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?
Monday, December 17, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
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.
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.
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