Just kidding.
This is now old news, but I let the thing molder in my drafts, afraid of something. Afraid of you.
I crossed the ocean to live permanently in the US. The point of no return was this January when I didn't renew my teaching contract in Morocco.
I had things to do:
make more money
be away from an inherently sexist culture (Sure it's bad here; it's worse there.)
be accessible to my family
engage in a culture
I hope this ordering of priorities is not accurate.
This land, this land that is yours and mine, has been mysterious and painful to me as I returned to it. For all I can tell over the past four months, the good things happening were not caused by me, and the bad things happening were not my responsibility to fix. My whole responsibility, especially this summer, seemed to be to watch and listen.
Watch at the Starbucks outside of JFK, where the plain-clothes cop raised his arm to get the creamer, and revealed his handgun sticking out of his jeans.
Listen to my niece's stories about our family over the last year.
Watch as traffic moves in a slick rhythm on a very fast highway.
Listen to the radio announcer tell who is to blame, and understand every word. Understand nothing.
Watch as the people I love reach out, and out, and out. And reach back. Tentatively at first.
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Monday, November 19, 2018
White Card
It was mine the moment my Mom chose my Dad.
Families go way back.
Sharing this same faith (at
least it looks that way) (at
least that's what you said then).
Decisions made in childhood
trickle down through my hometown.
You didn't see me at the country club,
but, sure.
I can shout about the power that sours on
color on cue at the view of a brother
approaching as you clutch your Coach.
Sure, but
no routine traffic stop
will look like a butcher shop when
my white skin absolves me of my minor violations.
Without
hesitation
let off with a warning in pen that only writes in white.
Families go way back.
Sharing this same faith (at
least it looks that way) (at
least that's what you said then).
Decisions made in childhood
trickle down through my hometown.
You didn't see me at the country club,
but, sure.
I can shout about the power that sours on
color on cue at the view of a brother
approaching as you clutch your Coach.
Sure, but
no routine traffic stop
will look like a butcher shop when
my white skin absolves me of my minor violations.
Without
hesitation
let off with a warning in pen that only writes in white.
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
Neither/Nor
This space is ever more public, ever more widely read, and I am painfully conscious of how public a life a teacher must live. My everyday musings have earned me the occasional accusations of too conservative and more often too liberal. How both?
I've been working through what it means to be a true friend in a polarized society. So rarely are we called upon to say what we really think. We volunteer opinions under threat of disapproval, even shunning from our communities, and despite the ever higher price, we volunteer our opinions. Why do we do it? It would be much easier to be silent, to stop at praying for peace. Another question: why is the price so high for having an opinion? Why do we care so much about each other's opinions?
Policy opinions that we will never touch, might never even vote on, have become shorthand for what kind of person we are. The ideas are so big, so full of paradoxical facts, that we don't do research deep enough to get to the truth. I find myself frustrated even in the shallow end. "What is truth?" And I wash my hands of what I don't understand.
Here's what bothers me right now. I have not yet put feet to what I hold to be our real charge—not just voting on how the government will care for the poor, but really caring for people who have needs they can't meet: clothing the poor and the feeding the hungry; visiting the sick and those in prison; caring for orphans and widows (or our modern-day equivalent for people without a livelihood).
Neither side of the aisle seems to be doing that, but Jesus, don't let me wait to take action.
I've been working through what it means to be a true friend in a polarized society. So rarely are we called upon to say what we really think. We volunteer opinions under threat of disapproval, even shunning from our communities, and despite the ever higher price, we volunteer our opinions. Why do we do it? It would be much easier to be silent, to stop at praying for peace. Another question: why is the price so high for having an opinion? Why do we care so much about each other's opinions?
Policy opinions that we will never touch, might never even vote on, have become shorthand for what kind of person we are. The ideas are so big, so full of paradoxical facts, that we don't do research deep enough to get to the truth. I find myself frustrated even in the shallow end. "What is truth?" And I wash my hands of what I don't understand.
Here's what bothers me right now. I have not yet put feet to what I hold to be our real charge—not just voting on how the government will care for the poor, but really caring for people who have needs they can't meet: clothing the poor and the feeding the hungry; visiting the sick and those in prison; caring for orphans and widows (or our modern-day equivalent for people without a livelihood).
Neither side of the aisle seems to be doing that, but Jesus, don't let me wait to take action.
Friday, August 31, 2018
Two Months' Recapitulation
I've been recalibrating my sleep schedule, my eating schedule, my day-to-day life. Here is a small timeline of the summer, starting with my return to the U.S.
June 30: Back in the U.S.
July 2: Acquired a phone. (This is a long story of Sprint and the horror that is all U.S. mobile networks. Not a fan.)
July 1-9: Borrowed cars, driving to various family gatherings.
July 10: Was officially hired at a private Mennonite school, mere minutes before losing cell phone reception for a week of camping. (Wow. What a great fit. What a great story of God working things out and me circling through frustration, cluelessness, grief, and trust. Maybe I'll write it here someday, but probably not.)
July 10-18: Camped at Wild Goose Festival in North Carolina with Jake; visited his sister in Tennessee.
July 19-31: Drove back and forth from Baltimore in yet more borrowed cars; slept at Plum Street in borrowed beds while my friends rotated in and out on vacation. This was the hardest part of the summer. I had a ton of errands to do to build a sustainable life. Meanwhile, I was searching for a car I could own, and rather uncertain as to where I would find to live for the year.
August 1: Bought a Honda Civic at Carmax. Couldn't sleep.
August 2: Returned the car to Carmax.
August 3: Bought a different Honda Civic from a different place for 1/4 of the Carmax price.
August 1-11: Stayed at Dale and Kendra's house while they were on a cruise; cared for Kendra's rabbits.
August 11-12: Visited my niece and nephew. They're so tall, bright, interesting.
August 13-15: Moved in to Plum Street
August 16-30: Work began. I was so far behind in doing all the putzing around a classroom that it takes to get a schoolyear organized. I'm still doing those things: deciding on how to grade, deciding on early units, deciding on policies, decorating, laminating, buying necessary school supplies. On a weekend in there, I coordinated Krystle's wedding day.
I have been finding footing, figuring out how to do all the normal things in new ways with very little continuity or routine to reward me. There has to be a better word than "busy."
It must be said that almost none of these things was done without help and support. The first draft of this post had each person's name and what they did for me this summer. But I hesitate to post it, because I know you did the things with no expectation of praise in this life. I think you did it because you love God and because you love me, and I will not hear differently. I'm so, so grateful. I will list some of the names, though, because I feel I must for my own sake:
Jake, Dan, Mom, Coley, Bethany, Elizabeth, Sarah, Carmen, Kendra, Dale, Christine, Luke G., Sara G., MJ, Leah, Krystle, Monica, Chadwick, Cathy S. Thank you.
June 30: Back in the U.S.
July 2: Acquired a phone. (This is a long story of Sprint and the horror that is all U.S. mobile networks. Not a fan.)
July 1-9: Borrowed cars, driving to various family gatherings.
July 10: Was officially hired at a private Mennonite school, mere minutes before losing cell phone reception for a week of camping. (Wow. What a great fit. What a great story of God working things out and me circling through frustration, cluelessness, grief, and trust. Maybe I'll write it here someday, but probably not.)
July 10-18: Camped at Wild Goose Festival in North Carolina with Jake; visited his sister in Tennessee.
July 19-31: Drove back and forth from Baltimore in yet more borrowed cars; slept at Plum Street in borrowed beds while my friends rotated in and out on vacation. This was the hardest part of the summer. I had a ton of errands to do to build a sustainable life. Meanwhile, I was searching for a car I could own, and rather uncertain as to where I would find to live for the year.
August 1: Bought a Honda Civic at Carmax. Couldn't sleep.
August 2: Returned the car to Carmax.
August 3: Bought a different Honda Civic from a different place for 1/4 of the Carmax price.
August 1-11: Stayed at Dale and Kendra's house while they were on a cruise; cared for Kendra's rabbits.
August 11-12: Visited my niece and nephew. They're so tall, bright, interesting.
August 13-15: Moved in to Plum Street
August 16-30: Work began. I was so far behind in doing all the putzing around a classroom that it takes to get a schoolyear organized. I'm still doing those things: deciding on how to grade, deciding on early units, deciding on policies, decorating, laminating, buying necessary school supplies. On a weekend in there, I coordinated Krystle's wedding day.
I have been finding footing, figuring out how to do all the normal things in new ways with very little continuity or routine to reward me. There has to be a better word than "busy."
It must be said that almost none of these things was done without help and support. The first draft of this post had each person's name and what they did for me this summer. But I hesitate to post it, because I know you did the things with no expectation of praise in this life. I think you did it because you love God and because you love me, and I will not hear differently. I'm so, so grateful. I will list some of the names, though, because I feel I must for my own sake:
Jake, Dan, Mom, Coley, Bethany, Elizabeth, Sarah, Carmen, Kendra, Dale, Christine, Luke G., Sara G., MJ, Leah, Krystle, Monica, Chadwick, Cathy S. Thank you.
Sunday, July 29, 2018
How Mt. Toubkal Happened and With Whom
It started as Katie suggesting that they climb a mountain and I overheard. She invited me with vigor: "come, climb Toubkal with us!"
"I will!" So in mid-January I wrote it into my calendar for June.
By May it was time to start taking the invitation seriously, because plans had to be made. It just so happened that I was in conversation with a fascinating fellow around that time, and it made a lot of sense to invite him to hike the highest mountain in North Africa. So he came to Morocco, saw my school, saw me finishing out my job for the year, helped me to grade finals; he wore the same clothes for two days because his luggage was lost; met all my people at school; then navigated our way to Imlil on a Friday in June.
We drove from sea level to 5,700 feet elevation, then climbed six hours to the refuge which rested at 10,500 feet. The next day we ascended the mountain, climbing an additional 3,000 feet. Those 3,000 feet to the top were ridiculous. Loose scree made me want to hurry to get away from the rough sliding near ledges of rock. But hurrying without skill is a bad idea. Regardless of rough earth, the higher we climbed, the harder the hike became due to altitude. I became discouraged. It wasn't schadenfreude that made me glad when I saw my friend, the ever-athletic Danielle, was also having difficulty—it was grace that helped me not to feel incapable.
I required stopping every two minutes so I could rest and breathe. The problem with resting every two minutes is that you never gain momentum. Another problem is that a mere 100 meters from the summit means we were hiking rather closer to the mountain's edge than I would like. I had to confess that the panic wasn't all altitude, but the fact that I'm afraid of heights. Jake kept a steady stream of travel stories flowing after hearing that, proving himself to be a hero many times over. He also saved at least three people from severe dehydration, but that breaks the timeline.
Summitting was worth it. Of course it was worth it. Who holds their baby and says, "meh"? But who holds their baby and says, "time to plan another one!"? We still had to get down the mountain.
Ya'll. What you will read on most blogs is that it takes an hour and a half to descend to the refuge. It took us three hours. We had knee issues, toe issues, me-being-slow issues. But what hearts! To recall it nearly brings me to tears how sweet and patient each one was with the other. All ten of us ascended and descended, and it took all day.
What an incredible shower (in the dark, another story, perhaps) I enjoyed when we jogged up the steps of the refuge.
The next day, Stacey of the pained-knees found a mule to take her back to Imlil, and for Jake and me it was another six hours of hiking: four extremely pleasant, and two in which the world's biggest big-toe blister had begun to cry out for attention. She earned a name and has a story all her own, too. I suppose mountain stories are the archetype of the anticlimax. We made it. The end.
BONUS STORY!
Arriving at Imlil was still not home, as you know, and Stacey, Jake and I drove four more hours to Casa where we thought we would order in and feast (we did not) and all have a good night's sleep.
Alas for the latter! I awoke with a painful toothache and the next morning found Jake and me in a dentist's office awaiting an emergency root canal. And that about sums up our first set of dates.
"I will!" So in mid-January I wrote it into my calendar for June.
By May it was time to start taking the invitation seriously, because plans had to be made. It just so happened that I was in conversation with a fascinating fellow around that time, and it made a lot of sense to invite him to hike the highest mountain in North Africa. So he came to Morocco, saw my school, saw me finishing out my job for the year, helped me to grade finals; he wore the same clothes for two days because his luggage was lost; met all my people at school; then navigated our way to Imlil on a Friday in June.
We drove from sea level to 5,700 feet elevation, then climbed six hours to the refuge which rested at 10,500 feet. The next day we ascended the mountain, climbing an additional 3,000 feet. Those 3,000 feet to the top were ridiculous. Loose scree made me want to hurry to get away from the rough sliding near ledges of rock. But hurrying without skill is a bad idea. Regardless of rough earth, the higher we climbed, the harder the hike became due to altitude. I became discouraged. It wasn't schadenfreude that made me glad when I saw my friend, the ever-athletic Danielle, was also having difficulty—it was grace that helped me not to feel incapable.
I required stopping every two minutes so I could rest and breathe. The problem with resting every two minutes is that you never gain momentum. Another problem is that a mere 100 meters from the summit means we were hiking rather closer to the mountain's edge than I would like. I had to confess that the panic wasn't all altitude, but the fact that I'm afraid of heights. Jake kept a steady stream of travel stories flowing after hearing that, proving himself to be a hero many times over. He also saved at least three people from severe dehydration, but that breaks the timeline.
Summitting was worth it. Of course it was worth it. Who holds their baby and says, "meh"? But who holds their baby and says, "time to plan another one!"? We still had to get down the mountain.
Ya'll. What you will read on most blogs is that it takes an hour and a half to descend to the refuge. It took us three hours. We had knee issues, toe issues, me-being-slow issues. But what hearts! To recall it nearly brings me to tears how sweet and patient each one was with the other. All ten of us ascended and descended, and it took all day.
What an incredible shower (in the dark, another story, perhaps) I enjoyed when we jogged up the steps of the refuge.
The next day, Stacey of the pained-knees found a mule to take her back to Imlil, and for Jake and me it was another six hours of hiking: four extremely pleasant, and two in which the world's biggest big-toe blister had begun to cry out for attention. She earned a name and has a story all her own, too. I suppose mountain stories are the archetype of the anticlimax. We made it. The end.
BONUS STORY!
Arriving at Imlil was still not home, as you know, and Stacey, Jake and I drove four more hours to Casa where we thought we would order in and feast (we did not) and all have a good night's sleep.
Alas for the latter! I awoke with a painful toothache and the next morning found Jake and me in a dentist's office awaiting an emergency root canal. And that about sums up our first set of dates.
Thursday, July 26, 2018
How I Felt a Few Days After Returning From Morocco
I feel like I'm on the outside of the world looking in while I am unemployed.
I focus on the right now question. What is happening right now? The chicken is baking. The piano is silent. The house is full of expensive, cold air that insulates me from the summer I can see and hear out the windows, though it is all muffled by this air conditioning. The air is so conditioned that it conditions me.
The kitchen smells like onions and lime, waiting for the chicken to be finished. I salivate: when did I last eat a meal? Where have I been the last few days and weeks?
I have never traveled this far before, and I feel lost.
I focus on the right now question. What is happening right now? The chicken is baking. The piano is silent. The house is full of expensive, cold air that insulates me from the summer I can see and hear out the windows, though it is all muffled by this air conditioning. The air is so conditioned that it conditions me.
The kitchen smells like onions and lime, waiting for the chicken to be finished. I salivate: when did I last eat a meal? Where have I been the last few days and weeks?
I have never traveled this far before, and I feel lost.
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
Right Now, Right Now
Over the last six months, I have had the opportunity to imagine and re-imagine what this time next year will look like. I feel...
Butterflies in my stomach!
What an incredible chance I have! To start a completely new thing! To see my friends and family! To date not-very-long-distance!
Tightness in my chest.
What a lot I have to decide. Living in the US is complicated and everything needs insurance. The job search was a painful process. The car search is complicated. The house search is pretty much over?
To avoid serious anxiety, Stacey sent me an article asking one question: what is happening right now? The idea is to take in your surroundings and acknowledge that you're not under threat (thank God!).
Right now the car tires zing the rainy streets. Right now the air conditioning hums. Right now I have had enough food, enough coffee, enough affection, enough time alone, and enough time in conversation. Right now I bask in a few finished chores. Right now my body does not hurt. Right now I am in grace. Thank you, God.
Butterflies in my stomach!
What an incredible chance I have! To start a completely new thing! To see my friends and family! To date not-very-long-distance!
Tightness in my chest.
What a lot I have to decide. Living in the US is complicated and everything needs insurance. The job search was a painful process. The car search is complicated. The house search is pretty much over?
To avoid serious anxiety, Stacey sent me an article asking one question: what is happening right now? The idea is to take in your surroundings and acknowledge that you're not under threat (thank God!).
Right now the car tires zing the rainy streets. Right now the air conditioning hums. Right now I have had enough food, enough coffee, enough affection, enough time alone, and enough time in conversation. Right now I bask in a few finished chores. Right now my body does not hurt. Right now I am in grace. Thank you, God.
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