He Breathes

Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored , and unsung.
-Sir Walter Scott

Well, the heart-burning is going on all right, but the actual turning homeward of footsteps is proving to be moderately dicey. Chicago O'Hare, my layover on the way from Amman to Minneapolis, is apparently 3 feet deep in snow or something, and my flight has now been delayed a total of about 18 hours with no end in sight. I have decided to just go to the airport and besiege it until somebody parks me on a plane home. This is partly related to an interesting story that happened today.

I got in a taxi to go from my home to the local office of Royal Jordanian Airlines 7th Circle. I did this in order to pre-check my bag and avoid that hassle at the actual airport. I make a trip to a nearby location (Whitman Academy is near 6th circle) approximately 5 days a week, and every time it costs me about JD1.75 to do. How much that is in dollars is not really important to the story. So I ride in the cab, I talk to the driver, I improve my Arabic, and then suddenly when the meter clicks to JD3.50 I realize that I have no idea where we are, unusual given that it's a route I take every day. I ask the driver where we are and he tells me we're in the University District.

I am shocked. Jordan University is so far on the far side of town it barely even counts as Amman any more. In fact, we have by this time traveled more than twice the necessary distance, and still not arrived at our actual destination. I remonstrate with the driver, stretching my pidgin Arabic to its uttermost limits, to tell him that I'm not just some dumb tourist that he can screw over at will, but that I've lived in Amman for half a year and know my way around well enough to know that this is the wrong way to go. His response is that he was "avoiding traffic."

I pull out my trusty blue notebook, repository of much informally acquired Arabic vocabulary, and begin to copy down his license number and name from the card on his dashboard, my intent being to call the company or the traffic police. This causes him to panic. He explains (rather belatedly, it seems to me) that he is new, and does not even live in Amman but in Zarqa, a smaller city about 45 minutes distant. He practically grovels, telling me that he'll get me where I want to go, and if I don't want to pay him anything, that's mazbuut (fine). I say no, I want to pay him a fair amount, but I know that a fair amount is 2 JD for the ride he was supposed to give me. After he stops to ask for directions, we arrive at Safeway, a large grocery store and well-known landmark, without further incident but approximately an hour and ten minutes after leaving home for a 15-minute ride. I pay him 2 JD, tear off the page of my notebook with his information on it and give it to him, and ignore the rude gesture he makes not quite far enough behind my back once I've left.

So now, having divested myself of the dishonest or incompetent cab driver, I find myself standing outside a bustling supermarket with my suitcase, my iPod, and no earthly idea where to find the office, which I only know is "near Safeway."

I approach a pleasant-looking man and, with a hint of desperation tinging my voice, ask him in Arabic if he speaks English. He does, and tells me where I want to go, and then gallantly offers to drive me there since he works right across the street. It's only a few blocks, but it means a lot.

When I arrive at the office, the providential nature of the whole thing becomes clear. While checking my bag, I eavesdrop on the conversation a young American man is having with the lady at the next counter. He wants to know when the last bus to the Airport is. The answer, given that at this point our flight has just been postponed until 3 AM, is functionally "not nearly late enough." I ask the young man, whose name turns out to be Jeff, if he would like a ride in my friend's car, since I have to pay for it anyway.

Jeff is grateful. It seems that his home is not Amman but Damascus, and he's stuck in Amman with nowhere to stay and not much knowledge of the city's layout or its transit arrangements. I take him to Whitman and introduce him to some folks before he opts to strike out on his own and explore downtown a bit.

So in an hour or so (at 11:30 PM), Sami (who cuts my hair and drives me places for a modest fee) and I will be picking him up at a prearranged location and proceeding to the airport together. If not for my long and arduous cab ride, the two of us would probably never have met.

My flight has now been postponed again to 6:15 AM. Will I ever get home?

The Most Wonderful Disaster I've Ever Enjoyed

There's a week left in the semester. I've already assigned the finals (essays) to two of my classes, and the others will take place on Thursday. After that, there will be one more day of school (during which nothing of any substance will be done in any class of mine), and one staff Christmas party, after which I'll be on a plane for home.

I am trying very hard to fight against coasting through this last week of school, but I admit it's pretty hard. In two classes, there is only cumulative review left to do, and in others there's really only makework. I am so excited to be home, and ski, and take as long of a shower as I want and have it stay hot the whole time, and get in an elevator and push the button and magically arrive at the desired floor, and see all my friends and loved ones.

On which topic, it would be horribly sad if I got home and missed out on seeing somebody in the two weeks I'm there. I'll be in touch with folks over the next couple of weeks to try to arrange whatever meetings I can squeeze in. As I posted previously, I will be home from the 17th to the 31st (can't stay for New Years', unfortunately).

I have a lot to figure out while I'm home. To fill you in, I now enclose an edited version of an email I sent my cousin, because I don't feel like rewriting the thing.

~~~~~~~

... There is, if I haven't filled you in, most distinctly a lady in the picture.

Her name is Brittany Snyder, and you may have noticed her in my most recent facebook photos if you have had a chance to go through those. She's a Christian (nominally AOG, but when challenged, won't stick up for the whole second blessing theology, so that's ok), a coworker of mine at Whitman, and 23 years old. Originally from Memphis, went to school in Texas (unlike some people who shall remain nameless, she's a certified teacher), and is now committed to live in Jordan and teach at Whitman for this academic year and the next one.

She has eyes that I swear change color sometimes; they seem to range between blue and green, both heavily tinged with gray. She's got an awesome smile (actually several different situational ones). Dresses well, brown hair with blonde highlights about halfway down her back, fair skin with a few freckles.

Personally, she's intelligent and motivated to serve God (well, she's here isn't she?), very kind and supportive to everybody, even kids she can't actually stand. She's got a sense of humor, and can handle my tendency for casual mockery, even giving me a run for my money in that category at times. However, she can be serious when she needs to be, and we've had some great conversations on topics ranging from AOG theology to individual students we share to the Iraq war. She is willing to think, and although I notice a certain reluctance to let go of an idea once established, it's not full-fledged dogmatism. She likes herself, though she has what I'd call a typical number of body image issues and is very hard on herself when she screws something up.

So, I like her a lot, and have established that she reciprocates. In fact, the past 3 weeks (approximately the time since we discovered our mutual interest) have been my most content and happy in this country, for which she gets a lot of the credit.

Now, this should be great, right? Wrong. The problem is related to the second major issue in my life: whether to come back and teach for another year next year. Bruce, the principal here at the school, has asked me to do so, (this was before Brittany entered the scene romantically) and I am sorely tempted. While I am lonely and depressed at times, and while living here is anything but easy financially, culturally, or emotionally, I am doing something here that I really believe in.

These kids remind me so much of myself at their age. I never went to the same school twice until 10th grade, although we didn't actually move around that much, and I suffered from a fair number of social problems and some introversion because of that. I rarely got to put down any roots without having them torn up. A kid who goes to Whitman Academy, especially one who came as a teen, has a high likelihood to be in a very similar situation with a twist. They are angry at their parents for bringing them here, angry at God whose plan they're reluctantly following, and often unwilling to form meaningful relationships with anybody; it's just one more person to lose. My friend Annedien, also a teacher here, calls these kids an unreached people group.

I have, in short, discovered something I have lacked for most of my life: a job that I am willing to spend myself or burn myself out doing (though of course I hope it won't be necessary) because I believe it to be more important than I am myself. This is absolutely priceless, and makes up, most of the time, for whatever inconveniences and even outright suffering I am going through in this country. That, however unpleasant, doesn't seem to matter compared to the emptiness I see in the eyes of a kid who's about to leave because her parents got deported, or the pitiful and self-destructive efforts to fit in by doing vandalism or pranks or using foul language or disrespecting me. If you can see through it, you see a huge, raw, open wound. It kind of eats me up inside, and I can help. I am helping. I want to continue doing so, both because of the growth experience it is for me and to serve some kids that Jesus loves, reminding them of that fact if they forget.

I'm sure you see my problem. Now that Brittany is in the picture, I have to question all my motivations for wanting to come back. A lady can be a reason to come back, but she needs to not be the reason. That's an insult to my whole spiritual life and whatever work I might manage to do here.

I also have to consider the fact that I'm horribly alone in a lot of ways, and the possibility (distasteful but real) that I just seized whoever came along first as a drowning man will clutch at a straw. This same possibility exists for her, of course, in fact perhaps more so, because I am the only male in her age bracket that she actually gets a chance to interact with regularly. Then, of course, there's the fact that we're coworkers, so if the thing goes sour on me, I'll have nowhere to hide and no way to avoid painful daily contact with her. Then there's the fact that we're in a country where it is impossible to carry on a relationship in a way that I'm used to without totally crippling my reputation and, by extension, harming the reputations of Western Christians in general. I'd have to come up with a whole new paradigm, and I'd have to do it in a situation that, however fulfilling, is already putting the greatest strain of my life on my mental, emotional, and spiritual resources (to say nothing of my financial ones).

So, why do I want to come back? I wish I knew, and that question is the topic of considerable daily soul-searching on my part. I will not make this decision until I'm home for Christmas. I am daily surrounded with all the reasons I want to come back (the kids, the coworkers, the lady, the language and cultural experience, the conviction of doing something right and necessary) and I want to be able to come home, to feel again the pull of all the reasons not to continue (the comfort, the better spiritual support network, the familiarity, the ministry opportunities I left behind to come here, the friends, maybe even an unknown potential girlfriend who would be a lot easier to be with than anybody in this country from any background), before I decide. My decision-making hardware is pretty much a wreck, at the moment. I need a break. I need to detach.

So that's the situation. Most of my thoughts are here, it is now time for you to add yours. Any insights you have to offer would be welcome, and please please pray for me. I especially don't want to endanger our ministry at Whitman, because it's crucial.

~~~~~~~

So there it is. I am suffering much confusion and need some wisdom given to me generously without reproach. Please continue lifting me up in this reagrd, and please also pray that I will, while I'm home, be able to improve my financial situation, which has the potential to become extremely difficult during the next semester because my roommates are both moving out. Another major prayer concern is that I'll find new roommates, or at least one, to ease the financial strain and so I won't have to come home to an empty place all the time. I'm already feeling isolated enough.

On the positive side, work is going quite well. I heard of a situation recently where a parent of one of my students told the student that I was giving out too much work in one of my English classes. The student actually stood up for me, said that it was good that I held them to high standards, she didn't think it was too much to do, etc. The student is nothing like your stereotypical overachiever, and I was frankly dumbfounded when I heard the story. I seem liked by students and coworkers alike, and my stress issues have receded almost entirely as I find myself settling into a routine. I am getting it done. As they say in Arabic, alhamdulillah (literally, the glory belongs to God. My translation includes a strong overtone of surprise or disbelief). I like where I live, and my informal study of Arabic is going as well as I could expect. If I have the money, maybe I'll hire a tutor over the next semester. I'm also planning to join one of the small groups from Church, which will hopefully help me to find a little more human contact.

God Bless you all. I miss you, and I hope I can see everyone who's now reading this in the next 3 weeks or so.

Recovery

I have a bad habit of writing these depressing blogs when I'm feeling down and leaving them even once things get better. Therefore, it frequently happens that the first thing you see when you log into my blog page is a great indication of how I felt at one point, but rarely an indication of how I am feeling when you actually read it. There are two solutions to this problem. One would be for me to blog more often. I can't say much more about that than "I'm working on it." The second is, if you want to know how I'm feeling, drop me a line. I'm much better (although still not what you'd call "great") about responding to emails than I am about blogging.

The period of numbness I described in my previous post turned out to be fairly transitory, lasting from about ten days before that post to a couple of days afterward. I'm still not sure what caused it, but I can tell you what fixed it.

On Friday the 16th, the Amman International Church, which I am attending more often than not, had its annual Thanksgiving potluck dinner. It's a week early, as far as I can figure out, to allow those people whose families are present to celebrate the holiday privately on the correct day. Even aside from the mountains of good thanksgiving food, it was generally a nice time. There is a great deal of overlap between Whitman Academy and AIC, and so a bunch of my students and coworkers were there and I wasn't forced to pretend a false cordiality with a bunch of people I don't really know. In fact, I spent a lovely time sitting at a table with a bunch of people approximately my own age. All of them happened to be female, which elicited the predicted winks, whistles, and cross-room mouthings of "player!" from my 8th-graders, but all of us took it in stride and even managed to slide in some actual conversation between the far more important business of overeating. Afterward, in keeping with tradition, a bunch of us went outside and waddled bloatedly around chasing an American football in unpredictable directions in the dark (it's getting dark pretty early here).

The week was more or less normal. The only hiccup was that my room was TPed. Now, apparently this is traditional at Whitman, happening to a different teacher every year. It was so traditional, in fact, that another teacher actually witnessed the event and allowed it to continue. I didn't know this, and I didn't take it how it was intended, as a harmless prank. In fact, my reaction was to take it as a personal attack. I was wounded, asking myself what I'd done to merit this kind of treatment. The teacher I mentioned, noticing my reaction, actually cried about it afterward, and the students involved felt terrible. Later in the day, one of them bought me flowers, and they all apologized to me, after which I felt better and things continued.

On Thursday, I had my second thanksgiving dinner in 7 days. This one took place at Michelle Griffin's house (another teacher) and was attended by 2 families and a few other singles (all of them older). We played card games, watched a little TV, and just generally relaxed. I stuffed four plates of food in my face, presided over one guest's first piece of thanksgiving turkey EVER (he's Dutch), and felt great.

The following morning (Friday if you're losing track), I got up ridiculously early to get on a bus and go to Petra. I was accompanied by Sara Kim and Brittany Snyder, teachers with me, and a friend of Sara's named Carrie. We rode the bus for two and a half hours, after which it disgorged our bleary-eyed selves on the outskirts of Petra itself. I've been there before, but let me reiterate: this is absolutely one of the most beautiful, awe-inspiring places on earth. Everyone should try to get here at least once in their lifetime. I stayed in a cheap (but clean) hotel, walked up approximately 2,000 stairs (if I'm exaggerating it's not by much) and back down, rode a horse, lost my glasses and found them again, spent a pile of money I didn't really have, ate some pretty good pizza and a really bad cheeseburger, and most importantly, relaxed. I had no responsibilities and I wasn't surrounded by people who judge my entire culture by my behavior. The companionship was good, the weather was close to perfect, and at this moment I'm as content as I've been since I've been in this country despite the dizzying number of blisters on my feet.

I'm glad I'm here. It's always been true, but right now it's very easy to say it and mean it. I'm doing something I believe in, and in the gaps in it there are a lot of idyllic little interludes as just described. I am beginning to consider seriously whether I should come back next year.

That said, I'm also glad to be going home. I'll be arriving at Minneapolis airport on Dec 17th at 8:06 PM and leaving at 6:32 on December 1st. Drop me a line if you're interested in spending some time during this period. I hope I can get everybody in, because I miss you all. A lot. Even in my happiest moments.

Gush

I have reached an interesting state, one which I had sort of forgotten even existed. This is the state in which most events in my life fit in a category called "normal," which means that I generally expect them to happen and know how to deal with them when they do. Occasionally something "unusual" or "strange" or "abnormal" comes along, which requires me to be creative and think about how to deal with it. Sometimes I even succeed. This, I believe, is where most people live their lives. It is good, in a way, to rejoin them. I have a routine, a rhythm, even occasionally a plan. For the last 3-4 months, this has not been the case. I may finally be recovering from a kind of punch-drunkenness caused by having to adapt to so many elements in my life (and the removal of so many familiar ones).

At the same time, for reasons I don't entirely understand, I am withdrawing into myself. I have a perfectly good personality which I exhibit to the world, altering it as necessary in the direction of solemnity or levity, frustration or happiness, conversation or silence, or any of the other moods and demeanors life and work require. However, I increasingly find that this external self does not mirror what I actually feel. Most of the time, I don't feel much.

There was a time, not long ago (I mentioned it to some of you), when I was given to overreaction to whatever happened to me. I especially noticed it in the area of anger. Relatively trivial things would cause outbursts of rage, or rather "inbursts" because nobody ever saw them but me. If you know me well enough, this is not surprising on one level; this is how I get angry. I seethe internally (and usually briefly) rather than displaying my anger. Until recently, the aberration was how often I would get angry, and how angry I would get. Both were way beyond what I'd consider healthy levels, and way beyond the norm for me.

Now, however, the pendulum has swung the other way. I feel like a limb that has fallen asleep from being slept on wrong. Such a limb feels pressure, or even sharp and ordinarily painful blows, as a vague and distant sensation lost in a sort of general deadness. Simultaneously, the limb can't function properly. It loses its ability to sense its own movements. When you try to pick up something and your hand has fallen asleep, you either grip it too tightly or not tightly enough, because you can't really tell how tight your grip is. The equipment that normally gives you that information is malfunctioning.

The analogy is nearly exact. It takes a lot to get through to me these days. I am a person who loves to laugh, and it's taken the people I work with and for very little time to figure that out. Repeatedly over the past week or so, attentive and well-meaning students have been asking me questions like what's wrong, or why I'm so sad or angry. I'm not, particularly, but what's prompting them to ask is that I'm not laughing as much. Things I'd normally enjoy and laugh at are instead being greeted with a blank look or even a disdainful sneer. If a merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance, then what I've just described is certainly the outward expression of this bizarre emotional limpness and attenuation. I still crack wise at the slightest provocation or none at all, I still greet people sunnily as they walk by, I still converse on various topics of people, but it's all at some kind of remove, as if the words are being spoken by somebody else whom I'm trying my best to understand, but it's not working.

I also can't tell how well I'm doing. I teach, and give quizzes, and the students seem to be learning what I'm teaching them. I don't have any serious behavior issues as far as I can tell, and a couple parents told me at the recent parent-teacher conferences that their kid told them one of my classes was their favorite. So as far as I can objectively tell, I'm doing ok, yet I don't have the satisfaction that used to come with doing something well. Maybe it's getting lost in the fog.

There are definitely things that still cause strong reactions one way or the other. Last week, a family from the school was blacklisted by the authorities (the reasons aren't entirely clear), and if nothing has changed in the next 5 days, they will be forced to leave the country. While I wouldn't presume to make any judgments about who has the right to be in this country and who does not, the mere fact that they are being forced to leave, that four young people are having their roots torn up so suddenly and traumatically, that a family's entire livelihood now has to be reestablished in a strange land somewhere, has punctured this weird bubble I'm in to fill me with impotent rage and grief. The oldest girl, one of my students, is a joyful, even bubbly young lady, who for the past few days (since she got the news) has been valiantly trying to keep a smile on her face, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She'll forget, sometimes, for a while, and at those times she fills the space around her with a glorious aura of youth and joy and innocent gladness just to be alive, and then there's a gap in the conversation and she remembers, and the room sort of gets a little colder and darker. To look into her eyes at that moment would melt a heart much harder than mine, if such a thing exists in my current state.

I am richly blessed. I have more than enough money, a great living situation, an important and often rewarding job, good food, good spiritual support, and regular contact with those of you who care about me back home. I have absolutely no reason to be in this state. I can't understand it, but I want it to end. Joy is conspicuously missing from my life right now, and it's affecting my work, my personal relationships, my rest, my psychological health, and my relationship with the source and object of all Joy. This must cease. Humanly speaking, I'm on a burnout pace right now. If burnout is what God has in store for me, then burnout it will be; it's a risk I took, coming here. But I'd like to avoid it, because if I flame out and crash now, I won't just be hurting my insignificant self, I'll be letting down a bunch of sweet kids, a dozen kind and dedicated coworkers, and a lot of self-sacrificing parents. Less importantly (but it's still on my mind) I'll be establishing a pattern of failure that might be hard to shake as life goes on.

This might be one of those things that I reread tomorrow and feel the need to revise. We'll see. I hope so.

Skype

My new webcam is all set up and works great, and my new skype name is silasbrinkmann (imaginative huh?). Whoever has skype should add me. I'll be on it pretty often.

Miscellany

Even while I was writing my most recent post, I sort of expected to wake up the following morning and feel a little foolish for being so overdramatic. I thought I was in a mood, and that as soon as the mood passed I would wish I hadn't been so transparent with the feelings of the moment. I considered them frivolous.

Well, they were frivolous in their way, but turned out to not be as transient as I had expected. It took me most of a week to get out of the funk I expressed in that post and get on with doing what I need to do. I have, however, seemingly accomplished this last. At least, I am once again able to wake up each morning without the passionate desire to fake sick just so I won't have to face my responsibilities.

I'm a lot less depressed and a lot more encouraged for the past few days. A lot has contributed to this: I'm prioritizing better, interacting better with more people, and getting more sleep. Oddly, another that helped me get it together a bit was the realization that I'm not the only one feeling this way. I certainly wouldn't wish that kind of despondency on anybody, but I had this nagging suspicion that it was some inherent flaw in myself that was causing me to feel the way I did. Maybe it still is, but at least I share it with at least one other teacher, one of the educated and somewhat experienced kind I so envy.

Donnie and I have decided we're willing to pay for hi-speed internet at home. It should be installed tomorrow. What this might mean to you is more pictures. What it means to me is a lot less constraint in the time I spend online, which is a huge morale booster for me (thanks in large part to a lot of you).

I'm in a little bit of a frustrating money situation, which needs to be worked out with the folks who process the money some of you are sending. I won't go into details here, but my initial reaction was a lot of anger and disgust, unproductive feelings that I need to get over before I try to deal with the situation. Please play for wisdom as I do this, and that it will be resolved satisfactorily. Please also continue to pray for more staff for Whitman. Still needed are PE teachers, and any warm bodies to monitor study halls and/or proctor exams. This would help a great deal with the abovementioned teacher stress, to say nothing of my own, for which please continue praying as well.

Praises are great roommates and coworkers, good food, good cultural experiences, and my still-unshaken conviction that I'm where God wants me. This last, especially, has gotten me through a lot.

Pride Goeth etc.

I am not a superstitious person, but I find myself sorely tempted to knock on wood or cross my fingers the next time I write a post like that last one.

I had, in a sense, been expecting it, but when it came it was still an unwelcome, even humiliating, development. On Friday, my day off, my boss, Bruce, called me. He asked me if, the next day, I would like to cancel my classes and instead have a day-long clinic on lesson planning. I agreed, of course.

It was handled in the most kind and helpful way imaginable (Bruce is a great guy). Every allowance was made for my inexperience and lack of education. The obvious intent was to help and not to chastise. Most importantly, it really did give me a much better idea of what I wasn't doing correctly and/or sufficiently in my classes. This, however, was the irksome aspect of things: I didn't want it to be necessary to improve my performance. It is a childish and unrealistic way to look at things, no doubt, and a reflection of a flaw in my personality. However, the fact is that this helpful, necessary, gracefully administered and completely constructive criticism rankled severely when it collided with my pride. Let me be clear: this was not a legitimate feeling in any possible way, it was a fit of pique. To my meager credit, I recognized immediately how silly I was being, and managed to keep it all inside, to the extent that I was praised for my attitude by Bruce.

I felt much better the following evening when Steven, Jane, and their family (cf pictures in this post) threw me a little impromptu birthday dinner, complete with a cake and presents from each member of the family. It was a thoughtful gesture, and I was deeply moved. We played a slightly modified version of pickup sticks, chatted, laughed, ate (I finally know what is meant by "goulash." I was quite satisfied) and I relaxed and got almost completely over my internal tantrum from the previous day, or so I thought. The next day went quite well, highlighted by a cake that was made for me by Bruce's wife *ahem* I mean by Bruce. It was amazing cake, some kind of sticky chocolaty thing, not too sweet but sweet enough- in a word, ambrosial. I ate so much of it I ended up taking my lunch home with me.

The week began stressfully, since progress reports came out today. This is encouraging from the standpoint that I am now 1/8 finished with the year, but made things difficult since it required me to get caught up on the (shamefully large!) amount of work which I had been procrastinating. Piling this onto a completely new and more involved lesson planning process made for not a lot of sleep. I was making some progress on Monday and Tuesday, but then I woke up Wednesday morning feeling miserably ill. Sore throat, stomach pain, the works.

I went to school that day, teaching my classes while feeling like somebody had tried to clean out my throat with steel wool, and then stayed after school for two hours entering grades (I got it done, praise God!). I went home and went to sleep almost immediately, about 6:30 PM. I woke up at 2:00 this morning feeling even more miserable and literally unable to speak above a whisper due to the condition of my throat. I slept fitfully until about 5:00 , drinking nearly 4 liters of water in the interval (I filled and emptied my 2-liter bottle twice), and then decided that trying to teach classes in my condition would be futile. So, I called in sick, for the second time in 5 weeks.

Robin (the principal and the person I called) recommended that I go to the doctor and get checked for strep, which I did. The doctor took about 5 minutes to tell me that there were no signs of any infection, and what I had were allergies. He did not say "and allergies are no reason to miss another day of work this week, you limp-wristed puling weakling," but had he said it, I would have agreed. My chagrin, beginning then and still continuing at this moment, would be difficult to overstate.

Was I honest with myself when I decided I wasn't able to get through one more day, or did I seize on the first excuse to shirk my responsibilities and loaf all day? Can a man who spends over 10% of his working days (this is a mathematically correct figure so far) lying at home sipping water and watching boring daytime TV be trusted at all with a task as important as teaching children? Or, for that matter, with any task more involved than flipping burgers or digging ditches? My own weakness and incapacity, in which (following Paul's example) I ought to boast, instead have me kicking myself in the teeth and wishing anybody but me had recieved the call to do this job.

The doctor suggested a treatment which is working well so far, so that problem is near enough to being solved. I'd appreciate your prayers for an attitude adjustment, to allow me to quit emotionally self-mortifying and have faith that, whatever my shortcomings, they are not too big for God to handle. I need to recover that Psalm 27 attitude (see the last few paragraphs of this post), and start seeing the times when I fail as an opportunity for God's power to shine more obviously through me. Pray that this discouraging week, having already maimed my faith in my own abilities, will proceed now to increase my faith in and reliance on God's. Right now, my knee-jerk response to the whole thing is one of wounded pride. Sadly, it's only wounded; God, please finish it off! I don't want it in my life and neither do You.

There is a silver lining, however. How frustrated I am when not doing my job adequately has made me realize that I love it. I don't mean this in the sense that what I do is particularly enjoyable in itself, although it can be. Rather, I love my job because it causes the kind of passion evident in what I've written here.

If I missed a day of one of my other jobs, I generally thought of it in purely pragmatic terms; what were my coworkers going to think or say, how would it affect my standing with my bosses, was I in danger of being fired, etc. When I miss a day of this job, I am frustrated at the lost opportunity to pour more of myself into it, even though that might be a painful and debilitating process. There's a sense of purpose involved in doing what I'm doing that has been extremely rare in my life up until now, and has certainly never coincided with what I spent the majority of my time on. I love my job for beginning (or at least accelerating from its previous glacial pace) my transformation from a self-centered, indolent child into a man who might someday merit the greatest description to which a human being can aspire: servant.

Updates

I haven't blogged in a week. I must be slipping. My apologies to my loyal readers (both of you :-P).

Last week at this time I was cripplingly ill. I vomited early in the morning and then slept all day. The likely culprit is some bad mayonnaise at a local snack joint. I know of two other people who ate the same item at the same restaurant within 24 hours of my doing so, and they were also sick. Fortunately, they and I both got over it fairly quickly, within one day in fact. I was back at school teaching as if nothing had happened the next day.

This past weekend was a 3-day weekend which was desperately needed and ardently desired. I must admit that I wasted a lot of it, if you consider relaxation a waste. Some things I didn't get accomplished: cleaning my room, doing laundry, doing dishes, shopping for some items. What I did accomplish, however, is higher on my priority list than any of that: I felt ready and more than ready to go back to school on Monday. I needed the time to wind down and relax without responsibilities hanging over my head, and when it presented itself, I grabbed it with both hands. This, I feel, was the correct decision, and if my mother would be horrified by the shape my room is currently in, I hope she would be mollified to some degree by the shape my mind is in.

I'm teaching about Greek mythology in a couple of classes. This is turning out to be lots of fun. The kids are definitely interested, and I love telling stories, which is what I do for most of class. Good times.

This evening (Tuesday) I was treated to dinner at Fuddrucker's in honor of my birthday. I invited a couple of co-teachers, and the vice-principal, Bruce, and his wife, Sue, were also there. It didn't make me forget home-cooked fried chicken or anything, but it was a very satisfying and congenial meal, with an unheard-of luxury for this country: ranch dressing! I couldn't have asked for a more timely present. My morale is considerably raised.

I am, generally speaking, in high spirits. My readers who also have facebook may have noticed that I read a long book, absolutely detested it, and wrote a long diatribe against it. To the observant reader, this should indicate a few things about my current situation. First, I have the energy to get really exercised over a work of literature. This is a good sign, it wasn't the case a few weeks ago. Second, I have the time to respond in written form. And third, I have access to literature, which in my case is a psychological benefit not to be underestimated.

My roommate has discovered a source of cheap steaks, and he grills them about once a week. I'm well fed, well read, working hard and pretty happy.

Observation: John Piper would love this country. A common greeting is "kiifak" or "kiif halak" (literally "how is your health") and a common response is "Alhamdulillah" which literally means "God's glory" or "ashkurallah" which means "I thank God." There is a very healthy attitude about God's involvement in day-to-day life here, which humbles me and which I am striving to emulate. Accordingly, glory to God for how well things are going!

Please pray that the school would find some more staff, even on a very temporary basis. What I've said in previous posts still applies, and there is a not insignificant risk of teacher burnout, especially among new and inexperienced teachers (by which I mean myself). Pray also for wisdom in dealing with local folks and to say the right things at the right times.

I miss you all.

Addendum

Don't worry folks, mail sent to the previously provided address will still arrive, even if the school's name isn't first. The previous address isn't the school's, it belongs to a friend of mine. However, I'll get things faster if they're sent to the school address (the one given in the previous post) and if you do that, make sure you put the school name first. We clear?

Normalcy or something

First, a couple of housekeeping details. If you want to mail me something, this is the address you should use:

Whitman Academy
Silas Brinkmann
PO Box 142011
Amman 11814
Jordan

It is IMPORTANT that you put the name of the school first and mine afterward. This is so that another school employee can pick up my mail when he goes to do that each week. If you put my name first, I have to personally cross town and go get the mail. Also, it is best not to send anything larger than a shoebox, or any DVD's or CD's.

Second, several people have commented on the same post with the same message as many as 5 times. I have structured this blog so that I monitor all the comments that come in, and have to approve them before I post them. Your comments will not show up immediately for that reason, not because there's some kind of problem, so please only post them once. That said, I am greatly appreciative that people continue to read and comment in this space: it is

I think I have begun to establish that elusive and valuable "routine" thing. I have a fairly good general idea what I will be doing at most daylight hours as far ahead as 3 weeks from now, which would have been utterly inconcievable last week at this time. I am grateful for this, as simply by existing it reduces my stress level.

This last, however, is still high. I still am not sure what to do when or how, and I definitely walk into each class each day with a great deal of trepidation. I suffered my first real major failure as a teacher on Thursday, an activity I spent a ton of time planning out, and slightly less time actually attempting because it didn't work at all. Fortunately, I got a care package from some of the folks back home which lifted my spirits considerably, and I'm more or less over it. Fortunately, my opinion of my own teaching skills was already fairly low, so messing up on this isn't as crushing or crippling I might have expected.

I'm finding it very easy to rely on God in my current position, simply because I don't have too many other options. I don't have the skills, the energy, or the wisdom to do the job I'm doing, all I have is the faith. Thankfully, so far it's been all I needed.

In an unrelated but encouraging development, the belt I brougth with me is now too big for my waist and I need to buy another one. I'm doing a lot of walking up and down hills, and apparently it's showing up in the ol' waistline.

Please pray for more teachers to volunteer to teach at the school. Right now, most of the full-time teachers are actually FULL time, with no free periods during the day. Needed are a computer teacher, a P.E. teacher, a science and math teacher for 4th grade, and several other miscellaneous staff members to do such things as monitor study halls.

Miracles and Mysteries

First, some great news. As the school grapevine has it, Mr. Park's kidneys are more or less out of danger and he is well and truly on the mend. He'll probably stay on dialysis for a few more days for safety's sake, but there seems to be no more risk of massive kidney failure when they take him off it. Also, he moved his foot. It is likely he will recover with no permanent physical damage. Perhaps more importantly, says the grapevine, yesterday someone told him a joke and he laughed at it. Scripture says a joyful heart is good medicine, and if he's reaching a point where he can laugh again, that says good things about his prospects for physical healing and better things about his emotional health. Praise God for that; the man's had one of the most crushing experiences a parent can possibly experience, and it's nice to hear about a few breaks going his way.

In other news, classes are going well, students seem to be learning what I am trying to teach them and maybe even enjoying it a bit. I am happy about this. There is a slight problem, however: I have not even the vaguest idea how it's happening.

I'm required to turn in lesson plans each Thursday for the whole subsequent week. Last week I wrote them. They were great. Phase by phase. They contained the class name, the date, the learning objectives, the instruction methods, the necessary materials, and the homework for each class. When school actually began, this is what I actually used: the date and the class name. My instruction this week in my classes didn't remotely resemble what I so painstakingly planned out last week. Something about it worked, undeniably. But I don't know what it was.

This is perhaps the scariest thing that could have happened to me. I now have to deal with a) high expectations that I have inflicted upon myself and b) my near-total ignorance about how to continue fulfilling them. I'd hate to think that I'll have to depend upon this kind of... is fluke too strong a word?... for another 140-odd instruction days. Having spent a lot of time worrying about failure, I now find that success is more frightening yet.

As I read back up what I just wrote, I'm a little disgusted by the irrationality of it all. Where I ought to be praising God for the success I've had and praying to Him for more, I am instead jittery because I can't explain the very miracle I've been asking you all to pray for. Like Peter, I'm standing impossibly on top of the water already, but all my flesh can think of to do is worry about sinking. Oh me of little faith! People who are praying for me should, I think, pray first and foremost for that problem to get fixed. Real faith moves mountains; mine, at the moment, is struggling to even move pixels around a screen.

Pause for reflection

Today I'm here at Whitman Academy for the parent/student orientation day. I've already met some parents and kids, and done some work on my classroom, which, let me tell you, badly needed some work. The school was full of chattering children reuniting after summers apart, and of smiling parents meandering around from classroom to brightly decorated classroom. However, this joyful atmosphere was tinged with an unexpected somberness, and smiles and laughter were often interrupted by tearful embraces and whispered condolences.

Juhae Park was a pretty young Korean lady with a huge heart and eyes that laughed when she spoke. She attended Whitman last year and was planning to stop by the event today to see her friends before going to the Black Forest Academy in Germany this fall. I've never met her. I know all this because I just attended her funeral. On Thursday, Juhae was with her family in the nearby Wadi Mujib park, a canyon with a river in it. She slipped and was sucked under a waterfall where she drowned. Her father, attempting to rescue her, suffered a mangled leg and the unimaginable trauma of being trapped a mere few feet from where his daughter was dying.

One minute, so vibrant and full of life, brimming over with plans for the future, loving deeply and deeply loved. The next, an empty husk of a body. I didn't know Juhae, but her death is another reminder (like the 35w collapse) of how fragile a gift life truly is.

Juhae was the Lord's, and is now with Him, but please pray for the Park family as they mourn. Mr. Park, especially, is racked with guilt for not having saved his daughter, and is seriously injured (there is nerve damage in his leg which prevents him from moving that foot, and the massive muscle damage is causing his kidneys to fail.). Pray also for those of my coworkers who knew and cherished her, and who are trying to find time to grieve amid the pressure and stress of getting ready for the first week of school.

Any day, hour, or minute on earth could be your last one. Don't waste them.

All Good Things...

It's been a pretty relaxing couple of weeks here in the desert. I read a couple of decent books, met people, learned some Arabic words, and generally recuperated from the exhaustion I was dealing with by the end of the English school. By the end of the ~2 weeks I had free, I was getting sick of sitting around home and doing nothing. So, when the Friday the 9th came around I was pretty content to go and meet my coworkers.

In what may be a typical circumstance, plans for a "staff retreat" were shelved at the last minute in favor of a "staff day" which involved a few classic get-to-know-you games and some general explanation of the rules and guidelines for doing my job. I also discovered that everybody at the school has one of the following: A Ph D, a master's, teaching certification, or teaching experience. Oh wait, not everybody, quite; I'm the only person teaching this year without one of the above. This is, I must admit, pretty intimidating. Everybody tells me not to worry, this happens all the time. Well I think I'm going to continue worrying, thank you very much. I work better when I'm nervous than when I'm complacent.

On Saturday, my roomates and I, along with two local guys named Taariq and Ahmed, drove about an hour from Amman to a canyon in some limestone hills near the southern end of the Dead Sea. We packed a picnic lunch and our swim suits and hiked up the canyon for about an hour. It was pretty cool in several senses of the word; the bottom of the canyon only got direct sunlight in places, and not for very long. We found a huge boulder with a waterfall coming over it that more or less filled the whole canyon (maybe 12 feet square). There was a dry space at the bottom of the waterfall which would have been perfect for for eating our lunch and resting. We were 5 young men. Naturally, we spent 20 minutes trying to find a way up the waterfall with all our stuff without getting soaked, and then ate our lunch at the top of the waterfall less than 15m from the otherwise perfect spot. A man has certain principles, after all.

We built a makeshift dam out of rocks to form a pool about 18 inches deep and all just sat there in the water eating food and smoking nargeela (that's what they call it here, but I'd have thought of it as a hookah. It's the only manly way to smoke peach-flavored tobacco, so it's cool with me). It was a good time, and even though I spent the whole day outside, I'm not sunburned. On the hike back down, we built another dam just because the first one wasn't good enough. Some might consider this a waste of time and effort, but they are probably women or Frenchmen. It was IMPORTANT.

So, staff bonding followed by male bonding followed by Christian bonding, and that's my weekend in a nutshell. Starting tomorrow I'll be writing my curriculum for this year with lots of help from Julia, my immediate superior at the school. Please pray for me this week as I head into this uncharted territory and will need help to make it happen. Vacation is over, the grind is beginning.

A Beautiful Juxtaposition

At about 12:30 this morning I left home, and got in a serveece (a kind of taxi). I got out of the serveece at the bottom of a big hill, crossed a teeming marketplace full of the shoutings and shriekings of vendors trying to sell cheap clothes to people who don't need them and can't afford them. I then walked up another hill. I turned down a dusty street and walked past a construction site where a bunch of bronzed, muscular Arab workmen were tinkering with a balky cement mixer (using, I add, what sounded like some pretty unkind language, although I haven't learned any of those words yet).

Proceeding past these normal, everyday sights, and following the directions I'd been given, I went further down the street and went through a nondescript little door into... what can this strange place be?

A dizzying kaleidoscope of horribly clashing overstuffed furniture is scattered haphazardly on a concrete floor. In the middle of the floor, a small circular bar boasts Jose Cuervo, Chivas Regal, Bacardi, Jim Beam (remember, alcohol is very rare here), and perhaps every coffee variation ever devised by the mind of man. Hanging above the bar is, of all things, a disco ball that must be a yard across. But it's not spinning, it's just kind of hanging there. By the bar a shaven-headed goateed guy in a t-shirt and baggy jeans is putting the moves on a slim pale dark-haired lady in tight leather pants, occasionally stopping to wave away the thick cloud of cigarrette smoke that threatens to obscure his vision. His Iberian-flavored English blends into a murmur of conversation in at least four languages, while throbbing trance music creates a pleasant level of soothing white noise. On a couch to my right, a group of college-aged girls in colorful tank tops chatter happily over their forgotten textbooks. Off in shadowy corner, a white guy with a scraggly chin beard and earrings is furiously typing away on a battered old Gateway notebook, pausing occasionally to sip from his iced cappucino.

10 seconds ago I was in Amman. Jordan. Middle East. How on Earth did I suddenly get transported to Uptown?

It's called Books Cafe. A sign out front (I swear I'm not making this up) proclaims it "Fresh as a Daisy!" In the basement there's a bookstore, and though the prices are outrageous ($15 for a used paperback) I'm thrilled. It's the first bookstore I've been able to find since I arrived.

So, my morale is high. There is a staff retreat for Whitman Academy that starts on the 9th. Classes actually start on the 2oth. Until then I'm on vacation, and I intend to make the most of it. At this moment, I am at peace.

I think victory is sort of mine?

So, this is where I live. The view is from Jebel Ashrafieya, from a home we visited a few weeks ago (the photo is courtesy of Rachel. Thanks!) A few points of interest: the flagpole in the center near the horizon is actually the world's tallest free-standing flagpole, so they tell me. In front of it and slightly to the left is what they call the Citadel, which are ruins from an ancient Roman temple to Hercules. There is also an antiquities museum there.

The view on the left is from the Citadel and looks back at Ashrafieya, in a neat bit of Artistic Symmetry (tm). At the top of the hill is the famous Abu Darwish mosque, which we non-Arabic-speakers are prone to call the Black and White mosque. This is because some parts of it are black and all the other parts are white. We non-Arabic-speakers believe in expressive names, but not creative ones. In a side note, the buildings are mostly a similar color because, for the past several years, a law has been in effect which requires all new buildings to be fronted (the term in this case includes the sides, the back, and the top, but for some reason you don't say "outsided") with white stone. It's a nice shade, and also keeps the inside of the building cooler (these are advantages I have noticed, I don't know why they made the law though).

On the right are some of the people I've been working with an associating with over the past few weeks. From the left, we have Khalil, pastor of the church where the event was held. Next to him is Steven, my current (though not for much longer) neighbor across the street. In front of him is his oldest, Matthew. To Steven's right is 'Amr, who helps out at the church. Reti and me you know. In the pink shirt is 'Abeer, the principal and general troubleshooter for the school. Wearing sunglasses is Jess, co-teacher, whom you may remember from a previous photo. Behind her, lurking malevolently in the shadows (or something) is Jane, Steven's wife, who was responsible for most of the materials we used to teach. She was an invaluable resource since she is actually a trained teacher and was endlessly patient with us miserable amateurs. The 2 (wykkid cute) kids are Nathan and Ruth, her other 2 kids. Between them is Rachel, co-teacher and the genius behind the first photo in this post. Khalil's wife, Randa, is not in the picture, but she also deserves mention for all her help during the week, as well as for the fact that it is her passion and vision (and remarkable synergy with Reti) that made this event take place for the first time last year and continue this year.

Not only is this an excellent photo of my co-teachers and our hostess for lunch one day, it is also a good example of what I've been eating here. Mansaf consists of a gigantic pile of rice with some chicken or lamb on top, frequently cooked with nuts or spices or both. With it comes a peculiar kind of yogurt sauce, kinda gluey and milky. Traditionally, one transfers a plate-sized pile of rice to one's plate, throws some meat on top of same, drenches it liberally with the sauce, and then molds it into little balls which are then eaten with the fingers. Our hostess in this case graciously spared our western sensibilities by providing us with forks. It's actually very good, although I didn't go as nuts with the sauce as I was apparently expected to (I'm not sure I agree it's the "best part"). Anyway, a lot of food in this part of the world fits the general description of a bunch of rice with a bunch of meat on it. This is fine with me; the key words here are "a bunch." I defy anybody to leave a meal in an Arab home and still be hungry. Can't be done.



Finally, here is a photo of most of the kids in my class (the ones who showed up on the last day, that is). On the left in the purple shirt is Farah (joy) one of my helpers, he has a kid on his shoulder. My other two helpers are Nour (bottom right, tan shirt) and Um Bishara (next to her, horizontal stripes). Props to these people, they made the whole thing work. In front of Farah in the light-blue shirt is Muna, easily the most brilliant and well-behaved student in the class. In the middle of week 2 she brought her tape recorder to class with a Mariah Carey tape in it, and taking me aside during the break she did a sort of impromptu karaoke with the song "Hero." It was adorable, I misted. In the middle, looking happy in his favorite lime-green shirt, is Basiel, who is ALMOST smart enough to make up for all the trouble he causes =/. Next to him in red is Nader, who quoted all 12 memory verses back to me on the last day. 2 kids over, also in green, is Kristeen, who basically knows every answer but is terrified to raise her hand (I eventually learned to call on her at least once per day regardless). Wow. I live right by all these kids and I miss them already.

Well this got longer than I meant it to, but hopefully you have a better visual idea what's going on with me these days. I'll try and post some more as time and money permit. If there's anything specific you'd like to see, I probably have a picture of it, so shoot me an email or comment here and we'll see what we can do.

Out of the nest and flapping hard

I'm writing this from an internet cafe in a place called Shmeisani (shmay-sah-nee), which is a neighborhood in Amman. This is significant in two ways. The first way is that Shmeisani is not Ashrafieya. This means I had to get in a taxi, tell him where to go, stop him when he got here, and pay him. I have never done any of these things on my own before, much less all of them, so just being here represents a fairly significant accomplishment for me. (I should admit here that i was very motivated, as there is a KFC in Shmeisani).

The second significance is that this is a high-speed web cafe, meaning that as often as I want to come back here, I can post photos with ease and speed. The trade-off is that it costs over a JD ($1.75ish) to get here, and internet is also more expensive, so don't expect everyday photos just yet. But it's at least feasible, unlike in Ashrafieya, so you might maybe see some photos possibly kind of soonish. How's that for non-commital?

The vacation in Aqaba was great, although getting there was a 4-hour bus ride through some seriously hilly terrain and I was noticeably green by the time we made it. Once we arrived, however, we moved into a pretty nice hotel (even though their pool was closed, about which they lied to us when we made our reservations) and let the relaxation commence. Lemme tell ya, it was some pretty intense relaxation: snorkeling and shopping and sleeping and playing Uno by the (nonfunctional, rawr) pool.

We were there 1 night, and left Aqaba at 4 to arrive back in Ashrafieya in time to go to dinner and then go to sleep. In the morning, after dealing with some unforeseen travel difficulties, we set out on a day trip to see the Baptism Site (of Jesus), Mount Nebo (cf Deuteronomy 34), and the Dead Sea. All were interesting for different reasons, but my favorite was the Dead Sea. I have pictures (sadly, not with me atm) of me upright in the water, not standing on anything and not moving at all, but still only sinking up to my sternum- creepy! The view from Mount Nebo was spectacular despite a slight fog. I had fun thinking about how God might have designed the whole region with that moment in mind, where he was going to show Moses the whole promised land from one spot. It's easy to read that passage and think it's being poetic or metaphorical, but you really can see an awfully awfully long way from up there.

So now I have to begin living my own life, as the days of scheduled activities and rigid time tables are over. I'll hopefully be moving sooner than later, but for now I'm just going to enjoy a couple of weeks without responsibilities or worries.

Thanks to everybody who's commented or responded to my previous posts. Please keep the messages coming, it's great to hear from home!

Synopsis (tm)

English school is over. I am going to try to tell you what it was like, but be warned: such experiences do not lend themselves easily to expression in words.

The actual events are easy enough to describe. Each day, I would arrive at the church at 8:30ish, and do some last-minute preparation for the day. At 9:00, the kids (mostly waiting outside by this time) would be let into the building, proceeding to the church's main sanctuary. After the chatter and scuffling, inevitable when you move ~140 kids in a mass from one place to another, had died down, there would be a half-hour assembly. This typically included children's praise songs in English, Arabic, or both, Simon says (extremely popular!), announcements, prayers by kids and/or leaders, games, etc. The kids would then be dismissed by class; Rachel's ~40 4-5's, Becky's ~40 6-7's, Jess's ~30 8-9's and my ~35 10-12's bringing up the rear.

I'd usually leave with the Rachel's class so I could get into my classroom before the kids could. Once they arrived, got their nametags, and got settled down, I'd tell a Bible story using some pictures provided with the curriculum. All the stories were from the life of Jesus, starting with his birth, proceeding through a series of miracles and parables, and finishing with "death and resurrection" and "ascension/Jesus will return" on the last two days. I'd pick a memory verse from the story, and occasionally a craft. After this was over (it's about 10:15 by now if you're keeping track) the English lesson would begin, and continue until noon (interrupted by a half-hour break from 10:30-11). Some topics covered included past progressive tense, expressions of time and duration, adverbs of frequency, etc.

When the bell mercifully rang at noon, the kids would pour out of the church, chattering excitedly and clutching whatever we'd given them to take home (crafts, worksheets, etc.) and my 3 local helpers and I would discuss what was going to happen the following day. We'd clean up any drastic messes or possibly replace the furniture if the room were going to be used that evening. This being done (about 1:00 or 1:30), we'd proceed into another classroom for an all-school staff meeting, the purpose of which was to pray a lot and to deal with any serious issues that took place during the day.

After this, the local helpers would go home and my fellow teachers and I would go to the house of a local woman (frequently the mother of a student or helper) for lunch. We'd generally arrive home from lunch between 3:30 and 4, and try for a nap or prep for the following day's lesson, depending on whether we felt more behind on preparation or on sleep. Some nights there were dinner invitations (about 2 hours at various times), always there was a group devotion, and in the background lurked the significant prep time required to make the next lesson work properly. Of free time there was none until 11:00, when I had to leave the place where the girls were staying and go back to my own digs. I'd typically stop by the webcafe up the street, shoot off a few emails, and then go home and collapse into bed for personal devotions and sleep.

The paragraphs I've just written describe the past 3 weeks about as completely as the few words on your business card describe you as a person. How can I describe the nerve-shattering strain? What can I say to convey to you the whiplashing transition from sudden, overwhelming joy to miserable, crushing despair and back again? I felt, lived, experienced nothing "slightly" or "marginally" during these weeks; it was an experience that warrants no qualifiers. I saw, in a way more graphic and real than any in my experience, the overwhelming might and majesty of Almighty God clash with the vengeful, bitter, seething malice of the evil one, and I saw it from ground zero.

"Melodrama!" I hear you say, "he's high on the experience, he's suffering from culture shock, he's exaggerating to make himself seem more important!" Well maybe, although if you know me you know I'm not the sort that's typically susceptible to that kind of thing. But here are some facts. This month I've seen lifelong best friends (multiple sets! I watched 2 examples and heard about others) get in serious, relationship-threatening fights for ridiculously trivial reasons. But I also saw a group of people who'd never met before, of different cultures and continents and backgrounds and personalities, come together and accomplish a common goal in the face of significant adversity. I watched several children sit scowling with arms folded, refusing to learn "nothing is impossible with God," but then 3 days later I listened to them quote "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength, and love your neighbor as yourself" with smiles on their faces. A fellow teacher ran out of class crying because the first half of the day had gone so badly. She cried through the whole break until somebody suggested praying, which we did, and then she sort of squared her shoulders and went back out there to do her darndest. An hour later, she couldn't stop smiling; the second hour had been "wonderful."

All of that is externally verifiable. It doesn't even touch on what went on in me during this time. I always seemed to turn to just the right verse, or somebody always seemed to come up to me and say just the right thing, or the solution to the problem always seemed to be easily available and why didn't I think of that before? I was constantly exhausted (physically, mentally, emotionally, take your pick) but I never quite collapsed in any of those ways. And my time with God felt more intimate and meaningful, my prayers more "powerful and effective," and the Word more "living and active" than at at any other time I can immediately recall.

Tomorrow we are going on vacation to the resort town of Aqaba. I need it. But I can go praising God, knowing that seeds have been planted and watered and the kingdom has been served and my responsibilities have been satisfactorily discharged. I know all this, and at the same time I know my own inadequacies and (to some degree) those of my colleagues and helpers. It doesn't add up. The input I saw doesn't begin to explain the result. I'm left with no room to doubt that the only way I/we could have possibly made it is divine grace.

Well, that's the best I can do. Words fail to describe such things. Thank you all for your prayers, thoughts, emails, and whatever else I've gotten from home. It worked. It helped. Don't stop.

Yes, that's right, I have FINALLY succeeded in uploading a photo! I'll try to upload more as often as I can, but this one actually took nine minutes to do, so it might not be all that frequent until I find a way to access a DSL line or something. Anyway, from left to right we have me, our teaching coordinator Reti, and my three colleagues Rachel, Becky, and Jess. The photo is taken in a Pizza Hut in Amman.

So that's who I'm working with, and exchanging quips and mockery with, etc. You'll note that they're all female. I'm sort of drowning in estrogen a bit here, and feeling the lack of males in whom I can confide. These ladies are great, and they do their best to be helpful and mutually supportive, and their best is pretty darn good. However, they are female.

We're on the home stretch with the English School, with only 3 days to go. My class is preparing a skit to show on graduation day (Friday) of the story of the Good Samaritan. Should be fun. I'm glad the thing is almost over though, I'm worn out and my body feels slightly like it's about to collapse.

I've seen some pretty cool stuff while I've been here. Most recently, we just went to Petra this past weekend. This, as elated Jordanians never tire of telling me, has just been voted the second wonder of the world, and it deserves it. I'll post some photos when I can (I know, I know, you're sick of hearing it). However, if you google it, you can probably see some taken by professionals. If you want to take my word for it, though, that's fine. The place is awesome. If you get the chance, make it there before you die.

I miss you all.

Hmm. New Mercies Again This Morning.

Whoever's been praying, it's working! Keep it up please.

A lot of things happened today which have boosted my morale rather considerably.

First, class went well. The kids were excited when the plan called for them to be excited and attentive when the plan called for them be attentive, and so on.

Second, our hosts and fellow guests for lunch today were much more fluent in English than I've become used to. It made a huge difference to me to be able to converse, rather than parse everything out word by word or wait for somebody to translate. Picked up some useful A

Third, I got a good, solid 2-hour nap this afternoon. If you've ever been as tired as I currently am, you'll know what a difference this can make.

Fourth, after my nap I didn't have to go to dinner anywhere. Just chilled in the place where the other teachers are staying and prepped for the lesson, sang some songs, ate some food- in a word, relaxed.

Fifth, I found a can of Mountain Dew, and drank it. I must remember to do this more often. It helped.

Insight of the day: Yesterday I was reading in Psalms, where I frequently go when I'm down or distressed in some way. I skimmed several Psalms which begin with bad moods, and I eventually landed on Psalm 27. It starts in a way that was a lot like I felt yesterday: "To you I call, O LORD my Rock; do not turn a deaf ear to me. For if you remain silent, I will be like those who have gone down to the pit. Hear my cry for mercy as I call to you for help, as I lift up my hands toward your Most Holy Place."

It continues in this vein for a couple more verses, but then between the end of verse 5 and the beginning of verse 6, something drastic happens: "Praise be to the LORD, for he has heard my cry for mercy. The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song."

Crucial point: What I don't see here is any indication that all of the psalmist's problems have been solved. Rather, he is so full of faith and trust that the simple act of laying his problems before God is a huge relief, enough to take him in a moment from a "cry for mercy" to "my heart leaps for joy." I aspire to this, and I hope that as you read, you'll take a moment to pray for me that I can trust God like that- so much that once I cast all my cares upon Him, I can let them go and get back to being joyful in the Lord.

Interestingly, as I look back over my previous post, basically everything in it still applies. And yet I'm better now. I can't come up with a natural explanation for this, can you?

Can I Have A Little Cheese With My Whine?

I am stressed. I'm tired but I don't have time to sleep, I'm underprepared but I don't have time to prepare better, I am overstimulated but I don't have time to be alone and clean all the junk out of my soul. The most relaxed I ever get (this is why I am here right now instead of doing the other things I mentioned) is reading an email or message from home. I have to keep it short, though, because I have YET ANOTHER dinner engagement shortly.

Yes, I understand all the reasons that it is necessary to accept people's invitations. That, and I do enjoy the conversation, the food (!!!) and the fact that people are so happy to see me and try out their few words of English on me. I love people, and these people love me, and in any other circumstances I'd be thrilled to meet new people, share their homes and opinions and hopes and dreams. Most important of all, I'm here to bless people, and this is an important part of that. I realize this, so my intent is not to complain about it.

However, none of what I've just said changes the fact that all of this takes energy, or the fact that energy is currently in short supply. Planning, lunch, dinner, actual teaching, weekend trips... I'm not sure how long I can maintain such a pace. "As long as God gives me grace, which is as long as I need it" is, of course, the correct answer. I am working on clinging to this. The thing is, while I intellectually understand how important lunch is to people, instinctively I consider it much less significant. So, my body is shouting at me for not doing a (very normal, back home) "hey, I'm exhausted and I have a lot on my plate for this week, mind if we skip it for today" kind of thing. In my current attenuated state, what would normally be a welcome and even delightful privilege has become a heavy burden.

I'm stretched really thin right now, and all of these responsibilities are getting more intense, rather than less. Please pray hard for me in the next two weeks, that God will show me the correct balance between the kind of sacrificial love that Jesus always showed, and his equally well-developed sense of when to "withdraw to lonely places." And pray above all else that no matter how tired/irritated/depressed/whatever I get, I won't inflict my bad moods on the people I'm supposed to be ministering to (including kids, dinner hosts or hostesses, my colleagues/helpers, or anybody really). There's no excuse for that.

Now I Have Time To Exhale

Well, week 1 of the English School is in the books. Like everything else, it was simultaneously easier and harder than I expected it to be. For one thing, they told me (and I told you) to expect ~40-60 kids, and I ended up with 23. This is nice, although please pray for the other teachers; despite the fact that my numbers are so low, we have nearly reached our target of 150 kids! You math buffs will quickly realize that if I've only got 23 of those, the other classes are huge, which is a tall order for my colleagues.

Fortunately, our local help, generally volunteers drawn from the membership of the Church where the school is being held, has been absolutely superb. They're helping us keep order and discipline and providing a lot of valuable insight about how best to motivate and teach the kids. As usual, the whole (in my class, at least, and the others have said the same) is much greater than the sum of the individual parts. It's almost like wherever 2 or 3 of us gather, Somebody else shows up in the midst of us :).

God has been good, providing me both with lots of ideas for how to teach, and the energy (mine and other people's) to carry the ideas out. The kids are getting the English, and the rest it seems. Some of the seed, I'm sure, is falling on rock, thorns, etc; please pray for a lot of good soil, and for those promised 30, 60, and 100-fold yields.

My fellow teachers are great ladies. The 3 of them are from various widely dispersed (by their standards) areas of Britain. I've spent great times getting to know their stories, as well as their accents. On the latter topic there is much hilarity, lemme tell ya. Who knew that prounouncing "herb" with a silent h was so bizarre? Our Teaching Coordinator is amazingly well qualified for the job, and can get as many ducks in as neat a row as anybody I've met. She's also got a huge heart and a burning passion for people that just rolls off her in waves on to everyone she meets or (especially) everyone she works with. Together, we make a very cohesive and comfortable whole. Many of my fears of loneliness and isolation were unfounded, thanks to the relationship lubricant that is the One who transcends language, culture, and even pronunciation of h's.

I'm still homesick, however. If you're reading this, I've thought of you and missed you personally since I've been here. Guaranteed. Right now, especially, I'm feeling every one of the miles that separate me from everything familiar.

Spent the weekend touring two different Roman ruins (Jerash and Um Qais) and riding buses to and from there. I'm quite ridiculously sunburned, but it was a great relief to just put aside responsibility while I wandered around explaining (well, ok, rambling on and on about) things of interest in a town 2000 years old or more.

Prayer requests: I'm tired, and getting tireder, even though we have a long weekend this week. 20 kids > Silas on the energy-o-meter. Please pray for divine help and strength, and the wisdom to manage my time properly amid an endless list of dinner invitations, lesson preps, group devotions, personal devotions, laundry, shopping, tourism, etc etc etc. Pray especially that I would recognize my limitations and realize when I need to take a break; this has been a struggle. There's so much to do!

Praises: Amazing helpers, wonderful helpful fellow teachers, a great coordinator, and incredible acceptance and hospitality on the part of everybody I've met. I have found hostility toward my nation here, but never once toward me personally, unless you count the fact that everybody I visit seems to want me to die from overeating... you DO NOT refuse second helpings in this town. Praise also that God has really planted his flag firmly in the middle of my heart, and replaced my normal instincts with the correct one: whenever I have a problem, the first thing I do is cry to him for help. It's easy to trust here; after all, what other choice do I have?

Grace and peace. I've enabled comments on this post (just figured out how, actually) so if you want to comment, that would be awesome.

The calm before the storm

So, the last few days have been packed completely full of fun things. The other English teachers are all here, and we've been gallivanting around Amman, checking things out. I've taken over 100 photos but STILL CANNOT GET THEM TO POST! I have learned a new word to use in situations like this: Haram! Literal translation is something like "Shame" or "disgrace" but it's generally used as an epithet against anything that annoys you. And this does. Massively. Rawr.

But, that aside, I've had tons of fun. Things I've seen included another trip to the Balad, a trip to Mecca Mall, which was like a little slice of M0A transplanted into Amman, and a drive up to the top of one of Amman's other hills to "the citadel," an ancient Roman/Umayyad site with a museum and a really stunning view of the city. Sure wish I could post some of my pictures. Grar.

Ironically, I've eaten quite a bit of American food (Pizza Hut, Popeye's, Burger King, and so on) over the past few days. Reti, who's recommending most of these places, says it's because we'll be eating lunch at a different person's home each day throughout the English program, and that will be mostly Arabic food. Whatever, I wasn't complaining.

Anyway, the title of this post is because tomorrow it all goes down. English classes start at 9, meaning that registration starts at 8:30, meaning that I have to haul my carcass out of bed and up the (steep!) hill to the church at 8 in the morning. Shouldn't be much of a problem though, I doubt I'll be sleeping well. I'm quite nervous. Well prepared, well supplied with materials, watched over by the ruler of the universe and endowed by him with some very relevant gifts, but still nervous. Funny the tricks responsibility can play on your mind and faith.

Please, if you talk to said ruler, mention me. I'll probably have ~40-60 kids in my class, and I want to make sure each one of them learns, grows, and has fun. A tall order, and not one I can remotely handle on my own.

Much love to all, I miss you!

Day 2

First, I should let you all know that I've spent 2 utterly frustrating hours today trying to post photos from this computer at the internet cafe, but it just doesn't seem to be working. I'll continue to struggle with the problem and hopefully get it going eventually. Before you ask, I did try emailing a few as well, and it doesn't seem to have worked. Hopefully I'll get it sorted out sooner or later.

Meandered around town today with Steven, my neighbor across the street. I'm now generally familiar with the top of the Great Big Hill(tm) upon which I live, and slightly less familiar with the valley between this Great Big Hill(tm) and the next one over. This valley contains Amman's "downtown," the Balad, which resembles a large, dingy, teeming outdoor mall several blocks wide and maybe a KM long(not the way I'd have thought of downtown, but that's what the locals insist upon calling it). Anyway, anything I can't buy in little shops near where I live (and that's quite a bit, actually) I can buy down there. Today, that included a cell phone and an adaptor so i can plug my laptop in to the very different wall sockets here. So, I'm back to being more or less wired, which is nice. Lemme tell ya, though, a walking tour of a city built on Great Big Hills (tm) is no joke for a pudgy fella like myself; my legs were, by the end of the day, definitely ready for a break.

Had a pleasant meal with Steven, who is 35 with a wife and 3 kids. Apparently what I ate was the Jordanian national dish. It's called mensaf, and basically it's a pile of rice with a hunk of meat on top (in this case lamb, but chicken or beef are also fine) over which you then dribble a layer of a tart sort of yogurt sauce. I passed on the sauce, but the rest of it was pretty good. Lamb is nice, it's too bad we don't eat much of it in the states.

I continue to struggle with jet lag (it's currently not quite 3 AM and here I am blogging). Hopefully that will straighten itself out before too long. Church is tomorrow at 10, and then after lunch I'll be meeting with my future roommate.

Amusing sight of the day: We passed a teenage boy whose t-shirt proclaimed in what might have been iron-on letters "MY BODY IS A GUN!" Not quite sure what he meant by that.

Amusin sight of yesterday that I forgot to post: I ate at a Chinese restaurant yesterday called the Shang Hai, in one of Amman's wealthier districts, which is imaginatively called "West Amman." The waiters there wore nametags without names, but with 3-digit numbers instead. One of them, inevitably, was waiter 007. I was sorely tempted to ask for a picture with him, but decided I didn't know the etiquette well enough. Dinner was good, by the way, about what I'd have expected from a similar Chinese place back home.

Silas Of Arabia

So, let me describe what I'm doing right now. I'm sitting by a computer in an internet cafe on Ashrafieya hill in Amman. Amman is, so I've been told, built on seven hills. Ashrafieya is the tallest of these and the population who lives there is the poorest (so I fit right in.) I'm eating what's called a Falafel sandwich and drinking a coke. I am describing this because I expect to spend a lot of time here blogging for all of y'all (that was for you Braydon) and eating the same thing. I don't actually like the sandwich too much, but it costs the equivalent of a quarter and I don't hate it either; beggar's can't be choosers, after all. I'll likely be online a lot: internet costs .5 JD (or around $.70) per hour. Pretty reasonable.

The flight was the way transatlantic flights usually are, but no worse. The horrible movies did nothing to distract me from the large number of wailing or squealing children, so once my Ipod ran out of batteries I wasn't really able to sleep. I read a lot in my biography of Stalin, though, which I recommend to anybody who has 1) a bunch of time, cuz it's long, 2) an interest in one of history's most neurotic megalomaniac murderers, and 3) a strong stomach. I've read slasher novels that didn't creep me out so much. However, it did help to pass the time. Anoher thing that helped was some really heartwarming notes that were sent along by some great friends. Yes, guys, I caved and read them all (not the birthday one, though), but don't worry, I'll be reading and rereading them over and over as the days go by. Just think of me as Reuben from Ocean's 13, with yourselves in the role of Basher.

My living arrangements are the basement apartment of a home owned by a lady named Regina (pronounced with a "guh" not a "juh" because she's German). It has a seperate entrance, and a bathroom that a Roman legionary might recognize. The toilet is functionally a hole in the floor with a little rough patch on either side so your feet don't slip as you squat. You have to flip a switch on the wall outside the room to activate the water heater an hour in advance before you go to shower. This isn't really a big deal though, since I'll be taking a lot of cold showers; it's crazy hot around here.

I've got a bunch of neighbors that I'll probably be spending a lot of time with, given the fact that I know about 3 words of Arabic and will eventually have to buy something or I'll die. Across the street there's a family from Herefordshire (sp?) England, with 3 almost sinfully adorable little kids. Nearby live Reti and Annandien, 2 ladies from New Zealand will be involved in teaching English with me for the next few weeks. I was picked up from the airport by an Australian gent named Rick Weymouth, who kindly gave me a small walking tour of my immediate area. That's how I found falafel sandwiches, and also a bakery where I can get fresh, warm flat bread at almost all hours of the day. With those two, plus a little rotisserie where I can get a whole chicken at a moment's notice, and a little shop owned by Abu Farrah, a Jordanian who speaks passable English, I'm guessing that will be a lot of my diet for a while. Wicked cheap, and no trans fat; who could ask for anything more?.

I've had a couple of rough moments today, firstly in the airport in Detroit. I was wandering around looking for some food and I walked past a flight back to Minneapolis. I had a nasty spasm of temptation to just rush to the ticket counter and put a ticket home on plastic. That one passed quickly, but once I got here and it really started to sink in that I have taken [reverb] THE BIG STEP [reverb] I actually shook a little. Might have just been fatigue... maybe not. At least, I took a nap and felt better.

I'll post some pictures when I get the chance and the technology permits. Grace and Peace to everyone.

Lyrics of the day:
Leavin' on a Jet Plane
Don't know when I'll be back again...

Apparently I'm Versatile

So, I've got my list of what I'll be teaching at Whitman, and it is quite varied. It looks like this:

7th grade geography

8th grade language arts ( American history based literature)

9th grade English

10th grade English

and Spanish 1&2

Each teacher is also going to take a 2hr/week Bible class discipleship group.

I know it is a heavy load! We need to really be in prayer that another Language Arts teacher, computer teacher and P. E. teacher will come in!

So, that's a concern. Please be praying for another teacher, or if not that, please be praying for poor overworked me starting in August.

I believe I can fly...

I bought my plane ticket yesterday! I officially leave for jordan on the 21st of June at 6 in the morning. I did pretty well on the price, paying a little over $1000 for a one-way flight.

I've been in contact with some of the people (so far, all British ladies of indeterminate age) who will be joining me on the MEET trip that will be the first thing I do once I arrive in Jordan. More details about that later, for now I just want to revel in the fact that I'm finally, officially, irrevocably going!

Introductory Post

Hello Everyone!

This will be the blog I will be using while on my trip to Jordan. I don't know at this time what my internet situation will be, so I'm not going to go on the record saying I'll update once a week/month or anything like that. However, I'll try to make sure that this is a way to keep fairly good track of what God is doing through me and in me during my travels.

I'll post more later as things continue to develop.