Where Is God?

I've written a lot about my adventures here in Lito--the things I've done and people I've met. But I have not written overtly about God very much. I have so much to say and I don't know how to say it in a blog, because a format like this makes things feel cheesy and canned (who likes canned cheese? No one.)

I guess the quick run-down is: God plans well. I feel like I am in the right place. I am learning not only what I came here to learn, but I am also learning many things that I didn't know I needed to learn.

Since the Canadians have arrived, I have been praying with them and Angie multiple times a day. I am so glad that they treat prayer as a matter-of-fact occurrence that will unquestionably happen during the day, like water breaks. I need prayer to become second nature.

Today I prayed more than I have in a long time. I am glad that I wrote much of it down, because revelations during prayer can be like 'strokes of genius' that are inspired when they occur to you, but are completely forgotten later.

I don't need to catalogue my every revelation here. The important point is that God really is present, every moment, waiting to be let in. I wish I realized this more often.

O Cananda!

Today I met my first real Canadians! And they ate their first real Yankee Salad!

Martin is busy with wedding preparations, so the responsibility fell to Angie and me to welcome Dean and Louise to Lito. This is their third trip to Litomerice, and this time they will see Martin get married!

I was very glad to make a meal for other people. It was an opportunity to pay back the hospitality that I have been receiving. I was not able to repay the people who had been feeding me; I could only be useful by feeding other people. I guess you could say that I've had to "pay it forward".

I was so happy to cook for the Canadians because I now understand how special it is to have someone prepare food for you. Even though I have a kitchen and plenty of money to buy food, for another person to prepare it and take me to their home and serve it is an experience that goes beyond food. When I ate with Martin and Petra last week, everything I ate tasted better and more filling, because not only my stomach was fed. This experience is gratifying and humbling. Now that I know the feeling of warmth and love that come from receiving hospitality, I have been thinking a lot about how I will show hospitality in the States, when I am in my home country.

But last Sunday I had an immediate chance to pass on the love I had received. I was so happy to spend the afternoon making dinner for Dean and Louise. As I worked and laughed with Angie I thought of every time that I had traveled and felt exhausted and the relief that filled me when someone met me at the airport or offered to carry my bags. I wanted to give them that feeling after their long flight from Canada.

Angie and I made a great team. I planned the meal and manned the stove. She prepped, organized, tasted and made everything look so pleasing to the eye. I mean, look at that platter of mushrooms. If I had been cooking alone that plate would have looked like a greyish pile of gooey blobs. Not very appetizing. But Angie is a great lover of French cuisine, and I think she did an impressive job Gauling it up with our limited resources.

We had a great 'getting to know you' meal. Angie and the Canadians caught up on mutual acquaintances and I heard about Martin at his first English camp. I knew it was going to be a good week.

Southern Hospitality

Ok, I've had it. Enough. This ends now. I have been receiving obscene amounts of kindness from my Czech hosts. Although the point of hospitality is to graciously accept the love it represents, I am a Southern girl with lady skills, and I will pay them back.

Starting with boiled custard. You might say, "Kendall, this is an old recipe, without precise measurements, carried out by your grandmother and her intuitive knowledge of cooking. Why, you don't even have cups and tablespoons to measure with, just a large mixing bowl with graduated gram measurements on the side, and the word 'sugar' in 18 different languages. Maybe you should just buy your friends some cookies and call it a night."

I cannot accept this because 1., there is last Sunday's lunch to consider and 2., I found mayonnaise in the grocery store.

Last Sunday, the soon to be in-laws of Martin invited me and several youths over for lunch. We had lunch, then lunch, and at the end, lunch and coffee. I knew from prior experience to pace myself, but small portions still add up when there's coffee cake, soup, turkey, rice, potatoes, turkey, chicken, salad, fruit salad, nuts, cake, and coffee. At least there were many people around the table, so I was not the only guest who had to choose between gluttony and leaving the host with a week's worth of leftovers.

After lunch, while we ate more and drank coffee, we all chatted and relaxed. Sometimes people spoke in English, sometimes Martin or Angie translated, and occasionally I shared big gestures and simple phrases with the people gathered. Most of the time the group spoke Czech and I sat, content to listen.

The human ability to communicate is really something. Without any knowledge of the language, I could still feel like part of the conversation and understand the emotions being conveyed. When I laughed along with the others, I wasn't dumbly mimicking; watching eyebrows and hands and listening to cadence is 85% of what makes a joke funny. I really was amused. [Interesting side note: mute listening really relieves a burden for introverts who want to have two-way mirror type socializing. We can observe and absorb and not be expected to reflect. Fully passive and fully participatory. Cross-cultural communication in this way is really a revelation for introverts who want to be conscientious.]

Not only was I treated to after lunch eats, I was treated to an after lunch trip. Martin's future brother-in-law drove me and two girls from the youth group to Hřad Střekov, a castle that has been around since before William took a holiday in Hastings. His family footed the bill, with no contribution from us 'young folks' (? I'm not sure how I fit in...as old or older than all the youthes, but just as dependent) allowed.

The Labe Rive was a pleasant backdrop to view as we waited for our tour to start. We introverts are very attuned to and appreciative of events, landmarks or calamities that relieve a conversation burden from us.

The tour was as marvelous and educational as any romp through an old, old well-used place can be. Judging on body gestures and eyebrows the tour guide was excellent. She gave me an English write-up about the castle and let me hold a sword, so I would recommend her to anyone. To complete the day, we were driven to an ice cream shop before heading back to Lito. I had a wonderful Sunday, from the morning service with Angie's heartfelt translation of the sermon to the windy ride back, full of laughter and red sunbeams. But I also felt pampered to an obscene degree. I mean...geeze. Food, fellowship, castles and ice cream...I wasn't expecting this.

At orientation, we discussed that loaded word, "expectations", and how to prepare ourselves against the disappointment and frustration of unrealistic expectations, which are inevitably not fulfilled. I thought back to my difficult adjustment to life in England (where they speak English...) and Brock's difficult adjustment to western CZ. I thought of how much difference an attitude adjustment could have made at those times, and I tried to come to Lito prepared for bad accommodations, hostile, lazy people and food that could only taste worse if it were half-rotten. And what have I gotten instead? A private, comfortable room with windows that opens, delicious, hearty food, and people who could not be more generous and caring if they knew for a fact that they were entertaining angels. So here I am, here I have been for three weeks, ready to grin and bear it, while all my needs have been met.

When great expectations are not met, the disappointment is severe. But what happens when bleak expectations are not met?

All I can think to do is to make banana pudding and cole slaw. If I cannot keep the Czechs from stealing my heart, then I'll make them think they left their hearts in the Southlands.

If you were a sailboat...

My official job here is teaching English, but since no one is interested in learning English for several hours each day, I have a lot of free time to help out with miscellaneous ministries. Since Martin is in charge of the youth group, I have been collaborating with him about program designs. Martin wanted to plan an active youth group this week, since last week's meeting was more contemplative. I have not been involved in youth ministry since I was in high school, so thinking about ideas for games and biblical tie-ins is a stretch. I started thinking out loud, which was a rambling, painful trial for Martin, as he tried to politely side-step ideas like 'set up an obstacle course for the students to run blindfolded, so they can learn about spiritual blindness'. Wouldn't you want me in charge of your youth back at home?

We settled on Paul being shipwrecked in Malta as the biblical emphasis for the night. Our game--giving the youths supplies to make their own small sailboat--was designed more for amusement that theological illumination.

After sharing praises and singing, we began on the craft. Our original design included a large, shallow kettle filled with water and an over-turned bowl to serve as the island. Getting their paper boats to touch the island before sinking, against the onslaught of an industrial fan, was the initial plan. But it was a beautiful evening and twelve people watching paper in a kettle isn't very interesting, so we walked to the park behind Bethel, which has kiddie pool and fountain.

Going outside to semi-moving

water turned out to be a much better plan, and youth group was a huge success that night. We didn't have a very specific plan or very good supplies. The youths were just given a sheet of A4 (an earlier post explains what this is.

I can't get into it again, because it's an emotional subject) paper and told to make a ship. Once we reached the pool, Martin told them to get their ships to the middle. It was a pretty bare-bones set up, and it was outrageously fun. Martin telling the youths that getting their ships to the middle could be accomplished by 'any means necessary' lead to the Dolce Vita moment you can see below.

Like I said, the fun was outrageous, especially since I got to watch the glee on everyone's faces without getting wet. Journalistic objectivity demanded that I not go in that scuzzy water.

After the youths had fulfilled the assignment (?? I think that means 'after Martin and I had decided that the fun would soon turn into lawlessness') we returned to Bethel and read parts of Acts 27 and 28. Martin talked briefly about the shipwrecks that life produces and what we can learn from Paul. The rest of the discussion came from the youths applying their thoughts and questions to the text.

The night passed with talking, music, bacon flavored chips (!nomnomnom) and selecting music for Martin and Petra's wedding. Great night.

[And for funzies: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hOwLap5Je8, "If You Were a Sailboat" by Katie Melua. It's a very pleasing clip, for your ears and your eyes :) ]

Blinds Touching the Signs

What a morning! Before beginning our planning and devotional session with Martin, I talked with my co-worker Anna/Angie about her recently finished (at 4:30 this morning) dissertation. Since becoming a Christian several years ago, Angie has developed a calling to work with visually impaired children. Her dissertation involves techniques for both teaching VI children and integrating them into regular classes, policy proposals for VI curriculum, and evaluations of her classroom materials, based on surveys giving to VI child who tried the materials.

She showed me her very beautifully bound volume, which was filled with exercises that she has designed. I am so happy for the children that Angie will teach, because she has an incredible level of energy for this population and has developed very creative approaches to make learning accessible for them.

My favorite activity that she had developed gave both seeing and VI children a fun way to learn Czech homonyms. Angie picked a series of homonym pairs that contained at least one word that represents a tangible thing.

On a piece of paper, Angie wrote in both large, bold letters and in braille a cute, short statement involving one homonym. The other homonym was represented by the actual object, glued to the piece of paper.

For example, the word for snowflake is the same as the word for a piece of oatmeal (vločky). Glued to the statement about snow falling from the sky was a little matchbox filled with oats.

All sorts of homonyms, like mushroom/sponge, paw/pillow, and shark/a shoe so old the sole has separated from the toe, making the shoe look like it has a jaw, were represented with a tactile element.

She also spent three months creating a three dimensional book that depicts a popular Czech fairytale. Every page is written in braille, and every illustration is a fully-interactive felt, bark, carboard, wax, bead, and elastic work of art. Any child, blind or otherwise, can interact with this book with more sense than just sight. And what am I saying 'child' for? I had an awesome time touching everything too. My favorite character was the stretch man, whose superpower was, if you can guess, stretching. Angie had sewed his felt clothes to an elastic base, so that children (or adults who, like me, were exploring tactile learning solely for professional edification) could tug and stretch him.

If integrating classrooms can bring more materials like this into schools, what are we waiting for? What child wouldn't want to read a book that they get to touch allover and tug on?

And an interesting side note: today Martin talked about the 'kitchen robot' he will get at his upcoming wedding. While I started imaging what this crazy invention could do in a kitchen, Martin clarified that it was their word for a blender. I was relieved and disappointed.

Minikamp!

Exciting things are coming up at Bethel! Next week we will host a minicamp in the afternoons, to give adults intensive English practice. An older couple from Canada will be running the camp. They are coming in from Canada on Sunday, giving us a day to prepare before classes begin on Monday at 4 pm. After the progress made in classes this week, both by me and by the students, I am so excited that Bethel can offer this intensive practice and that I get to be a part of! The Canadian couple has lots of experience putting on camps, and the wife is an English teacher who has all sorts of resources. I have had a good time getting my feet wet on my own, but I will also be very glad to be guided by a real teacher. I know that I will learn a lot next week. Please pray for the success of the camp--that participants will be engaged, have fun and learn, that we at Bethel will be both effective teachers and witnesses, and that we can create a fun environment that is conducive to both learning and fellowship.

I am so happy to be here at Bethel, learning and experiencing. Thank you so much for your support!

We Need To Talk

For the second night in a row, I was very surprised that I was able to conduct a competent lesson. Last night I led an intermediate level conversation class, which went very well.

After a little prompting from silly questions I had written on the board, the students began to talk quite freely and openly. This was very exciting for me, because a conversation class is mostly impossible without vocal students. The very nature of a conversation class has made it hard for me to grasp what my role should be as facilitator. If the class is meant to be a place for students to practice speaking and listening in English, what purpose do I serve? I have to remind myself every few minutes that the time in class is the only chance these students have to interact with a native speaker. In a town this size there are few Anglos, and TV programs are aired in Czech, Slovak, German and Hungarian, but not English. Unless students buy American DVDs or scour the internet to find sitcoms, their chances to encounter native, natural English are rare.

Most of the conversation was natural. I occasionally answered a few grammatical questions, like how to use "me neither" (or, "neither have I", for more proper situations). Making these explanations throws me off at first, and I usually look blankly at the ceiling for a bit before I even understand the concept that is being questioned. For example, last week I tried to explain the difference between "borrow" and "lend", which is more difficult than you would think.

Example:

-A: Can I borrow that? B: Yes, you can borrow that.

[is the same as saying]

-A: Can you lend me that? B: Yes, I can lend you that.

The words cannot be explained only by saying that the lender uses the word "lend" and the borrower uses the word "borrow", since either person can use the word to describe the potential action of the other. And of course, I am trying to explain this to a Czech speaker who has been taught that the word "you" always means the one person being talked to, not a general "you" to apply to anyone in this situation. Therefore, I had to do verbal backflips to keep from saying "you only use 'borrow' when...", because the student would not have expanded the "you" to be anyone using the words in any situation. Confusing? I'm sure. But I still think this is so much fun. I love the ambiguity of grammar. Because it's not really ambiguous at all, is it?

Luckily, before I had thrown around too many "you do this when that, if here is there", I belatedly realized that I had a whiteboard. Through stick figures and multicolored highlighting, I was able to show the concept visually, and the student understood. Altogether, this process was nearly 12 minutes of explaining the difference between two words that a native speaker automatically differentiates. Just two little words. And it wasn't even something as complicated as "lay and lie" or "effect and affect". Wow. And yet other concepts that I would think would be very difficult the students seem to effortlessly pick up.

Just as my students are learning, I am learning as well, and I have been using the whiteboard to greater effect in my classes this week. After I asked a question last night, I then wrote it on the board so that the students could continually refer to it. (Fun note for people exploring ESL teaching: the literature that I read before coming to CZ advocated speaking to students before writing the words on the board. Any guesses why? Two reasons. One: how do children learn their first language? By listening for a long time, then speaking. How do they learn to read? By hearing the words, then by seeing them. What works for first language [L1] acquisition tends to work for second language [L2] as well. Second reason: English has a crazy alphabet. One sound is represented by several letters [c and k, for example], and one letter makes several sounds [see and sugar]. If something you are saying is already written on the board, chances are students will be looking at the board, trying to match the sounds you are making with the letters, and getting very confused because sounds and letters matching is practically an accident in English. This process will distract students to such a degree that they will miss what you are saying.)

We talked about Czech reality TV, the American obsession with medical and legal shows and interesting places we had traveled to. I also heard their opinions about Vinnetou, a classic Czech film about American Indians. A student had told me about this movie last week, and I was so surprised that European films had been made about America's Wild West that she brought in a copy for me to look at. As was explained to me later, during the Communist rule before 1989, Western culture was strictly censored in Czechoslovakia. The only way that the Czechs and others behind the Iron Curtain could encounter Western motifs was if they created them on their own. This confirms what a teacher in one of my classes told me last week, that the older generation of Czechs still admire the US, because it was sort of a gold standard of progress and fairness during the oppressive Communist regime.

Vinnetou is apparently an enduring classic, because all five students loved the film and all of their children loved it as well. I am looking forward to watching it, even though it's only in Czech and German. I think I will burn a copy to my computer and get Brock to practice his German by translating it :) The film was lent to me so that I can see the beautiful Croatian landscape that was used as a background, so I'm sure my eyes will be pleased, even if my ears don't understand :)

Last night's class was also wonderful because one of the students provided a Christian witness during the conversation. She is a church employee who is attending the classes to improve her English. While we discussed places that we had been, she talked about becoming a Christian while living in the Middle East with her Muslim husband. She shared with the group that even though her circumstances rapidly changed while abroad, God was visible and able to work through the bad. I was personally gratified to hear her story, as an encouragement to me. I was also glad that a student was discussing this, since I am concerned about how to be a good witness without compromising my role as a teacher, because my responsibility is to provide this service to the best of my ability. Please pray for my understanding of this interaction between teaching and witness to increase.

And speaking of prayers...thank you for them. I have felt so empowered during classes this week. I feel both confident and competent, like I am actually helping students learn English.

At orientation, the student.go supervisors talked about our calling to be "the incarnational face of Christ" this summer to all of the people we encounter. But it's much harder to check yourself on fulfilling this responsibility than checking if your students understand present continuous tense. Or as Martin said, when you build something with your hands, you can see the progress, and it is instant and rewarding. But the deeper progress is invisible, often slow, always a gift to witness, but never a guarantee.

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. But sometimes I'd like the assurance that I'm doing this right.

Success!

For the first time since I started teaching, I feel competent! Tonight's intermediate class went really well. There was only one student-a girl in high school who looked like Kate Moss without the crack addiction. The hour and a half flew by much quicker than I was expecting. Her intermittent "Ah-ha. Aaaah!"s were so gratifying, because I knew that she wasn't just understanding one example, she was seeing entire patterns. If teaching can be like this, sign me up!

Stand and Deliver

I now have a week of teaching under my belt and am preparing for a week of more. My time is divided between instructional teaching in the beginning of the week and conversation classes at the end.

Preparing for my first day was the most nerve-wracking, but was luckily low-stakes. My only student had a good grasp of the basics, and Marek was there to translate instructions. I felt exhausted after the hour and a half, and I am not sure if the student learned anything new, but he did have a lot of time to practice conversation.

This first day of teaching was the same day that I had my poppy encounters. After I had finished my morning traipsing and before I began to teach, I had devotional time with Martin and Anna, my co-workers. I had met Anna that morning, while I was making breakfast (in Czech,"vařit snědané", I'm making breakfast) in the communal kitchen. Actually, it was a little late for breakfast, which is why she was making couscous while I was making oatmeal.

As we talked over our food, I thought about younger Kendall, and how much she hated talking to new people. I thought back to two years ago, when I was an international student in England and avoided eye-contact whenever I was around the Brits that I lived with (any surprise that I came out of that experience with American and Norwegian friends, but not a single English one?). I usually still think of myself as that shy, anti-social cave-dweller, which is why I'm still surprised when I can have a normal, adult conversation with someone I've never met before. As it turns out, this is how people make friends.

Luckily, when I pull my head out of my hat, or somewhere else, long enough to talk to another human, I usually end up talking to very nice, accommodating people who have so many interesting things to say (maybe all of my British hall mates weren't loud and obnoxious? I guess I'll never know). Anna is one of those sweet, kind-hearted, easy to get to know kind of people, and I was so happy to start my day with strawberry oatmeal and her acquaintance.

Even better was praying with Anna and Martin before my first teaching session. Martin started our devotional session by reading a passage from the book of Acts, where Jesus makes his final ascension into heaven. How relieving, and how personal, to hear the angel say “Men of Galilee, why do you look to the sky?” The words could have easily been, “Kendall, why do you look everywhere but here?” After my existential grappling on my poppy-walk, those were comforting words.

In fact, the entire passage was comforting and alive, so I'll repeat it here:

In my former book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and to teach ²until the day he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles he had chosen. ³After his suffering, he showed himself to these men and gave many convincing proofs that he was alive. He appeared to them over a period of forty days and spoke about the kingdom of God. ⁴On one occasion, while he was eating with them, he gave them this command: "Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. ⁵For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit."

⁶So when they met together, they asked him, "Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?"

⁷He said to them: "It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority. ⁸But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."

⁹After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight.

¹⁰They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. ¹¹"Men of Galilee," they said, "why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven."

(http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=acts%201&version=NIV)

Isn't the book of Acts amazing? Anytime that you doubt your ability to carry out God's will, or even your appropriateness in being called at all, Acts is a reminder that God has historically and habitually called the slowest, most pitiful, most backward po-dunk poor souls in the back-est water eddies of the world to enact the Kingdom of God. "Men of Galilee" might as well be "Welfare recipients of Bluefield."

So whenever I feel like a hack because I'm not a real teacher and am rarely a good Christian, I can just remember that Peter denied Christ, assaulted a police officer, wouldn't let Jesus wash his feet, and still got points for enthusiasm, plus the keys to the kingdom. Obviously this had nothing to do with Peter--he really was a screwup--but with God. Verse 8 has that amazing addendum, "you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you."

Chills, right? Because right there with the assurance that anyone can do God's will is the reminder that the will starts with God and can only be executed through the power and authority of God. Sweeeeet.

I just love, love Acts. It's a starting point and roadmap for anyone exploring call, whether individually or corporately. And of course, it's got great talking points when it comes to international missions. "...in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." We gotta do God's will in holy places, in familiar places, in places profane and places we haven't even heard of. Or even more personal...in our church, our families, with the dregs of society and with people you can't imagine how you'd ever meet. Neat.

I don't know if I'm in Judea, Jerusalem or Samaria. Isn't foreign hard to define? When Anna prayed for me that first day, I didn't understand any of the words that came out of her mouth, but I understood the sincerity and the love. When I hear church people in America talking, I know the words, but sometimes can't comprehend how they can be so passionate about who doesn't belong in church or what sort of music should be played in a service. Systems theory would call this the difference between process and content. I think it could be the difference between letting Christ guide what is essential and letting habit guide what is secondary, with the wrong amount of importance being attached to each. Hearing Martin and Anna talking about the impact of Christ in their lives feels more familiar than any discussion I've heard in English about gay marriage or communion scheduling.

Even with scanty English translations, screen-less windows and no fat-free foods, this place does not feel foreign and I do not feel like an outsider. I know why. I felt this thought clenching my heart while Anna prayed for me in Czech, "This is the body of Christ!"

Another Poppy

After I saw my lone poppy, I began to make my way back home. I couldn't resist photographing the other poppies I saw, to the amusement of a Czech man with his daughter. I couldn't understand what he yelled at me, and when I yelled back "mluvim anglicky" (I speak English), I didn't understand why he began running away and laughing. I guess he didn't want to talk to me.

When I had finished taking pictures of what was either a shrine or a very small garden, I walked to the top of the road, about to head back to Bethel. As I was getting ready to cross the street, I looked to make sure the road was clear, the way I was taught in first grade. However, looking 'left, then right, then left again!' doesn't work as well in a country that has roundabouts in every intersection and aggression as a national characteristic.

Thankfully, instead of seeing oncoming traffic, I saw Jarmil, the little girl from the Oasis who had smiled at me during craft time. She was walking home from school, or so I gathered from her English, the book bag on her back and the fact that she was walking over the bridge, away from town. Her expectant face and thoughts about unexpected poppies encouraged me to walk with her. She asked about my family, and I told her that I had two brothers; Jarmil was excited, because she has two brothers also. She didn't know the word for 'older,' so I mimed my brothers' ages by holding out my hand to indicate their height. Jarmil understood and indicated that she was the middle child by holding her hand higher when she said her older brother's name and lower when she said her younger brother's.

We soon exhausted her English and my miming. I took to making sweeping gestures to the sky and river, with a big smile to show that I thought they were good. If I cannot impress these Czechs with my superior language abilities, then I'll leave some other impression. Perhaps I can be remembered as that sweet, slow girl who was always waving her arms around...

Jarmil and I were having a great walk. I was gesticulating and she was smiling. As we reached the end of the bridge, I saw a wild bush of dwarf roses. Jarmil laughed at me as I tried to gracefully pluck a little bud. We managed to pick the flower with three hands, and when I stuck the flower into her ponytail, she smiled at me. When the flower promptly fell out, she laughed at me.

Once my distractions with the flower were finished, Jarmil pointed to the other side of the street, showing she had to cross. I thought to myself, 'This is why I met Jarmil in town. Now I can help her cross this busy street and get home safely. What a good thing, since she is only 9 years old.' But before I could think of myself as the Czech Frauline Maria and decide whether Jarmil was Brigitta or Gretl, she stoutly held up her hand to an oncoming car, grabbed my arm, and marched me across the road. When I tried the same move at the next intersection, she grabbed me again to pull me back from an oncoming car and then demonstrated the proper way to stop traffic. And thus I had another 'Ministry Moment': never be too confident that you're about to help someone, because you can never be sure if you're about to be the minister or the one ministered to.

Perhaps my reputation at the end of the summer will be the girl who was sweet, slow and an idiot at crossing streets.

We had not walked much further when Jarmil let me know that I didn't need to follow her. I found out later that she lives in government housing for single Roma women. That doesn't sound so bad, does it? It almost sounds like a safe, comfortable thing to help the down and out. But you don't need to be knowledgeable about Central European social programs to know what her living situation is like. All you need to know is that she is a triple minority--female, foreigner, Roma. You can connect the dots from there.

I don't wonder why she didn't want me to follow her. I do wonder what I'm supposed to do with this knowledge.

Getting to Know You/ Looking for Poppies

This morning, I was so nervous about teaching tonight that instead of being practical and reviewing my notes, I exhausted every time-wasting mechanism at my disposal. Since I don’t have internet in my room and I didn’t want to waste my reading material, I reviewed every extra on the DVD of ‘13 Going on 30’ (the deleted scenes are fun, but were rightfully pulled, because they do not advance the storyline. The bloopers aren’t anything special).

I finally got a grip on myself and decided to walk through town, to look for poppies and try to meet God. Although this past week has been hectic and busy, I could have made time for God and I did not. After church yesterday, I was given a new impetus to hungrily pursue time with the Lord. As I walked, I thought about if I was living ‘the winning life.’ I realized that I was not, because whenever I think about life, every fear and anxiety I have about my future floods my mind and squeezes the joy out of the moment. I have the choice to live in the perfect love of God, the love that drives out all of these fears, and yet I am still riddled with uncertainty. My walk began with these insidious thoughts at the top of my mind, driving my footsteps and coloring my view of the scenery.

I walked towards the edge of town, near the road where I had seen hundreds of poppies last week. I dodged the road and instead walked under it, by a little stream that led into the river. I enjoyed watching the stream, but was disappointed that no poppies appeared for me to photograph. I began to worry that they had begun to die in the past week. Maybe my fear that I had missed the poppies because I was too busy unpacking or sleeping resembled the fear that I had missed something important in life, because I was too busy perfecting my class schedule or a paper.

As I crossed a bridge over the stream, mallards squawked at me while they paddled around in fluffy white plant debris that fills the air in spring. I kept walking until I reach the edge of the river, grateful for a free afternoon to fill with aimless wandering. I kept hearing Alison Krauss singing about rivers and praying, and I thought what an apt setting running, sparkling water is for basking in God’s presence. My heart began to unclench and I thought I could find more poppies, if I looked harder.

I followed the loop of the river, past paddle boats and hostile swans, until I saw a nearly hidden footpath. I had almost

decided to walk past it, when I felt a nudge to keep going straight, to try this broken up path. When I reached the end with no poppies, no hint of anything other than overgrown greens, I was disappointed, particularly with God. I had attributed to God the nudge I felt to walk a little further in. When my short trip came up with nothing, I rolled my eyes at myself, for being so silly. It had nothing to do with God that I felt like walking on that path full of shade, a place where poppies wouldn't naturally grow, and then did not find poppies. I turned back, a little disheartened, hoping I would find a sunny bank and poppies elsewhere.

On my way to the head of the path, my downcast eyes caught something that I hadn't seen before. All alone, one cheerful, stalwart poppy danced by the bank. I must have missed it on the way in, when my confident eyes were looking straight ahead, at what was far in front of me, instead of around me. At that moment, I felt like if I could see God's face, it would have been filled with mirth and crinkled eyes.

I think this one little poppy, growing somewhere she didn't belong, was more beautiful, and a greater gift, than an entire hillside of poppies growing in the sunlight.

As I walked back to town, I had to laugh a little at the number of poppies I suddenly noticed. They were everywhere.

The Winning Life

My first Sunday at Bethel Baptist has been a special day. Because the Baptist community in the Czech Republic is so small, churches have made deliberate decisions to be in fellowship with each other. Today, an entire church from Aš (ash), a village several hours to the southwest, came to worship at Bethel. Aš lead the service, with singing from their praise band and choir, and a sermon delivered by their pastor.

The message in today’s sermon was both compelling and familiar, an old reminder with new meaning. The message was about ‘the winning life’ and how we can only achieve that with God. With his wide-ranging intonation and frequent outbursts, the pastor made enough noise that Martin’s line-by-line English translation of the sermon was not a very big distraction to people around us. Sitting in a whitewashed Old World church, listening to lilting Czech and intermittent English translations, gave words I have heard before a new resonance, like a familiar song in a different key.

When the pastor said that the winning life comes from daily, even constant, time with Christ, not only during our crises but also during our triumphs, I thought about my life back in America and the life I will have here in CZ. I still do not know what I am doing in seminary. An ambiguous future is fun and exploratory in a liberal arts college, but terrifying in grad school. Figuring out my future was most of my motivation for coming abroad this summer. I wanted to have a hands-on time for discernment. I want to discern the future that God has for me—will I be involved in international work? Will I teach? Will I teach English? Will I pursue Slavic studies? I planned on my time in CZ answering at least one of those questions, and hopefully more. I want this certainty about my future so that I can feel like I’m not wasting time in seminary, so I won’t come out with yet another degree that I can’t use in the real world. To me, ‘the winning life’ involves having a satisfying, ‘real’ job that can pay bills that are bigger than pizza with friends on a Friday night.

What I realized during the sermon was that I might not figure my life out this summer. I might find that I have a skill and a passion for teaching English; I may be out of my element and have to grin and bear it for two months. Either way how can I use that isolated, unique experience to be sure about the rest of my life? Maybe I should rephrase—how can I be certain?

I realized that I am going about this life-discernment business the wrong way. Getting hands-on experience in a possible field is a good idea. I am so glad to have these two months with guided, low-stakes practice. However, if I truly believe that God has a plan for my life, then discernment might be more about following God’s will step by step, as it is laid out before me, rather than trying to rationally map out my life the most logical way. I feel very lucky to know that God is real, that God “knows the plans God has for us, plans to prosper and not to fail us, plans to give us hope and a future.” Why don’t I take advantage of this blessed assurance, sit back, and enjoy this ride, even if it doesn’t result in a five-year plan?

Run of Hope/ Czech Hospitality

Today I made a new friend, saw the shortest marathon ever, and heard Ephesians read in Czech.

The park behind Bethel was host to a Run of Hope today. I still do not know what the hope was for, but since many people were around, I’m sure there was a lot of hope. The run was about one lap, so they must have hoped very hard for the duration.

I helped work a table for Bethel, to sign people up for English classes and a soccer tournament later in the day. My new friend Ahnja was there as well and has been so kind. She speaks English and has spent the day translating and interpreting for me, plus feeding me as well. The feeding started at the race, when volunteers set up a refreshment table.

Cured meat is very popular here, along with lots of different spreads to put on bread. I wished I hadn’t eaten so much yogurt for breakfast, because then I would have been able to eat more pepperoni and sauce sandwiches.

Later in the afternoon, I walked with Ahnja to her house on the outside of town. I was told that it is bad manners not to clean your plate in the Czech Republic, which became a problem when Jana’s mother served me a three sausages and a pork fillet, after I had eaten a bowl of lentils and a salad. I thought being sick all over her nice yard would have been worse manners, so I ate a little of all the meat, smiled and thanked her profusely as I waddled out of her home to walk to youth group with Ahnja. I have never been so glad for a twenty minute walk. I think my heart would have exploded if I had just sat there after eating so much.

I have been thinking a lot about hospitality and what it means in the Christian life. I had never thought of hospitality as a spiritual discipline until recently, when it was a topic in my spirituality class last term. Hospitality, which is certainty warm and welcoming when we experience it, is also a model of our relationship with Christ. To be hospitable shows us how to unconditionally love and care for an outsider, even and especially one who is very different, very foreign. To receive hospitality show us the humility of receiving grace that we cannot pay back.

In less than a week, I have already received overwhelming hospitality. Something as simple as leftovers in a nearly stranger's home feels like a shady spot on a hot day. I am trying to find ways to reciprocate this hospitality, which will take some creativity. I think I will buy strawberries to share next time I am at the market. After all, hospitality is not just how you treat a guest in your home. Hospitality can and should be part of our daily living, in how we always make those around us feel welcome and honored. I am not good at this, since I am usually so focused on being independent and self-supporting that I end up being self-centered and ignoring the needs of others. I am going to try to make deliberate steps each day towards showing hospitality with my actions.

Pottery Time at the Oasis

Today was a semi-official ministry day. Martin showed me how to reach the Oasis, which is an auxiliary ministry of Bethel. There are activities there for Roma (gypsies) that are staffed by Bethel workers. When the building is not in use, seniors in the community have events there.

When I arrived, a worker was helping a girl with clay. I indicated that I knew how to use clay with my hands and with a wheel. When they pulled the pottery wheel out and plugged it in, I felt obligated to start using it. This was a very bad way to make a first impression, since the wheel did not have a basin to collect the water that must constantly be applied to the spinning clay. I was on the wheel for ten minutes, then cleaning up splatters and clay mess for thirty. I will avoid the wheel in the future.

Meanwhile, the Bethel worker was showing some girls a sewing craft. I made a somewhat lopsided rose with the girls, and awkwardly tried to help one who kept unthreading her needle. She either didn't want help or thought I was trying to sabotage her work, and she resisted my attempts. I guess this is ministry--doing a bad job helping people who don't want it? At the end of the hour, she began to smile at me, so I think I made some headway.

A less bashful little girl kept providing Czech words for the crafts, and we shared several conspiratorial smiles. By the end, I think the clay catastrophe was forgiven and I had made some new buddies.

Martin and I made posters that night, to advertise the English classes and the upcoming English camp that I will run with a couple from Canada. I had not known about this camp before, so I am both excited and nervous. I am nervous because the camp will last four hours every day. Since I have yet to have any classroom experience, this feels like an impossible length of time. But the Canadian couple is extremely nice and experienced, which means that my chances of failing are somewhat lowered.

And an interesting side note--I found out that standard printer paper in the CZ and Europe is not 8 1/2 x 11. Their standard paper, called A4 for no obvious reason, is taller and thinner than ours (maybe this also goes for their people?). I can accept paying for refills, public transport and only one brand of peanut butter, but this A4 paper may be beyond my ability to cope.

Please thank God for the thriving ministry at Bethel, and pray that we will all be open to the new opportunities that arise.

Things you miss the first time

As I wait for my teaching project to begin, I continue to settle into Central European life. Today Shane was kind enough to show me how to travel to Prague. There is a direct bus line that only takes an hour, but these things are confusing and scary the first time. Shane was on his way back to Slovakia, but stuck around the city for a few hours to help me explore some new places. I have been to Prague before and thought that I would be fine traveling by myself. Once I got on that departing bus, however, and starting thinking about how the day would spread out, I began to remember how much of an anxious traveler I am. I was suddenly very glad to have a helper for part of the journey. In an effort to combat my travel anxiety, I decided to not even attempt a schedule. I am realizing that I either enjoy making a schedule I don't have to implement or following one that I didn't have to make. I decided that the safest route for my sanity was to wander aimlessly through Prague.

If I had made a plan, I would have picked out the most significant and interesting museums and churches to visit. I would have plotted the most efficient series of Metro stops to take, to cut out

transit time and increase site-seeing time. But then I might have missed:

* An unexpected oasis in the middle of the city, tucked away behind tall, crumbling walls,

complete with a mausoleum and peacocks. I might have trespassed on private property to take pictures of the peacocks, but come on, they're peacocks.

* Arguing in English with a non-English speaking store owner that: coffee+creamer packet does not equal cappuccino, and no, I should not have to pay for an extra creamer when you are already charging me cappuccino-price for a non-cappucino.

*Eating roast duck and cabbagecabbagecabbage

with dumplingdumplingdumpling. I had

planned on eating my packed lunch, but luckily Shane talked me out of that plan, and I was very happy with my traditional Czech meal instead. The red cabbage is sweet and the white cabbage is anise-y, and both are great complements to the chewy dumplings and flavorful duck.

*Walking by the Ministry Kultury, with an important looking man standing watch out front.

* Central European Modern Sculpture Art.

* The fun and exhilaration of "trusting your instincts" rather than "using a map because you are a tourist who does not know the city."

* Running to catch a bus that is minutes away from leaving, because wandering without a map has made you late to catch it.

I found out that part of site-seeing is not just photographing the famous town hall or getting an all-inclusive tour in English. The bumps along the way--both from uneven cobblestone and uneven translations--are every bit a part of the life and movement of a city. You can get pictures of Charles Bridge from a book, but a book doesn't show you what ten thousand tourists on one bridge feels like.

And the bus ride is much better with your gaze outwards, past the glass, rather than frantically scanning your guidebook, hoping you haven't forgotten a church or a bridge or a pigeon that your trip will be incomplete without seeing. Western Czech Republic (Bohemia) is beautiful, with green, shaggy mountains that are sometimes far off in the distance and sometimes close enough to make you crane your neck, but always hedging the villages and streams and crumbling bridges that pass by. My view on the way home passed by too quickly for me to take a picture. I didn't bother trying, since a picture could not convey the sense of calm and nostalgia that over came me, as I watched centuries-old bridges stand stoically still, while little streams merrily bubbled underneath and unkempt grass billowed on top.

If I want to grow a little everyday, then today helped me see the fun in no plans and the freedom in no expectations.

Thank you

I am so grateful to the support the my church, Winfree Baptist, has given for the work I will be doing this summer. I could not have come abroad for two months without the help I received from the fellowship at Winfree. Thank you so much!

Welcomings!

Hello! I have been spending the last day getting off of flights and getting acquainted with my new home and new friends. My flights were perfect, considering they were only delayed a little bit, instead of cancelled outright like the last time I flew abroad.

While waiting in Dulles airport, I had the pleasure of making friends with a little Bulgarian girl and giving my first English lesson! She and her father were returning home to work in the family store by the Black Sea. This little girl, whose name I unfortunately do not know, was so excited to show me an electronic keyboard that her dad bought in Disney World. When you push a letter, this pink contraption sings it out and says a word that begins with the letter. We were having so much fun with the keyboard, and soon two other children wanted to join us. Unfortunately, my new friend decided she was shy with other children, and promptly ignored them while they played with the keyboard. With only a few minutes left before the plane began boarding, this girl had learned the letter "k" and "kiss" and the letter "a" and "apple", and how to count to five. It is amazing how quick kids can pick these things up.

I felt so fortunate to have two friends meet me in Prague Airport. Shane is my supervisor, and he came over from Slovakia to help me set up. Rachel is a newly on-board personnel who came from an hour away so that I would know another friendly face.

After a lunch of traditional Czech food—dumplings, cream soup, and pork and cabbage in more ways than you thought pork and cabbage could be done—at a non-traditional Czech price—all you can eat, a rareity outside of the US—we were off to Lito. I was so glad that I could ride in the car with Shane instead of taking the train, because the side of every road is currently choking with red poppies. I would have been sorry to miss such a welcoming sight after such a long trip.

My two Czech supervisors, Martin and Robert, met us at Bethel Ministry’s building. They were kind enough to make me coffee, as the time was quarter after unGodly for my six hours behind internal clock. We all got to know each other by talking about European Baptist life, travel anecdotes and of course, the Czech Republic. Both Martin and Robert were surprised to know that I had heard of Jan Hus, who I hope you all remember (from an earlier post) started the Reformation in the Czech lands. They were also kind and patient while I tried to stumble through the Czech phrases that I thought I knew.

Many people whom I have met here are surprised when I try to say something in Czech. A recent high-school graduate that I met last night was surprised that I wanted to come to the Czech Republic at all, since America is “so rich.” It is amazing that I can see already, on my second day here, how much goodwill a traveler can establish with locals of a country simply by being interested in that country. This begs the question, “why would you go to a country if you are not interested in it?” I think many travelers are interested in the art and buildings and food of a foreign country, but not necessarily the people and the culture. Culture is much more than what you can take a picture of. When you go to a new place, consider learning more than just “hello” and “thank you” in the native language, although those words are good starting points. You will get a better return for your effort than you thought possible.

So far I can say nothing completely or correctly, but I can garble out an appropriate greeting for the time of day, tell someone it was nice to meet them, and ask for a towel. The last one has not been necessary, since Bethel and the field personnel were gracious enough to see to all my needs before I arrived, but that hasn’t stopped me from saying it several times, just to show that I know an entire phrase. Hopefully I will grow out of this phase when I have learned some new phrases.