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.