coffee
three decorative candle holders
a decorative tea pot
two vases (for all the flowers from all the Serbian men I'm not allowed to date, I guess)
three water pitchers
an egg separator
every kind of spoon, utensil, and gadget known to man, including a few that I've never seen before
two decorative baskets
about 43 sets of sheets (none of which fit the bed)
So, I am clearly well stocked, and you should come visit! For the time being I have two bedrooms and a pull out couch all to myself, plus enough dishware to host a dinner party every night! I'll show you a good time.
My first day at the kindergarten the kids gave me a bag of gifts, including a little book called "I Love Belgrade", which is full of famous (and semi-famous) quotes about this lovely city. Seeing as how I'm more or less an actual resident now, my favorite is this:
"Typical Belgrade girls are good-looking, bold, gracious, but they possess a touch of Belgrade-style naughtiness that does not spoil their femininity, and is a mark of courage and wit, qualities that one must be born with."
Now, I'm not saying that being the owner of keys to an apartment in Belgrade makes this apply to me, but it is good to have goals :o)
The apartment is technically furnished, but we went to a church bazaar at the church next to the kindergarten where I work to pick up some extra things. The bazzar was pretty much like any church bazaar in the US, with a few important differences. 1. Everyone was speaking Serbian, which I still find a bit alarming. 2. All of the prices were in Dinars, so I had no idea how much anything cost, and 3. Middle aged Serbian women kept handing me things they insisted I needed to start my household. At the end of the day the bare essentials we left with included, but were certainly not limited to:
every day plates
fancy plates
plates that are only for cake
coffee mugs
tiny cups that are only for Turkish coffee
three decorative candle holders
a decorative tea pot
two vases (for all the flowers from all the Serbian men I'm not allowed to date, I guess)
three water pitchers
an egg separator
every kind of spoon, utensil, and gadget known to man, including a few that I've never seen before
two decorative baskets
about 43 sets of sheets (none of which fit the bed)
So, I am clearly well stocked, and you should come visit! For the time being I have two bedrooms and a pull out couch all to myself, plus enough dishware to host a dinner party every night! I'll show you a good time.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Beograd
So, I made it to Belgrade, and was told that I would be living above a Swedish sponsored Pentecostal church and living with a girl from work who is my age and speaks English. Then they raised the rent on that apartment, and I moved in temporarily with a different woman from work while we try to find somewhere for me to live. I went around town with three Serbian women who had about 15 words of English between them to find a new apartment for my roommate and I (she is currently working in Greece and coming back in September) and we found an acceptable one, and it seemed things were coming together (again). Later that day we found out my roommate actually found another apartment on her own and won't be living with me. We are supposed to meet with the apartment owners, who are currently living in Australia, on Saturday to sign for it... although with the way things are going, I'm crossing my fingers but not holding my breath. We also tried to regiter me with the police today, but something happened or didn't work or wasn't there, and it didn't take. So, no visa for Maggie (yet?). Perhaps you will be seeing me sooner than originally anticipated...
Internet access has been few and far between, which ranges from mildly frustrating to catastrophic, depending on how many other things are going on. I am trying really, really hard to be sweet and gracious and flexible and thankful for the hospitality people are showing me, but the truth is, I am a little concerned. If this is my honeymoon period with Serbia, I might need an annulment.
At least one good thing has happened, though... a realization. For so long I thought I was attracted to gay men, but it turns out I'm just attracted to EUROPEAN men. I'm telling you, there are tight pants, nice shoes, cool glasses, and messenger bags EVERYWHERE. Thank you, men of Belgrade, for making this transition a little more tolerable.
Internet access has been few and far between, which ranges from mildly frustrating to catastrophic, depending on how many other things are going on. I am trying really, really hard to be sweet and gracious and flexible and thankful for the hospitality people are showing me, but the truth is, I am a little concerned. If this is my honeymoon period with Serbia, I might need an annulment.
At least one good thing has happened, though... a realization. For so long I thought I was attracted to gay men, but it turns out I'm just attracted to EUROPEAN men. I'm telling you, there are tight pants, nice shoes, cool glasses, and messenger bags EVERYWHERE. Thank you, men of Belgrade, for making this transition a little more tolerable.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Safe in Sarajevo
Well, I've made it to Sarajevo. I'm here for orientation for a few days, and then I'm off to Novi Sad, Serbia, and finally Belgrade, where I'll be living.
Sarajevo is a beautiful city. I've never been to Europe before, so I was excited to see rows of beautiful buildings along a river with pedestrian bridges over it... it fit into my stereotype well. Of course, many of the buildings (and sidewalks, and streets...) have very visible evidence of the war. I knew that, I had read about it and been told by people who had been here, but it is still shocking to see. Bullet holes and shrapnel damage are generally not a part of my mental image of European towns. I know if I had paid more attention in history class it would be, but I didn't. I don't count that as too great a loss, though, because at least I will learn about it now, and by seeing, not by reading.
This is my first time in a foreign country where I'm not constantly stared at. Being a foreigner in Nicaragua and in Kenya was painfully apparent, but I got quite used to it. Actually, come to think of it, I was stared at last year for being white in my neighborhood in Baltimore far more than I am here. It is exhilarating to think that maybe- if I keep my mouth shut- people will think I belong here. Several people have even tried to speak to me in Bosnian and received an apologetic smile in return. In the interest of full disclosure, though, people could be ignoring me because all of the women who really do belong here are tall and thin and alarmingly beautiful and well dressed, and maybe my little American self just doesn't make much of an impact. I prefer, of course, to believe the former.
I don't know what else to say about this place that won't sound cliche or naive. It really is beautiful, and the weather is great. The people are sweet and the coffee is strong and the peaches and tomatoes are some of the best I've had in my life.
I am trying not to think too far into the future because my head will explode. Today I am in Sarajevo. Thursday I will go to Novi Sad and Saturday I will go to Belgrade. I will live in Belgrade for at least a year. See, that's too far in advance. I can't think about a year of Serbian language and meat pastries and war trauma... so I will think about today. Today I am in Sarajevo and it's beautiful and warm. I had two peaches for breakfast and I'm happy. Tomorrow I'll think about tomorrow.
Sarajevo is a beautiful city. I've never been to Europe before, so I was excited to see rows of beautiful buildings along a river with pedestrian bridges over it... it fit into my stereotype well. Of course, many of the buildings (and sidewalks, and streets...) have very visible evidence of the war. I knew that, I had read about it and been told by people who had been here, but it is still shocking to see. Bullet holes and shrapnel damage are generally not a part of my mental image of European towns. I know if I had paid more attention in history class it would be, but I didn't. I don't count that as too great a loss, though, because at least I will learn about it now, and by seeing, not by reading.
This is my first time in a foreign country where I'm not constantly stared at. Being a foreigner in Nicaragua and in Kenya was painfully apparent, but I got quite used to it. Actually, come to think of it, I was stared at last year for being white in my neighborhood in Baltimore far more than I am here. It is exhilarating to think that maybe- if I keep my mouth shut- people will think I belong here. Several people have even tried to speak to me in Bosnian and received an apologetic smile in return. In the interest of full disclosure, though, people could be ignoring me because all of the women who really do belong here are tall and thin and alarmingly beautiful and well dressed, and maybe my little American self just doesn't make much of an impact. I prefer, of course, to believe the former.
I don't know what else to say about this place that won't sound cliche or naive. It really is beautiful, and the weather is great. The people are sweet and the coffee is strong and the peaches and tomatoes are some of the best I've had in my life.
I am trying not to think too far into the future because my head will explode. Today I am in Sarajevo. Thursday I will go to Novi Sad and Saturday I will go to Belgrade. I will live in Belgrade for at least a year. See, that's too far in advance. I can't think about a year of Serbian language and meat pastries and war trauma... so I will think about today. Today I am in Sarajevo and it's beautiful and warm. I had two peaches for breakfast and I'm happy. Tomorrow I'll think about tomorrow.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Not kidding anymore.
You know, I was always half joking when I would talk about how much I hated Baltimore. Apparently the Gods of Baltimore can't take a joke, though, and I have now moved from a general sort of tolerable dislike to full blown loathing.
Last Thursday, the 30th, I was packing to move out of Baltimore and RHHP forever, which I was pretty excited about. "Oh boy!" I thought as I put things into boxes, "I'm ready to move on. Sure, Belgrade is another economically depressed city with a lot of violence, but I'm sure it will be great!" Later I thought, "Gee, I wonder my stomach hurts! Oh well, haha! I'm sure it's fine!". About an hour after that I thought, "WOW! My intense stomach pain now has a friend, Sharp Stabbing Pain in my Side! OW!". At this point I had stopped packing and was, instead, lying on the floor crying. I called our local program coordinator and couldn't get a hold of her, and I called my housemate who had the credit card (which is also our only form of health insurance) and couldn't get a hold of HER. I lay on the floor and cried for a while more, and then started throwing up. The intense stomach pain plus the sensation of being stabbed in the side with a dull, rusty knife, plus the vomiting didn't seem like a great combination, so I did what any self-respecting 23 year old college graduate pretending to be an adult would do: I called my mom. Then I called another housemate and asked if she could leave work to take me to the er, which she did (THANKS, ANNA!).
Long story short, I was admitted to the hospital for three days for kidney stones- IN BOTH KIDNEYS- and a badly infected left kidney. It was a pretty miserable few days, as I'm sure you can imagine, although I'm fine now. The cause? Stress. Everyone knew I hated my job and had a tough time with some of my housemates and hated my neighborhood, but even I didn't know I was so unhappy and dealing so poorly with the stress that I would actually get sick from it. Quite frankly, next time I get sick from stress I would prefer a cold to calcium deposits in my organs, but no one asked.
I eventually was released and got to go back to my parents' house for a few days to prepare for Serbia. I didn't want my last memories of Baltimore to be of being in intense pain, though, so last night I went to finish cleaning my room and to say goodbye to some friends. We had a great evening, it was wonderful to be able to spend one last night with the people who made the year tolerable (and even good at several points) and I was quite satisfied with the experience. I was pleased to be able to leave the city- and the country- on a good note.
And then I got a parking ticket.
Kind of irritating, kind of hilarious, but mostly just a fitting way to end this year. I'm ready for new challenges. I promise you, though, if there is an ice cream truck in Belgrade that drives around at 11:00 PM playing Christmas songs and selling crack, I am moving back to Vienna so fast you won't even get a souvenir.
Last Thursday, the 30th, I was packing to move out of Baltimore and RHHP forever, which I was pretty excited about. "Oh boy!" I thought as I put things into boxes, "I'm ready to move on. Sure, Belgrade is another economically depressed city with a lot of violence, but I'm sure it will be great!" Later I thought, "Gee, I wonder my stomach hurts! Oh well, haha! I'm sure it's fine!". About an hour after that I thought, "WOW! My intense stomach pain now has a friend, Sharp Stabbing Pain in my Side! OW!". At this point I had stopped packing and was, instead, lying on the floor crying. I called our local program coordinator and couldn't get a hold of her, and I called my housemate who had the credit card (which is also our only form of health insurance) and couldn't get a hold of HER. I lay on the floor and cried for a while more, and then started throwing up. The intense stomach pain plus the sensation of being stabbed in the side with a dull, rusty knife, plus the vomiting didn't seem like a great combination, so I did what any self-respecting 23 year old college graduate pretending to be an adult would do: I called my mom. Then I called another housemate and asked if she could leave work to take me to the er, which she did (THANKS, ANNA!).
Long story short, I was admitted to the hospital for three days for kidney stones- IN BOTH KIDNEYS- and a badly infected left kidney. It was a pretty miserable few days, as I'm sure you can imagine, although I'm fine now. The cause? Stress. Everyone knew I hated my job and had a tough time with some of my housemates and hated my neighborhood, but even I didn't know I was so unhappy and dealing so poorly with the stress that I would actually get sick from it. Quite frankly, next time I get sick from stress I would prefer a cold to calcium deposits in my organs, but no one asked.
I eventually was released and got to go back to my parents' house for a few days to prepare for Serbia. I didn't want my last memories of Baltimore to be of being in intense pain, though, so last night I went to finish cleaning my room and to say goodbye to some friends. We had a great evening, it was wonderful to be able to spend one last night with the people who made the year tolerable (and even good at several points) and I was quite satisfied with the experience. I was pleased to be able to leave the city- and the country- on a good note.
And then I got a parking ticket.
Kind of irritating, kind of hilarious, but mostly just a fitting way to end this year. I'm ready for new challenges. I promise you, though, if there is an ice cream truck in Belgrade that drives around at 11:00 PM playing Christmas songs and selling crack, I am moving back to Vienna so fast you won't even get a souvenir.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
All good things must come to an end... thankfully, so must the awful ones.
Today is my last day of work at Project PLASE, the transitional housing facility where I have been volunteering full time since September.
It is tempting, though perhaps not entirely accurate, to describe this past year as the worst of my life. That's a hard call to make, though, and is clearly subjective. Overall I've been extremely lucky and had a fairly easy, joyful life. Of course there have been some less than stellar times, like when I broke my back in three places and ruptured a disc and lost several of my closest friends. That was really just a few months of suckage, though, and it was sandwiched between two fabulous things. The month before I broke my back I had a month-long internship in rural Nicaragua, and six months after I broke my back I went to Kenya for two months. While both of those trips had difficult times, they were also some of the times I've felt happiest, and certainly the times I've felt the most fulfilled. Thus, it would be inaccurate to describe that as "the worst year", because that year had two great things and only one awful thing.
This year has had quite a few awful things, but more than that, it's just been consistently discouraging. I have been yelled at, intimidated, and assaulted by the clients I'm trying to help. I have learned a ton about homelessness, mental illness, and addiction, but mostly I've learned about people. I've learned I can't fix people, and a lot of times I can't even help people. Some people in my house are fabulous, and some people I will say goodbye to and hope I never see again. Some of our clients are honest, hardworking, genuine people, and some are manipulative jerks who will take any opportunity to make sexually inappropriate comments to and about me. I can honestly say that I will miss my coworkers, the other counselors here who do this impossibly hard job every day for 20 years or more. Most of them love their jobs and do them well, and I and the clients are fortunate to have been in their presence.I don't, however, think I will miss anything else. I will not miss the unappreciative and often aggressive clients, I will not miss the drug infested neighborhood, and I will not miss being part of an organization that so blatantly disregards my personal safety and needs. Maybe the ineffectiveness, mismanagement, and poor communication isn't true of all non-profits, but it will still be a long, long time before I work at any sort of public service organization again... you know, my year volunteering in Serbia aside.
All things considered I am more than ready to go. It isn't that I think Serbia will be easy or perfect or carefree, but it I do know it isn't here, and right now that's all I'm asking for. I'm sure at some point- maybe soon- I'll be grateful for the experience and the things it taught me. Right now I'm just grateful it's over.
It is tempting, though perhaps not entirely accurate, to describe this past year as the worst of my life. That's a hard call to make, though, and is clearly subjective. Overall I've been extremely lucky and had a fairly easy, joyful life. Of course there have been some less than stellar times, like when I broke my back in three places and ruptured a disc and lost several of my closest friends. That was really just a few months of suckage, though, and it was sandwiched between two fabulous things. The month before I broke my back I had a month-long internship in rural Nicaragua, and six months after I broke my back I went to Kenya for two months. While both of those trips had difficult times, they were also some of the times I've felt happiest, and certainly the times I've felt the most fulfilled. Thus, it would be inaccurate to describe that as "the worst year", because that year had two great things and only one awful thing.
This year has had quite a few awful things, but more than that, it's just been consistently discouraging. I have been yelled at, intimidated, and assaulted by the clients I'm trying to help. I have learned a ton about homelessness, mental illness, and addiction, but mostly I've learned about people. I've learned I can't fix people, and a lot of times I can't even help people. Some people in my house are fabulous, and some people I will say goodbye to and hope I never see again. Some of our clients are honest, hardworking, genuine people, and some are manipulative jerks who will take any opportunity to make sexually inappropriate comments to and about me. I can honestly say that I will miss my coworkers, the other counselors here who do this impossibly hard job every day for 20 years or more. Most of them love their jobs and do them well, and I and the clients are fortunate to have been in their presence.I don't, however, think I will miss anything else. I will not miss the unappreciative and often aggressive clients, I will not miss the drug infested neighborhood, and I will not miss being part of an organization that so blatantly disregards my personal safety and needs. Maybe the ineffectiveness, mismanagement, and poor communication isn't true of all non-profits, but it will still be a long, long time before I work at any sort of public service organization again... you know, my year volunteering in Serbia aside.
All things considered I am more than ready to go. It isn't that I think Serbia will be easy or perfect or carefree, but it I do know it isn't here, and right now that's all I'm asking for. I'm sure at some point- maybe soon- I'll be grateful for the experience and the things it taught me. Right now I'm just grateful it's over.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Jes Karper says,
"Try on Life it fits like a glove
and feel what it’s like to Be Free
Try breathing and seeking to be an instrument of Love
and encourage one another on the journey
Give thanks to the land and the sky up above
and pour your energy into building a community
Make a space for the traveler to stop and put some love in
Be a shelter from the rushin’ and the pushin’ and the shovin’
Let the music play all night so we can sing and dance
Grow good organic food and lots of bright flowering plants
Put it in a pot and stir it up with lots-o-lovin’
Roll out the dough and fire up the cob oven
Dig into the dirt so you can take a stronger stance
Educate, Relate and be creative with resistance
And Try on Life…
Try exploring and evolving in whole new directions
emanating light from your innermost reflections
Create your own economy not based on the love of money
but on the abundant and free source of the sun’s energy
Feel the Healing Vibrations of Light’s far reaching projections
Open up our arms for caring and sharing our affections
Strive for sustainability, give back to the land, plant a tree
Grow a garden of souls and minds for the harvest will be plenty
as we Try on Life…
Try making a life, filling two new eyes with sight
as husband and wife spin their love and unite
For Unity is the healing force that creates
as community blooms from its embryonic states
Give children wings for flight so that they just might
find new ways of making the light shine more bright
Sing with them dance with them learn with them help them carry their weights
and cherish them for they grow at alarmingly fast rates
and Try on Life…"
...and I agree.
"Try on Life it fits like a glove
and feel what it’s like to Be Free
Try breathing and seeking to be an instrument of Love
and encourage one another on the journey
Give thanks to the land and the sky up above
and pour your energy into building a community
Make a space for the traveler to stop and put some love in
Be a shelter from the rushin’ and the pushin’ and the shovin’
Let the music play all night so we can sing and dance
Grow good organic food and lots of bright flowering plants
Put it in a pot and stir it up with lots-o-lovin’
Roll out the dough and fire up the cob oven
Dig into the dirt so you can take a stronger stance
Educate, Relate and be creative with resistance
And Try on Life…
Try exploring and evolving in whole new directions
emanating light from your innermost reflections
Create your own economy not based on the love of money
but on the abundant and free source of the sun’s energy
Feel the Healing Vibrations of Light’s far reaching projections
Open up our arms for caring and sharing our affections
Strive for sustainability, give back to the land, plant a tree
Grow a garden of souls and minds for the harvest will be plenty
as we Try on Life…
Try making a life, filling two new eyes with sight
as husband and wife spin their love and unite
For Unity is the healing force that creates
as community blooms from its embryonic states
Give children wings for flight so that they just might
find new ways of making the light shine more bright
Sing with them dance with them learn with them help them carry their weights
and cherish them for they grow at alarmingly fast rates
and Try on Life…"
...and I agree.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Andy Warhol on Love
"I wonder if it's possible to have a love affair that lasts forever. If you're married for thirty years and you're 'cooking breakfast for the one you love' and he walks in, does his heart really skip a beat? I mean if it's just a regular morning. I guess it skips a beat over that breakfast and that's nice, too. It's nice to have a little breakfast made for you."
Andy Warhol knows everything.
Andy Warhol knows everything.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Are you ready for this?
People keep asking if I'm ready to go to Serbia, and I usually smile and tell them there isn't too much I need to do to prepare. I don't need a visa or work permit and I've already been vaccinated against anything and everything. The climate is the same (more or less) as Baltimore, so I don't need new clothes. I've been studying Serbian and reading all the histories of the region I can get my hands on, and even watching the Serbian films I can find.
That's the easier answer, so it's what I always say. The truth is, I'm not nearly so sure about this or anything else. In fact, I'm a little scared... some days more than a little.
People keep asking if I'm ready to go, and I give them my lengthy, logical, rehearsed answer. What I really want to say is, I have no idea. How do you know when you're ready?
"Into the caverns of tomorrow with just our flashlights and our love, we must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge... and then we'll get down there, way down to the very bottom of everything and then we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it..."
That's the easier answer, so it's what I always say. The truth is, I'm not nearly so sure about this or anything else. In fact, I'm a little scared... some days more than a little.
People keep asking if I'm ready to go, and I give them my lengthy, logical, rehearsed answer. What I really want to say is, I have no idea. How do you know when you're ready?
"Into the caverns of tomorrow with just our flashlights and our love, we must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge... and then we'll get down there, way down to the very bottom of everything and then we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it..."
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The church is a broken institution made of broken people. Sometimes it seems all that any group of Christians ever does- myself very much included- is build caricatures of other groups of Christians to tear down. I find myself getting so angry at groups of Christians for being hateful towards other groups of Christians, only to realize I'm doing the same thing they they are.
I find myself torn between two points of view. One says if you love Christ you will love his church... the other says I love Christ, but not Christians, because Christians are so unlike Christ.
I know I love Christ, but some days I find it difficult to say the same about his followers. I guess the grace comes in the assumption that genuine Christians are progressing on a path to be more Christ-like? I know none of us are there yet... but how many of us are even moving in that direction? I'm not sure I can say I am.
Come Thou fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise
Teach me some melodious sonnet
Sung by flaming tongues above
I'll praise the mount I'm fixed upon it
Mount of Thy redeeming love
Here I raise my Ebenezer
Hither by Thy help I come
And I hope by Thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home
Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wondering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood
O to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to Thee
Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love
Here's my heart Lord, take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above
I find myself torn between two points of view. One says if you love Christ you will love his church... the other says I love Christ, but not Christians, because Christians are so unlike Christ.
I know I love Christ, but some days I find it difficult to say the same about his followers. I guess the grace comes in the assumption that genuine Christians are progressing on a path to be more Christ-like? I know none of us are there yet... but how many of us are even moving in that direction? I'm not sure I can say I am.
Come Thou fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise
Teach me some melodious sonnet
Sung by flaming tongues above
I'll praise the mount I'm fixed upon it
Mount of Thy redeeming love
Here I raise my Ebenezer
Hither by Thy help I come
And I hope by Thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home
Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wondering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood
O to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to Thee
Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love
Here's my heart Lord, take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above
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