Wanderings

Becoming a believer

2007-08-22T16:20:00.000-04:00

It's true- this summer I became a believer.

I guess it all began about 2 months ago when I applied to a temp agency for summer employment. After being subjected to a series of tests which test one's ability to type, spell, add, multiply, match numbers, navigate spreadsheets and fasten a screw into a piece of wood, they promptly placed me at a technology co-sourcing company where I became a "quality assurance associate." It sounds all professional but really it's just the p.c. way to say "someone who sits at a computer all day long and tries not to zone out or get a backache while they are clicking the computer mouse a lot and looking for other people's mistakes." To be a bit more precise, my job was actually to sort through thousands of scans of government documents and make sure there were no bent, fuzzy, upside-down, blank or damaged pages. Or as my supervisor liked to say, "our job in QA is to move images."

Besides not being all that intellectually-stimulating, the job began at 5 a.m. in the morning and was organized into 4- 10-hour shifts a week. So four mornings a week I was dragging myself out of bed at 4 a.m. to get ready, eat breakfast and drive 30 minutes to work. The early mornings were brutal sometimes (especially since I have traveled 6 out of the last 7 weekends and like to spend time in the evenings with the handsome fiance as well as other friends/family; plus somewhere in there we are supposed to be planning a wedding).

Okay, so the stage is set; I walk into work at the dot of 5, clock in, sit down at my computer and start to move images. About 16 minutes into the morning I start to feel tired, 2 minutes later my eyelids begin to feel extremely heavy and a few minutes after that my brain gets a bit fuzzy, though not too fuzzy to realize that I am approximately 3% done with my work day and already I have switched into zombie mode. I tried all the tricks- tapping my knee on the floor, chatting with my co-workers, listening to loud music, munching on carrots (my boss quickly put a stop to that as food is not allowed near the documents due to danger of soiling them; he stood firm even when I mentioned that carrots contain vitamin A which helps your eyesight and hence would help me do my job better). One morning I even let myself close my eyes for 3 seconds every time I came to a blank page, which quickly became an exercise in willpower, namely having enough to open my eyes again at the end of the 3 seconds.

The best solution I found was to stay mentally tough. I would break the day into 5 parts, 2 hour increments each. So 18 minutes in I can do the mental math and tell myself I am actually 15% of the way done with my first increment which makes it easier to not despair. And then, the most beautiful part- during my 10-minute break at 7 a.m., I put my head down on my cubicle, set the alarm on my cell phone and slept. I think in the business world they call this power napping. Research says it's supposed to increase productivity and relieve stress, but for me it became part of basic survival. I woke up after my 10-minute power nap able to put in another two hours and if I needed it, I could catch a few more winks at my 9 a.m. break.

I realized this summer that for most of my life I've been spoiled. I have had many jobs that I enjoy and all have started after 7:30 a.m. This summer changed my perspective on the world; I become a believer- a believer in attempting to be grateful for what is and a huge believer in power napping!

Planning weddings with Cinderella

2007-06-19T11:38:00.001-04:00

It's been more than two weeks since I got engaged. John took me to a cozy park by the river, the site of our first date. He had schemed to have a romantic picnic set-up for us with roses, candles, cheesecake and sparkling grape juice. He soon got down on one knee and asked me to marry him and I eagerly said, "YES!" We reminisced about how "we"happened, prayed together and spilled the grape juice all over the tablecloth and ourselves.

Since then wedding plans have been in full swing. Some parts of it have been easy; some parts have been very difficult. I have enjoyed finding creative ways to personalize the wedding so that it reflects who we each are. For example, we are having an international dessert bar with desserts from all the places that John and I have traveled. (We also have some other non-traditional ideas but I can't give away all the secrets yet). The most stressful part of the process has been finding ways to include and honor all the people that we love and who have shaped who we are today.

From time to time during wedding planning I have to admit that I find myself slipping into the Cinderella mindset. I think that actually our culture does a good job of selling this kind of wedding. You hear it sometimes when you are trying to make decisions about how much to spend on certain wedding items; then someone encourages you," just go all out- you only do this once!" Or when you are perusing the web, you see these ceremonies that could be part of a fairy tale world with an endless sea of flowers and chiffon and soft candlelight ambiance. I start to think that I have to have all the glitter and sequins, the sparkle and glitz, an extravagant beauty, the princess complex or as David's Bridal slogan says, "the wedding of my dreams." In this Cinderella mindset, it ends up being about the beautiful satin gown, the carriage pulled with white horses, the shimmering headband and the glass slippers; you end up not remembering much about the prince or their life together after they found each other.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm into beauty and glitter isn't bad, but really when it comes down to it, weddings are symbolic, single-day events where two people commit themselves to each other. They are a time to celebrate with family and friends the endings and new beginnings. So my goal is to concentrate on planning a celebration that focuses on relationships while preserving a simple, reflective beauty. I hope that I can remember that while I am excited about wedding planning and having the people we love together, mostly I'm excited about figuring out how my life with John is going to look. I want to stress out about how we can best complement each other's strengths and weaknesses instead of which photographer we should choose. I want to spend my best energies figuring out how to communicate effectively and serve others together, not which bridesmaid dresses my attendants will wear. I want to freak out about discovering what it means to love him the Christ-like way, not about how to decorate our outdoor auditorium.

So ta-ta for now, I'm off to a day of making decisions CALMLY as a non-frazzled bride-to-be should...

...until the next time I lose perspective and slip into my glass slippers or put on my Cinderella tiara.

I may have R.R.S.!

2007-05-17T16:19:00.000-04:00

The other day I was talking to someone who was saying how people like to stick with the relationships that they've worked hard to establish; they like to stay in places where they are known. I realized that while that sounded true to me, it certainly has not been the story of my life.

I think it's because I've caught a bad case of R.R.S. (regular re-structuring syndrome). Symptoms include constant change of address, switches jobs often, sifting and sorting through belongings frequently, feeling the lure of new relationships/community, being anxious about the inevitable lonely spaces, lots of phone calls to faraway places to keep in touch with the meaningful relationships from past "homes", periods of stability and rootedness with sudden relapses.... In short, you move a lot.

So yep, you guessed it, I've had a relapse. I'm moving next month- to Columbus, Ohio where the handsome suitor lives. I'm going to rent a room from our mutual friends (the matchmakers who got us together) and go job hunting. I do wonder if the handsome suitor will serve as a cure for my chronic R.R.S. Or what if it's contagious and I give it to him?

Just showing off the handsome suitor...

2007-03-01T17:06:00.000-05:00

Car Drama

2007-01-27T14:42:00.000-05:00

I've always thought that it would be a good idea for me to take an auto mechanics class. These last couple of weeks I have been even more aware of my lack of car knowledge. It all began a couple of weeks again when I was on my way home from seeing the handsome suitor in Ohio. I came over a hillcrest in the dark and my headlights shone on a deer. I missed the first one but the second one landed with a BAM! on top of my hood and then crashed back in front of me on my windshield. The windshield broke into a million pieces but thankfully did not shatter. I was also grateful that I was within 30 minutes of home so my parents came to pick me up as I watched "Ashley" (my plum Saturn) being towed away, never to be driven again.

Since then I have been driving my brother Eric's car since he is a freshman in college and not allowed to have a vehicle on campus. His car was an ideal plan B while I leisurely shop for a good deal on a reliable, 5-speed, low-milage Honda/Toyota that I could cash off (oh! and dark blue or green are my favorite car colors). It was all going according to plan until last night when I went to meet some friends for dinner in South Bend. On the way home I drove over a nail and got a flat tire. I was close to a well-lit gas station and as divine intervention would have it, a woman filling up with gas offered to have her husband change my tire for me. These good Samaritans went above and beyond the call of duty- shivering in the bitter cold with me for close to an hour, making chit-chat, shining their headlights on the project when well-lit station closed down, offering well-meant safety precautions about driving on spare tires.... I drove the long way home at a snail's pace but hey, all's well that ends well.

Lest you think that is the end of the story, this morning I was going to the tire repair shop and I got a fourth mile down the road when there was again a jarring vibration. Yep, the spare tire was flat, "leaking at the seams" for some unknown reason. Finally my dad took the spare tire off; I take another vehicle (with the spare tire and the original tire in the trunk) to the repair shop only to find- alas, the repair shop closed at noon! With no fight left, I drove across the road to Wal-mart and waited two hours for some simple tire repairs/replacements.

The moral of this story: Sometimes life just doesn't work out quite like you planned. (Plus all you-all should appreciate your cars that are running well and getting you from place A to place B).

If you spent a day in first grade...

2007-01-18T20:27:00.000-05:00

This week the lifeskill we are focusing on is sense of humor. My students are implementing this lifeskill very well as they have made me smile several times this week. Here are a couple of the lastest:

- On Monday I asked my students if anyone knew who Martin Luther King was. One student replied, "Oh! I know him. He was a president." Another student chimed in, "Yeah, he was our first black president." Still another, "Right, he got shot when he was watching a play in the movie theatre."
- During journals, one of my most easily-distressed students kept lamenting, "I'm just all out of ideals. I'm just all out of ideals."
- After a rather loud, chaotic re-entry to the classroom after recess, one student muses in very serious tones, "Miss Miller, what do you think happened to that quiet class from yesterday?"
-I hadn't had much time to buy groceries so one day I was eating instant oatmeal while sharing lunch with my students, one boy commented, "I think Miss Miller is pretending to be Goldilocks."
-One student tattling on another, "Miss Miller, Bob (name changed to protect identities) said that he loves school more than Jesus or God."

Getting rid of housemates

2007-01-01T13:16:00.000-05:00

I guess this story all began one evening when I boasted to a friend that I used to be afraid of mice but now I not nearly as wimpy. I think my exact words were, "I'm getting much braver."

The very next evening my sister Emily and her husband Shawn came to my apartment for dinner. We are sitting at my kitchen table eating black bean salad and solving the world's problems when Shawn stops in mid-sentenct to point at my toaster. He whispers, "Look over there," as a mouse runs from behind my microwave all the way across my windowsill and darts into the top of my stove. Yep, you guessed it, the recently-claimed "brave" spirit vanishes and I begin to scream. Shawn quickly rises to the challenge and starts dis-assembling the stove. Each time we hear scurrying noises or see glimpses of brown fur dashing to a new hiding spot, there are more high-pitched squeals and freaked-out, knee-kicking dances around the kitchen.

Shawn finally gets into a face-off when he opens the bottom drawer to find not one mouse, but two squinting at him with their beady eyes. Now try to imagine- Shawn is halfway hidden underneath the disassembled stove with an oven mitt in one hand, a pair of tongs in the other staring at two mice, one in each of the back corners. Emily and I are his "back-ups", standing safely removed on kitchen chairs, one wildly waving a spatula in hand, the other with a broom. Shawn corners one of the mice as it makes its mad dash behind the wastebasket and catches it with the tongs. The other runs across my feet on its way to the storage closet while I do some more "high knee kicks". In the end, we set two traps, tried to put my kitchen back in order and called it a night.

I think the moral of this story is: Always have an extra pair of tongs and a courageous brother-in-law around to get rid of unwanted housemates. Oh, and leave a bit of "growth room" when you talk about your conquered fears.

P.S. When I came home after my family Christmas, both traps were full.

P.P. S. I emptied the traps myself. Perhaps I should get some of my brave points back.

I might be an addict

2006-12-14T15:48:00.000-05:00

I love chapstick! I carry a tube around in my pocket nearly all the time. When I go to bed at night, I make sure I have one on my nightstand so when I wake up I can put some on in the middle of the night without getting up. (Once several years ago I was sleeping on the top bunk of a bunkbed and during the night I tried to reach down to get my chapstick without getting out of bed; I ended up with a cracked rib- true story!) I have one or two stored in between my seats in my car and another one sitting on my desk at work.

So today we are sitting at dress rehearsal for the Christmas program and I realize that I do not have a tube of chapstick in my pocket like usual. I start thinking about how chapped my lips are, how the bottom in the middle feels cracked, then the top on the side started to burn, I start looking at the clock every minute or two. I think I might have missed much of the last segment of the program because I was consumed with thinking about how soon I would be able to get my next "fix." It was at that moment that it dawned on me- it's time to admit, "I'm Angie Miller and I am a chapstick addict."

Perfectionism

2006-12-11T16:20:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a fair amount lately about how being a perfectionist affects one. Like most personality traits, it is both a strength and a weakness. Incidentally whenever I am in a job interview and am asked about my "weaknesses", I always pull out the perfectionist card. I mean what employer is going to be turned off by a person who goes above and beyond the call of duty on a regular basis, works long hours and doesn't settle for "good enough"?

Mostly though I've been realizing that my perfectionism can be a deterent at times. I am again processing future plans, and I don't want to pick a good option for my next home/job/community; I want it to be the best option. This desire functions much like a brick wall in the moving-forward process- I mean with all the unknowns involved in major transitions, there is simply no way to quantify and measure the choices. Up to now I have spent a lot of time brainstorming ways to keep the brick wall intact and still move on- maybe some mystical writing on the wall revealing a secret tunnel or even just a trusted friend's sturdy ladder.

But perhaps it's more like that story you heard when you were a little kid, Going on a Bear Hunt. You remember the family is hunting bears and encounters all these obstacles- swamps, tall grass, mud, a dark woods.... In each case, they decide that they "can't go under it, can't go over it, can't go around it, got to go through it." Perhaps my unwavering quest for the best has to be de-constructed to some degree so I can actually "go through it" and move on. Perhaps it's time to get out the wrecking ball of trust, the pick-axe of humility and the hardhat of hope.

All in a day's work

2006-10-15T13:33:00.000-04:00

I still enjoy my classroom- even though it keeps growing in number and challenges. Here are some of the more interesting comments I have heard this week from my young scholars:

"Miss Miller, I decided not to be an astronaut because sometimes the gases come together in space and explode."
"See, I was right about the directions. From now on, I can be the boss of us both." (one student to another)
"Miss Miller, you aren't married. You could marry my uncle. He used to have a girlfriend but then she broke up with him when he started kissing her sister. I bet he wouldn't cheat on you though because you are prettier than her."
"I can't do my homework. We don't have any pencils at my house."
"When you said we could bring in Christmas gifts for the poor kids, I just wanted to tell you that I can't give away my turbo truck."
"Sorry teacher, sorry I didn't raise my hand before" (blurted out during yet another interruption)
"I wasn't chewing gum. I was chewing my cough drop."
"Where's North Korea? (asked while looking at a map of the United States) I heard they are making some big rockets to shoot at us."Then after locating North Korea on the globe, "Oh we're safe, those rockets can't shoot that far."
"My mom said that black people have to use the dirty restrooms."
"Miss Miller, when you said, 'Hmmm, maybe" is that a grown-up way to say, 'No way'."

The long way home

2006-09-26T19:24:00.000-04:00

The title reminds me of a Laura Ingalls Wilder story- which is just like this post except without the big woods, the barn, the maple syrup in the snow and no Pa fiddling by the fire. It all began when I went to California for a friend's wedding last weekend. The wedding was elegant and personal, two very important attributes in my evaluation of these events. I got to connect with lots of old friends that fed my soul like a piece of homemade french toast with maple syrup on a wintery morning.

Then I traveled home from the event, beginning Sunday morning at 8 a.m. I flew from Sacramento and then had a long layover in Denver before flying to Chicago. In Chicago, I caught a bus to come back to Mishawaka. With the time changes and waiting, I arrived at the bus station where I had parked my car at 2 a.m. on Monday morning. Keep in mind that I have been sleeping in the bus for several hours already so when I get in my car, I feel a bit groggy and cannot remember exactly where in Mishawaka I am. I head in what I think is the general direction of the toll road, but after several minutes and several turns, nothing looks familiar. I am on these narrow, deserted, residential back streets at 2:30 a.m. I don't see any gas stations that are open and even if they were I don't like the idea of asking for directions in the middle of the night. I don't want to call family and wake them up to ask for directions (besides the fact that this is a non-option since my cell phone is nearly dead). In the midst of my pre-dawn meanderings, I suddenly see the bright eyes of a small animal on the side of the road which I swerve to miss, but the small animal runs towards the center of the road and squish, thud, squash, kerplunk! (the sounds of a dead opposum underneath my car).

I keep driving until I recognize my old stomping grounds from college, which quickly re-orient me to the route home. However, barely do I get to enjoy the sense of relief one feels from getting un-lost, when I hear a strange noise from the front of my car, like a knocking or a whirring. I decide to ignore it but as I get on a four-lane road and increase speed, it gets more obnoxious and harder to dismiss. At some point, I wonder if my tires are okay but when I first stop along the side of the road, it's pitch black. I cannot even see well enough to surmise what the problem may be. So I drive slowly many miles to the next gas station (earlier noted as "dangerous" in the middle of the night but now seen as the lesser of two evils). I get under the car and see one side of some piece of my car dragging the ground in front.

At this point, I am angry that I have always been too lazy and sexist to learn anything about car maintenance besides how to check my oil, clean the windshield and put in gas. So when I look at the "hangy thing", I have no idea if it is needed for my car to function or if it is perhaps merely "cosmetic". So I use my precious seconds of remaining cell phone time to wake my dad up in the middle of the night for some advice (earlier noted as rude, humiliating and unnecessary- now seen as part of crisis management). We get cut off several sentences into our conversation, shortly after he groggily asserts, "It's hard telling what it is." With some choice words running through my mind (mainly about my own poor choices), I go into the gas station and politely ask the clerk if I could charge my cell phone and if there is any rope, twine or string which I could use to tie the "hangy thing" under my car up. He finds me an outlet and a bungy cord which I purchase and use to tie up said "hangy thing". I call my parents back to say that I am still alive (since they are now worried, awake and wondering if I have been attacked by bandits or nocturnal wolves). I then drive the remainder of the way home, fall into bed and sleep a couple of hours before getting up for work at 6 a.m.

The moral of this story: Life in the big woods with fiddles and fires seems enticing during moments of mechanical mishap (Or perhaps, don't think you're wonder woman and plan your travels to include solo night driving, even if it means a cheaper airline ticket).

Gluttony?

2006-09-12T17:04:00.000-04:00

It's been a while since I posted and I've been busy- mostly hanging out with twenty-two seven-year-olds by day and connecting with friends by night. In fact, I believe that tonight will be the first evening in the last ten that I plan to stay at home. One friend last week labeled my schedule as indicative of a "voracious appetite for people." Then Sunday in church the sermon was about gluttony which was defined as an excess of something that gives you pleasure (a paraphrase). So I began to wonder, "Can one become consumed with people to the point of gluttony/excess?"

For the most part, I tend not to answer complex questions like that with a simple yes or no. Instead the answers seem jumbled up like a tangled ball of yarn. One of the threads of truth in this untidy mess argues that I was created for community, given a perfectly-natural desire to be in relationship with both God and others. Another thread argues that I am simply being proactive about initiating with others in order to avoid isolation in my basement apartment out in the countryside. Yet there is another part that knows there is real value in solitude, quiet and silence. That part of me wonders if I am just running away from the empty space, afraid of what I may find if I have time to sit and reflect.

This tangled ball analogy reminds me of a professor that I had in seminary who was talking about Proverbs and the way that sometimes there seems to be truth at both ends of a spectrum. (Like sometimes Proverbs talks about it being a good idea to save money and then other times it seems like the author is saying don't save because it can be dangerous). He said simply that sometimes they're both true; in the example above, saving can be both good and dangerous. And somehow I can almost hear his charming British accent in my ear, responding to my present jumble of thoughts, "The answer is yes. Connecting with people can be both good and dangerous."

Sick

2006-09-05T16:26:00.000-04:00

Fortunately it's not me who is sick- unless you count the little sore throat and sniffles that I have had for nearly ten days.

It's my computer- it has a virus. Anyway, it's hard to keep up a blog from the computers at the public library. So stop sitting on the edge of your seat eagerly awaiting my next post, it could be a bit.

Perks of a small town

2006-08-24T18:59:00.000-04:00

So I know that my profile talks about my infatuation with the big city, but at least for the next year, I'm going to have to put that little crush on the back burner and learn to live with "what is."

So in that spirit, there really are some good things about small towns, like:

You apparently don't need a single piece of identification in order to obtain a library card to the town library, just a head nod in response to the question, "Do you live around here?"
There are no lines at the BMV- yep, I didn't even sit down in the waiting area before they called my number.
Cheap rent!
Lots of tree-lined country roads to jog on without the bother of traffic
Small, unkept cemetaries to "discover" on walks/runs (I find cemetaries to be strangely peaceful)
You end up supporting local businesses (a value that is sometimes compromised when Mennonite frugalness is tempted by the bargain prices offered by corporate America)
Amish neighbors bring you "extra" green beans and tomatoes from their garden
No need to learn road names; you can give directions without them- just use phrases like "the stoplight in town" or "across from the bank"
You can teach at a public school and not need your behavior plan for the first four days of the school year
No parking tickets, overnight parking permits or traffic jams (unless you count the Tuesday flea market crowd in which case you just have to take the back roads to avoid the large groups of women with puffy paint on their shirts looking for more knick-knacks to clutter up their homes)

I'm sure there are more, but I'll stop for now.

The drama is over- for now.

2006-08-19T11:38:00.000-04:00

So I survived my first week of school. None of my students cried and so far nobody has decided to hate reading for the rest of their life (though there is still plenty of time left for this to happen and usually one doesn't figure these sorts of reactions out until you are sitting in your therapist's office twenty years later). That said, I think I have one of those "cushy" teaching positions- you know the ones with mostly middle class kids, minimal behavior issues, supportive colleagues, involved parents and a nurturing administrator. Should I feel guilty or just grateful?

Crash and burn

2006-08-15T20:58:00.000-04:00

I arrived home six days ago and my adrenaline served to help me coast through the first five days at home. Today I crashed and burned; in fact the image that comes to mind is of an airplane flying along and suddenly both motors cut out. I think it all began when I allowed myself to mentally play the destructive version of the "what if" game. This version starts out with very small, practical what ifs like "What if tomorrow when my students come for the first time I forget to take the lunch count? What if I send them home on the wrong bus?" Then you progress to "What if tomorrow when my students come they all start to cry at the same moment? What if I do something that makes them hate reading for the rest of their lives?" It just builds from there and pretty soon you are envisioning your students learning nothing the entire year, running up and down the halls, blaspheming my name around the dinner table at home and mouthing off to the other teachers. I even started to dream about applying for a job at Wanna Cup (the local diner) because less responsibility, lower expectations and brainless work sounded easy and tempting.

During my five mile walk around the lake and through the woods, I regained a bit of perspective. It could always go the other way, "What if my students end up liking me?" or "What if I build report with the other staff members and parents?" Besides, the corporation offered me a great benefit package today with some kickin' health insurance; I'm pretty sure Wanna Cup could not compete!

3 cheers for Turkey!

2006-08-08T02:39:00.000-04:00

I rarely visit a place that I do not enjoy. Turkey has turned out to be no exception to the rule. Here are just a few reasons to love Turkey:

You can eat baklava for breakfast.
The Hagia Sophia really is magnificent.
History can mean 2,000 years old.
You can live in Asia and go to church in Europe.
A commute means taking a ferry boat across the Bospherous.
Shakespeare plays are performed outdoors in castle ruins.

Oh, I could continue but time is up! (Next post from the good ol US of A- where I know where the apostrophe is on the keyboard and the dotted i is in the usual spot).

Airplanes and candles

2006-08-04T04:42:00.000-04:00

The last week has been low-key- some time on the beach (though not much sun unfortunately), several long walks with the sand beneath my toes, lots of tasty fish and tropical fruit, a few good novels, some writing and of course some reflection on the end of a chapter.

My time in Cameroon has been rich, intense, uncomfortable and stimulating. Throughout the last months, I have felt as one who has only seen a drawing of an object such as an airplane. The two-dimensional drawing brings out certain aspects of the object, but when one actually encounters the airplane, it becomes obvious that there were many aspects of the object that were not captured on paper. The two-dimensional drawing missed the roar of the airplane engine, the smell of the exhaust fumes, the popping of one’s ears, the salty taste of peanuts and the fizz of ginger ale; all of these are understood only after one sees an airplane and experiences travel in one. In the same way, I feel as if my experiences in Cameroon have opened my eyes to many aspects of Cameroon/Africa, mission and literacy about which I had never thought when I was researching from the pages of a book. Suddenly, the ideas are not abstract anymore- they are complex, alive, associated with real faces, coupled with vivid smells, linked with unfamiliar tastes and hard to stuff back into the small box from whence they came.

I would also compare my experiences in Cameroon to a candle which illuminates one's reflection in the mirror during a power outage (a phenomenon which happens regularly in Cameroon). I think as I learn things about the world around me, I always end up learning things about myself. Some of the things are flattering or at least affirming; my supervisor's evaluation states that I "connect easily with others" and "take initiative" (my siblings refer to this attribute as bossy). Some of the lessons are rather painful- this summer I have learned a lot about how selfish I am, how impatient and as one admirer told me frankly downright "stubborn". Some of the insights are just informative; I think that in the next phase of life, I will choose to work with children in the classroom instead of adults. I also think I'll probably move to an urban center instead of a remote village.

On my last day in Cameroon, I feel extremely grateful- for new friendships, for kindness, for hospitality, for good health, for the beauty, for the priveleges, for the prospect of continuing to process my summer with many of you over coffee.

It's all a matter of perspective!

2006-07-28T11:32:00.000-04:00

Currently I am staying at this guest house in Yaounde. I stayed here my first several days in the country as well and then I remember thinking, “This is simple but adequate and clean.” Now seven weeks and many nights spent in small villages later, I marvel at the spaciousness, the immaculate floor, the concrete entrance, the nightstand and the hangers in the closet. I wish I could bottle this appreciation for the small things and take some out to sip on at home when I start to forget and become ungrateful- or maybe I could even hand it out as souvenirs!

The home stretch

2006-07-27T05:03:00.000-04:00

I feel as if things are winding down. The last weeks have been full, but I finished up some major projects on my mental “to-do” list (a completely Western idea, by the way):

-Finished reading 1,500 pages of “academic literature” about Cameroon and literacy.
-Wrote an annotated bibliography on abovementioned pages.
-“I don finish dem Pidgin English lessons.”
-Finished up my hours of ethnographic research by learning to cook a couple of traditional Cameroonian dishes (stay tuned for personal invitations to experience these vicariously at my new apartment in Shipshewana, Indiana) and visiting a fon’s palace (A fon is an official whose jurisdiction encompasses many of the traditional practices in a village. This particular fon has 8 wives and 40 children who are referred to as queens and princes/princesses respectively).
-Traveled to two different literacy classes in the village.
-Hiked to a waterfall in the village (okay, so this wasn’t formally on the to-do list but it was beautiful)
-Scared the bejeebers out of a couple of dozen village people by waking them up with screams in the middle of the night (Also not on the to-do list- it turns out that the medication that I am taking to prevent malaria causes “mental disturbances”; so last week I woke myself up from a dream where I was screaming for help and realized that I was really screaming at the top of my lungs. Ugh! The good news is I have been sleeping much better since this incident.)
-Shopped for gifts for family and friends (if you have specific requests, speak now!)
-Spent my last evening in Bamenda with my Cameroonian family during which they prepared a special meal of fish, plantains, vegetable, sodas and sweets. The “festivities” lasted throughout the night for me as the fish bones and head that I crunched did not sit well with my stomach.
-Traveled back to the capital city (complicated by abovementioned stomach issues)

Next week’s to-do list:
-Finish final paper
-Enjoy the beach! (I got to know this delightful British woman who is traveling with me. We leave on Saturday for several days of sunshine before I fly out.)

All is well

2006-07-25T08:24:00.000-04:00

Stay tuned for an update in a couple of days from the capital where connections are more "user-friendly."

Campfire riddles

2006-07-17T07:36:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I moved in with a Cameroonian family in the city- I have actually only lived with them a couple of days since I have been traveling every week to different villages. The day after I moved in to their home, their father/grandfather died so lots of people came to visit for nearly two weeks of cooking/sewing/hosting/night vigils/funeral/celebration/headshaving/dancing/drums (all of which I experienced during the weekend that I was in town). Anyway, one night I am setting up a mattress on the floor so that someone else can have my bed and an aunt begins to protest that I should take the bed. At some point in the discussion she says, “But you are not used to sleeping on the floor.” So I tell her, “Oh yes, during holidays my family goes camping and we sleep on the ground for fun. Tonight I will pretend that I am camping.” Whether she was convinced or not, she chuckled and allowed me to sleep on the floor.

Last week I again pretended I was camping. I went to a more remote village in the northwest called Bamukumbit. Two single missionaries live there without running water, electricity or a toilet. The people cook all of their food over the open fire so in the evenings we would go and sit around a neighbor’s campfire and munch on grilled corn, plums, achoo or koki beans. One evening we started telling riddles to each other. In Bamukumbit each riddle begins in the same way:

Person 1 says, “I have a story.”

Person 2 responds, “The pig is hungry” (This is a literal translation but the idea is that you are eager to hear the story).

I will share some good ol’ Cameroonian riddles: (I have put the answers below so you can have a chance to guess):

1: I am walking down the road with three legs. I come into the house with two legs. What happened?

2: What is silent when alive but speaks when it is dead?

3: You are noisy on the way and silent coming back. Where have you gone?

4: What runs and runs and never stands still?

5: This is a bridge that you can’t see but others can. What is it?

6: Your mom tells you to collect an orange but it is floating in the middle of a deep river. You are unable to swim. What do you do?

Answers:

1: I left my walking stick at the door.

2: a leaf

3: You have gone to harvest palm oil in a calabash container. A calabash container reminds me of a hollow squash with a hole in the top used to pour the oil. When empty the calabash rattles and is used as a percussion instrument.

4: a river

5: your nose

6: Throw something at the monkey sitting in the tree above the river. He will want to mimic you so he will reach down and pick up the orange to throw it at you. Catch it and take it home to your mother.

Life as a porcelain vase

2006-07-09T12:39:00.000-04:00

I have been spending time in different villages these last weeks and am leaving today for another small village. When I leave the city I am often moving from a minority of many to become a minority of one, visible in such a way that the entire village knows my comings and goings. This was best symbolized last week by a small child who lived nearby the home where I was staying. Every morning and afternoon when I was approaching he would yell to his friends, “The white man is coming!” Then he and his entourage would stop their play to watch me, responding to my greetings only with smiles and some giggles.

Don’t misunderstand- the people in Cameroon have welcomed me very warmly. In fact, I would liken their welcome to that of a porcelain vase sitting on the shelf among plastic cups. I have been served first at meals; people give up their beds so I will not have to sleep on the ground. People insist that I take their chairs so I will not sit on the floor. When I offer to help with dishes, the response is, “Your hands are too soft. Let us do them.” It is assumed that I cannot walk far without tiring; warm water awaits me in the bathroom so I can bathe every morning. I am given special greetings, special invitations and special introductions. I am fragile, delicate, handled with care, easily-breakable, something to be admired rather than actually used in everyday work.

I sometimes resent the treatment. I want to tell stories about hiking Pike’s Peak or running a marathon. I purposely walk places, look for opportunities to serve others and wash my own clothes. Yet at my best moments, I see their actions as simply a way to acknowledge the elephant in the middle of the room, a non-verbal affirmation of reality. When I “escape” on Sundays to eat chicken curry served on china at the International Hotel, I know that it is true- I am wealthy. When my whole body aches after bending over a basin to do my laundry, I am ready to acknowledge- I am not used to manual labor. When I am slipping around on muddy paths, I remember- I am privileged. So for better or for worse, I suspect I will continue to encounter the porcelain vase treatment, a fact I cannot change any more than the color of my skin.

Mud

2006-07-05T08:31:00.000-04:00

Every place has some facet of life which helps you "build character." In Los Angeles, it was the traffic on the freeway and finding a parking space. In Indiana, I think it may be the bitter cold of winter. In Cameroon, it is rainy season and its accompanying mud. I have not mastered the art of arriving at your destination without mud splattered on your skirt and caked on your feet; in fact, right after a heavy rain it is all I can do to stay on my feet, much to the amusement of the Cameroonian observers. Ah well- a wise woman once said, "This too shall pass."

What is literacy?

2006-06-27T08:25:00.000-04:00

It appears as if each week will be a little bit different than the last. Last week I went to the small village of Belo to observe a teacher training course. This week I am going to be in Bamenda for the week attending a primer creation workshop. The goal of my practicum is simply to observe literacy in a developing country (though when you write practicum objectives you have to make sure it sounds much more difficult than that so that people think this experience should qualify for credit at the graduate level). Anyway I have to journal for my supervisor every day. Here is a portion from today:

I’ve been thinking about literacy and it seems to me that literacy is more than just about knowing how to read the words on a page when instructed to do so. What I mean is that a literate society is a place where people use their skill of reading in order to acquire information and go about their daily routines. In that way, I think Cameroonian culture is still predominantly an oral culture. People don’t have books in their homes except maybe a textbook they had to buy their kid for school. There are no libraries, few newspapers and only a couple of bookstores. Last Sunday the list of announcements in church went on for close to twenty minutes since there are no bulletins (and the church is used as a place to announce community events and school happenings since posted notices have proved ineffective). I think there are some people who read, but as a general rule people just don’t choose to read as part of their everyday routines.

There are probably many complex factors that explain why people make these choices. Poverty means that you may need to choose to buy food and clothes instead of books. There are not many role models for children; they don’t see adults in their families reading and they are not read to by those adults either. Perhaps to a very group-oriented society, an activity like reading feels individualistic. Perhaps it is the absence of an extensive selection of genres of literature. It is interesting for me to muse about how you create a market for written literature or whether that is necessary assuming that the present system is sustainable.

Glimpses from a stroll through the city

2006-06-26T12:11:00.001-04:00

There's a first time for everything

2006-06-23T12:40:00.000-04:00

The other night I was watching Breakfast at Tiffanies as I stumbled upon a local blockbuster in the form of some missionaries who have a collection of movies. The movie is old with a poor plot, but at one point Audrey Hepburn says that she wants to spend the whole day doing things she’s never done before. I thought to myself, “That's my life in a nutshell right now.” Fortunately I think firsts can be fun, except when I’m not in the mood to feel humble or out-of-control (or sick, as was the case today).

This week was the first time:

I got my dishwashing water from the shower (easier than heating up water).
I bleached my vegetables and fruits for twenty minutes before eating them.
I got measured for a church dress with a matching head scarf while five women watched and giggled (Do they think my measurements are funny? Are they calling me fat?)
I have had my own personal guard, in theory pacing and keeping away the boogie man while I sleep at night (the guest house has a hired night guard and I happen to be the only person here at the moment)
I ever ate boiled peanuts (Gladys bought me some and I thought they were dried peanuts but when I opened the shell, they were white and wet; she called them “groundnuts”)
I have to bring a book along when using the internet because this connection makes dial-up seem like DSL.
I’ve eaten a grilled plum (they call them plums but they are not the kind we have at home).
I was instructed to chew the chicken bones (yes, the bones themselves) because there are no dogs around. I did my best but there were still a few on my plate I’m afraid.
I watched the World Cup game in a small store in the midst of a crowd of Africans cheering for the team that is opposing the good ol’ USA.
Adeline and I cooked food in a “traditional kitchen” with a bamboo pole as my spoon/masher (it’s just like the stereotype you have in your mind of an African hut set apart from the house, incidently there is no hole in the top so it gets pretty smoky by the end)
I’ve ever spoken Kom (the language of the village where I visited this week.)
The taxi I was in hit a "fowl" while whizzing down a mountain at high speeds.
I traveled in a compact taxi for forty minutes with seven other adults and a child.

And I expect the list will continue to grow!

An elementary teacher's version of history

2006-06-19T08:28:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time the people of West Africa were living in their various little tribes. Then people from Europe started coming to Africa for a variety of reasons (to explore, to get rich, to share Jesus with others); they also brought along Western culture. The tribal chiefs were curious about all the new gadgets and such which eventually led to Europeans trading things like alcohol, guns and cloth for other things like ivory and gold. Then some chiefs on the coast got greedy so they made a deal with Germany to become a German protectorate/colony if they could have some special trading privileges. So suddenly, all these different tribes and people groups with different languages and customs were lumped together to become this political whole. After a while Germans got distracted with World War I and ended up losing the war as well as their colonies. So the world leaders got together and decided that Cameroon should be divided between the French and the British. France got a big chunk of the country and Great Britain got a little sliver on the west side of the country. Several decades pass and the people learn to speak English or French depending on whether they live in the little sliver or in the big chunk. Four decades later (early 1960s) it’s not very trendy to be a colonial power anymore, the Cameroonians fight for their independence, lots of people die but eventually they are allowed to rule themselves again. After that, they all lived happily ever after (okay, so not really, though Cameroon is a stable country in comparison to some of its neighbors in Africa).

The real historians can correct any facts that I have butchered in my paraphrase of events, but the mini history lesson helps to explain the change of scenery I have experienced in the last week. Yaounde, the capital where I lived upon arrival, is in the big chunk that had a lot of French influence and Bamenda, the city where I’ll be hanging out for the next while, is in the little sliver that has had a lot of British influence. Bamenda is about six hours northwest of the capital in the highlands at about 4, 500 feet.

In Bamenda, I have started to play the “plus and minus” game (some family friends play this game on vacations when things are going differently than they expected). It goes like this:

I wasn’t expecting people in Bamenda to speak English

- I will not be learning French while in Cameroon

+ I can usually understand what people are saying

+ They can understand what I am saying

I wasn’t expecting the climate in Bamenda to be quite so cool.

-I didn’t pack enough long-sleeve clothes

+ I am not often sweaty.

+ I have an excuse to buy myself some new clothes.

I wasn’t expecting my supervisor to be gone my first week in Bamenda.

- I have had to fend for myself.

+ I have had more opportunity to rely on “cultural guides”

+ I have had a chance to use my sense of adventure

My supervisor gave me a tentative plan A and tentative plan B for this week but both plans fell through upon arrival in Bamenda.

- I felt frustrated since I am a maximizer (always wanting the most out of life).

+ At church yesterday they announced they are doing Vacation Bible School this week so I went this morning and blew bubbles with Hilda (and many others).

+ I have had some time to read some missionary biographies while waiting for plan C to take shape

(for the record: when I’m a famous missionary and someone is writing a biography about me, please make me seem human and approachable. Perhaps you could write about what a sissy I am in the dark, how I lose things a lot, even how I don’t read my Bible every day and I doubt God repeatedly; that way perspective missionaries won’t feel like they are applying to join the ranks of Super Man or Wonder Woman).

You can see that I play the game that you must counter the minus with two pluses, but feel free to borrow the game and create your own variations.

To market, to market...

2006-06-19T07:42:00.000-04:00

Fred took me shopping for groceries at the market this weekend. It seems as if I will be responsible for some/most of my meals in Bamenda .

Taxi ride to the market $.30

8 carrots .40

6 fresh tomatoes .40

1 huge handful fresh green beans .20

1 onion .20

1 fresh pineapple .60

Loaf of bread .20

Bag of oranges .20

Chocolate spread (like nutella but without the hazelnut) .60

Eggs .20

Green pepper free (sometimes if you buy a lot at one store they throw in some extra things- it’s called a dash)

A few splurges:

Tuna (I seriously felt a gag reflex happening when I tried buying the fresh meat with flies buzzing all around it- I think maybe week two I’ll be tougher) 1.00

Pasta (I had a craving for spaghetti this week) 2.20

Garlic powder (to make garlic bread with spaghetti) 2.00

Total grocery bill (with splurges): $8.50

You know you're not in Kansas (or Indiana) anymore when....

2006-06-13T06:15:00.000-04:00

People travel in taxi co-ops (that is you don’t have your own taxi but rather share with strangers who are going in the same general direction; a taxi stops and you tell the driver where you are going- if he is willing to take you he honks, if not he drives away)

You sleep under a mosquito net

You have two seasons: wet heat and dry heat

You follow a taxi with a potato sack and the limbs of two grown men sticking out of the trunk as the lid flaps up and down with the bumps in the road

Said taxi above (and all the following traffic) stops to allow trunk rider to retrieve his shoe that fell off 100 feet back

Church services last for three hours (you sit on backless benches)

Your church choir sings in three different languages (all the mother tongue of a handful of members in your church)

Children beg at your window when you stop for a red light

Neighbors collect funds to hire out the repair of the deep ruts in clay road (washed-out from daily afternoon downpours)

Head coverings for women refer to brightly-colored fabric wrapped several times around the head in many decorative ways

Your savings account is in the form of an extra home (culture mandates that you help relatives and friends in financial crisis if you have the money saved; if you have it in the supplies for cement and bricks for a new home, you are not obligated to give)

Taxis go on strike to protest rising gas prices; people miss work due to lack of other transportation options within the city. The next day taxi prices are up 33%.

Salespeople carry their wares on their head while walking down the street.

All is well

2006-06-13T05:45:00.000-04:00

I woke up this morning feel refreshed after multiple nights of laying awake for hours during various portions of the night. Finally I think my body has succombed to the local sleep schedule.

A quick response to those inquiries about my back:
Traveling and lifting of my luggage turned into a non-issue really. My dad did all the lifting on the check-in side in Chicago which left me only with two small carry-ons (which I looped together and wheeled through airports for zero back stress). Upon arrival in Cameroon the Zwarts were waiting at the luggage carousel and did all of the lifting on this end. They then whisked me through customs and declared this airport pick-up a record for speed and efficiency (I believe 20 minutes from the time they parked to the time we were driving out!) In short, I feel good.

The Zwarts then insisted on hosting me in their own home for the weekend since the guest house where I was to stay was rather empty and desserted. They took me for a Saturday morning swim at the Cameroonian version of a country club and oriented me to the city. Yesterday they helped me move to the guest house which reminds me of a dorm at RBC (bunkbeds, shared bathrooms, a common kitchen...). Other people have come to stay for the week so I can interact as little or as much as I choose.

The Zwarts- they're Dutch and just the grandparent figures that every mission board needs running their personnel department.

I've arrived!

2006-06-12T06:51:00.000-04:00

I will write more details later regarding initial transitions and such (perhaps at a time when my body has resigned itself to actually sleep during the night). In brief, travels were uneventful without any major hiccups along the way, unless you count being assigned aisle seats as a hiccup. (I hate aisle seats- there is no window to lean your head against to sleep, people are always asking you to get up so they can use the lavatory, flight attendants bang your knees with their drink/food carts).

Since arrival I have been greeted graciously by the missionary community here. They have prepared a "meal sheet" for my time in Yaounde this week (a meal sheet is when missionaries sign up to host the new person for lunch or dinner in their homes as a way to get to know each other). I have been enjoying hearing the stories of how people arrived on field and their experiences thus far in Cameroon. Today I am starting to hit the nitty gritties of exchanging money, tracking down reading/research resources, finding malaria pills, meeting my supervisor, buying adapters, hooking my computer up to the internet, moving to different living accomodations, getting my visa copy certified,..... and all the other little tasks that accompany learning to function semi-independently in a new country.

Counting the hours

2006-06-06T10:00:00.000-04:00

So I leave in 48 hours for Cameroon. I feel ready, unprepared, excited, anxious, uncertain, confident, vulnerable and privileged- all randomly mixed together like miscellaneous items in the free box at a garage sale.

It occurred to me recently that I could have used the last months to learn some French (spoken by 80% of the people in Cameroon). The only French phrases I knew offhand were deja vu, hors d'oeuvres, and wi. Yesterday I decided to look up some other short phrases. I now know how to introduce myself, say hello, bid good-bye and tell someone I love them (one never knows when one may want to declare one's love for another). Hopefully my vocabulary will rapidly expand upon arrival. Perhaps I will even learn to use some of these "useful French phrases."

Sometimes snacks are necessary

2006-05-27T14:15:00.000-04:00

So I drew a card this week-

I interviewed for a first-grade maternity leave on Friday at Shipshewana-Scott Elementary. (One of my college roommates is pregnant with twins and will be taking a leave, at least for the first semester but she says it's "90% sure" that she'll be gone the entire school year.) I couldn't tell how the interview had gone when I walked out of the room. In teaching there are enough different styles and philosophies that one is never sure about what the "right answers" may be. Did I miss any of the "essential academic and social goals of first grade"? Was my "thumbnail sketch of the four-blocks method" adequate? Apparently no and yes- the principal called me back two hours later offering me the job.

I also found a dirt-cheap apartment about a mile from the school, living in the basement of a couple from my church. It's small, simple- partially heated with a wood stove. The country road they live on is beautiful- woods on one side, a lake on the other, perfect for evening walks. I can move in before I leave for Cameroon and start paying rent upon my return.

I do feel less pressure, grateful that I have some structure to come back to when I return from Cameroon, grateful for the way the pieces seem to fit together. Yes, it is somewhat disappointing that the decision feels like choosing a good snack in order to hold me over until I can gather supplies and create a more satisfying, nutrient-giving, hot entree. However, before my hand moves toward the table to return this card and draw again, I know the time for be-laboring the pros and cons is past. Instead the time has come to savor the snack.

The pressure cooker

2006-05-21T16:33:00.000-04:00

As it turns out, I'm not such a great decision maker. I'm good at things like waiting tables, writing papers, storytelling, asking other people questions, math problems, baking bread...... I suck at decision making. It's like a table with a deck of cards spread randomly over the top, each card symbolizing a possible option for my future. I pick up a card, examine it thoroughly, talk about it with others, analyze the pros and cons, consider all the variables.... then I realize that there are a lot of unknowns so I put the card back on the table and pick up a new one. This process then gets repeated until I am exhausted and overwhelmed; I get up from the table, only to be met the following day with the same cards, the same picking up and laying back down. Every once in a while I end up pitching a card onto the floor (to be forgotten in theory); however, a week later on my way to sit at the card table, it catches my eye and I feel sad that it got discarded. So yep, you guessed it- the card gets put back up on the table.

The deck of cards and table imagery is relevant because I am trying to make some decisions about the fall- where to work, where to live, where to invest my time and energies, how to settle on a long-term plan. Ideally I would love to have portions of these things decided before going to Africa in a little over 2 weeks-- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, the pressure! (all self-imposed, of course)

Obviously the healthy alternative to this pressure is t0 put all the cards in a hat and ask someone else to randomly draw one out; whatever they draw that's what I will do. Ooo, plus if it doesn't work out perfectly I will have someone else to blame (pressure brings out some of my most charitable thinking).

Field trips

2006-05-11T19:06:00.000-04:00

We took a field trip to an animal park this week.

I think it was a successful trip. We played games with the chimpanzee Tarzan who would clap and stomp several times, waiting for students to mimic him. We didn't stumble upon any animals mating, thus also avoiding awkward questions (apparently that happened last year). We fed bread to the emus, goats, rheas and llamas. No one stuck their fingers in the tigers' cage; the tour guide warned that one tiger had already consumed two kids' fingers (only peaking curiosity in one student's mind). "Johnny" managed to have "on-topic" questions; in the classroom he sometimes feels prompted to tell me his mom's name during a math lesson on fractions. Oh yes- no one asked me if I was traveling with the pilgrims. A co-worker recounted a field trip to Chicago where an adult asked her if the Amish children were pilgrims.

The low point for me came today. I gave my students a quiz over the animal park brochure (it's an Indiana state standard to read all different kinds of literature). So the quiz was "open-book"- all they had to do was find the information on the brochure in front of them. In fact, we even read the brochure together first. Nonetheless, here are some of their answers (no joke):

What months is the park open? weekends
How much does it cost for children to enter? yes
On what street is the park located? 1/3 mile

You can see that perhaps a few kids have checked out for the year- 10 1/2 more days!

Commitments and crushes

2006-05-01T22:21:00.000-04:00

I decided today that I like my job- the revelation hit me during writing block. Writing block is the time of day where you get a peek into the minds of your students because they end up writing their thoughts down on paper. Mostly this is a fascinating privilege; occasionally it's just a little disconcerting. I also like writing block because it varies from day to day, avoiding the monotonous and routine. For example, today I helped to write Mother's Day acrostics, acting angry and indignant that old could be considered an O-descriptor for their mothers (some of whom are my age). Yesterday I helped a student brainstorm for a narrative he's writing about his newborn sister who died last month during heart surgery. One day this week I read a "fable" about Sponge Bob; another I edited a piece about a terrifying wolf taking over the job of the Easter bunny. I work with students to find "name brand" words (ex. appetizing, untidy, spectacular) to replace the generic ones in their stories (ex. good, messy, nice). I helped Bradly who was "puzzled" about what happened to the sloppy copy of his story from last week; while cleaning out his desk, we found a note written to his mom in January and a pizza certificate from December. I whooped and hollered when students read their published stories in the author's chair. I think it was during the last whoop today that it hit me, I was made to be a teacher.

It may be fortunate that I had just re-affirmed my vows to the classroom because tonight I went to a professional dance contest with my Ecuadorian sister at Notre Dame. There were lights, rhythm, airy dresses, high heels, twirls, whirls, swishes and dips- they made it look effortless and exhilerating. If the classroom and I ever have a big fall-out, maybe I'll become a dancer. For tonight, I'm not going to mar this evening's "crush-from-afar" by actually signing up for dance classes.

Signs of Hope

2006-04-22T10:32:00.000-04:00

For those of you who know me well, you know that my default outlook is not set to the "Pollyanna" way of viewing life. But for today at least, I am aware of signs of hope.

I am again starting to make plans to travel to Cameroon this summer. This trip was scheduled to happen in January and literally days before leaving was cancelled due to a herniated disc in my back. The road to recovery has been long and tedious, but today it appears as if I will leave June 8th. I have a ticket on hold through my travel agent. My contacts in Cameroon are in the process of composing another letter of invitation so I can apply for a new visa. The insurance company is re-issuing my medical evacuation/repatriation card with the dates of coverage adjusted; Fuller is re-submitting my registration packet. The plans are again becoming concrete and I cannot help but hope.

I walked for two miles today. While a year ago this would have been a rather mundane fact for a long-distance runner like myself, it now symbolizes a milestone in recovery for me. I have not been able to really exercise for months (a crippling fact since exercise serves as one of my coping mechanisms.) Some time ago I got permission to begin walking from my chiropractor and I have been slowly working my way up. The first weeks I would only walk 10 minutes at a time before I began to feel pain; then the next week I could walk for 15 minutes, then 20 and now more than 30. I still can't run but I am grateful for my chance this morning to be out in the fresh air, strolling down the country roads with my headphones set to NPR.

So for now, I bask in the warmth of hope and breathe deeply of its fragrance; next week (or maybe even tomorrow) there will probably be moments where I will need this lingering memory.

You know you are teaching in the midst of Amish country when...

2006-04-11T21:19:00.000-04:00

-you live 12 miles away from work and there are no stoplights on the "commute" to work
-you have a school fundraiser and there are twice as many buggies tied to the hitching posts as there are cars in the parking lot
-there are lots of homemade pies and cookies at said fundraiser
-you have 4 Yoders, 2 Bontragers, 3 Millers and 1 Mullet on your class roster
-you ask your students what work means to them and one boy responds "pulling the horse into the barn"
-the class is making a list of economic wants and needs; overalls gets put under needs
-your students come to school wearing stocking caps but no jackets
-the girls have to take off their coverings to put on the headphones during computer lab
-the principal rules out wheelbarrow races on field day because it's impossible for the girls to participate modestly
-the students are so well-behaved that if you would (hypothetically speaking, of course) leave your lights on in the parking lot at school, you could trust your class to do their work quietly while you leave the room for several minutes to turn them off

High expectations

2006-04-09T15:26:00.000-04:00

This week I cooked supper a couple of times. I made Indonesian shish-kabobs with vegetable stir-fry, rice and blueberry buckle when my Ecuadorian sisters came over. I cooked spaghetti and meatballs to take to a busy young mother and her family; I baked potato pizza and a quick ceaser salad for my parents and me. Yet I realized that when each meal was over, I would mentally check off the things that went wrong. The shish-kabobs tasted dry; the spaghetti had too much paste; the potatoes were too thick on the potato pizza. Instead of noting the things that had turned out well or resting in the affirmation that I recieved from my visitors, I ended up berating myself because it wasn't perfect.

I realized that this constant self-critique is not just confined to my cooking escapades but ends up being a bigger life pattern. I have these extremely high expectations that I place on myself and those close to me. When I leave a social gathering, I'll spend the trip home mulling over all the things that I wish I would not have said. When I look in the mirror, I zoom in on my worst features. When I play piano, I remember the scattered wrong notes instead of enjoying the melody. If I run four miles, I think I should have pushed myself to do five or six; if I get an A-, I'll spend days lamenting the loss of a "real" A.

Although high expectations can be good on occasion ("personal best" is in fact a lifelong guideline that we teach in elementary school), it seems as if these must be coupled with a healthy dose of grace and what a friend recently dubbed "self-kindness." So that's my quest for this week (one that I consider deeply spiritual)- to minimize the amount of time spent in mental belittling and chiding, to interrupt the negative self-talk, to linger in the moments where my strengths are evident. Initially this seems rather arrogant or at least self-indulgent; but when I think of the second commandment-you know the one where we are told to treat our neighbors like we treat ourselves- I'm not sure that my neighbor is looking for the kind of garbage I'm dumping on myself.

Why Wanderings?

2006-04-01T10:23:00.000-05:00

As a regular blog reader I have often mused about what I would call my own blog. Then impulsively last week I opened my own blog. I thought about a trendy, Latin phrase as a title or the word peace in Greek or Arabic. In the end those ideas were discarded in favor of something more down-to-earth.

There are many reasons why it seems as if wanderings may be an encompassing description of my life to date. In the last 10 years of my life, I have moved a fair amount (more than a dozen times in fact). It has been a time of exploration. I spent a year of voluntary service in Ecuador and three months learning Spanish in Costa Rica; I completed my Bachelor's degree in education and moved to California to pursue my Master's degree in Cross-Cultural Studies. I have lived in many different kinds of communities- some co-ed communities with no structures and high ideals regarding simplicity, some purely-functional "communities" where rent was cheaper if we all put up with seeing each other in the kitchen and sharing our bathroom in the morning, some mentoring communities with faculty housemates, some organic student communities with written covenants, chore wheels and family-like interactions. It seems to me that much of my adult life can be summarized as wanderings, not the wanderings of the frustrated kind where one is completely lost but rather the stimulating kind where one may stumble upon new sights and smells, people and foods, sounds and languages. It reminds me of the kinds of wanderings about which one of my second graders just wrote a story- a stroll in the woods where she found a magic red shoe that allowed her to fly with the birds. To borrow from Lord of the Rings, it seems to me that "All who wander are not lost".

I also like the word wandering because it serves as an image for my spirituality. It's an image of a journey and a process where one is not to be so fixated on the destination as much as enjoying the relationship along the way, where one is not the navigator and in fact, has never seen the big map. Often I have wished that my path would be a straight shot to some fulfilling ministry or 10 quick tips to figuring God out. Instead, for me, my faith has been full of bends in the roads, some breathtaking views, some detours, a few wrong turns, forgiveness, grace and hope.

Finally, I hope this blog can be a place where I process some of my future wanderings. I am planning to spend a couple of months in Africa this summer, Cameroon to be exact. I am planning to post some of those happenings here as well as a few of the wonderings that I'm sure will stem from that experience.

Testing 1...2...3

2006-03-23T19:57:00.000-05:00

This is my first blog post ever!!!