The Brilliance

Yesterday morning started out on a really wonderful note: I had the blessing and pleasure of catching up with a friend over coffee.

From that point on, the day went nothing like what I could have imagined.

I headed from our Starbucks date to do some homework… at another Starbucks. I took a lap around town, not sure of where I wanted to go. Really what happened was that I wanted to go one place, and the Lord said another, and it took a few minutes of driving for me to listen and obey. I settled in with my tea and the substantial load of work I’d left myself for that afternoon. An hour later, I had read about five pages. There were so many things running through my mind – teaching, China, friends far away, research paper thoughts… My lack of progress was frustrating but also kind of humorous. As I plodded through my reading on economic ethics, I found myself looking around at the people in the shop, and noticing the goings on outside.

Suddenly a flock of very diverse humans emerged from a nearby restaurant, and they filed past the window on their way back to their office. I couldn’t tell you why it was so delightful to me, but my joy did not go unnoticed.

“I love that something most people didn’t notice just brought you so much joy that it made me happy by proximity.”

He spoke quickly, and the background noise made it a little difficult to understand his words. He compared the people to ducks walking in a line, then he was talking about patterns of geese when they fly, the range of their migration, something about Richard Wagner…

I don’t know what it was exactly that led me to invite him to sit. It was likely a combination of curiosity about someone exhibiting signs of genius and concern for the other patrons caught in the crossfire of our friendly shouting over the cacophony of the coffee shop. I couldn’t understand him, and I wanted to hear what he was saying.

So, he sat down with me. And we started talking.
“I’m curious about you. What do you do? And why do you know so much about monarch butterflies?”

He loves animals, so he learns about them. And he is an economist. A brilliant one, at that. Upon hearing about my current assignment on economic ethics, he started offering tons of information, and I found myself listening to all new information about the U.S. and world economies. There were things that didn’t feel true, but since I don’t know anything about economics, I just kept making mental notes of things to look up. (It was all accurate, as it turns out.) He spoke in a way that reflected an intense amount of intelligence; he reminded me of a very good friend I had my freshman year of college.

He told me that he moved to the foothills of Colorado from Oklahoma, because he knew that when the catastrophe hits, the plains won't be safe and he plans to disappear into the wilderness. He’s afraid he’ll be lonely, but he would rather be alone than with people. He wants to divert the catastrophe by praying in a world revolution that would take us from our current course to something most closely reminiscent of the Kingdom of God.

He has beautiful dreams of “home,” of idyllic mountain scenes and safe, stable, warm homes where people care deeply about each other and contribute to the emotional and physical well-being of one another.

As I talked with him, I felt a tension growing within me, as I held his disorganized thoughts and paranoid beliefs in stark contrast to the brilliance and glory emanating from his soul. At the core of his longings were the hopes of finding home, being productive, sharing his brilliance; and they were stifled under compulsion to isolate, withdraw, and rise to anger.

He sat with me for a good portion of the afternoon; we primarily talked about his economic conspiracy theories and his survival plan, but we also spoke of God and redemption and family. He has found great comfort and solace in God, and despite early comments about Zen Buddhism, he seemed to truly understand what Jesus came to do and what that means for him now. He deeply and earnestly desires the kingdom to come.

But his family story is heartbreaking at best, and I felt the pain of his soul as he described the ways in which they destroyed and abandoned him.

As I read today about paranoid schizophrenia, I was struck by the absolute importance of stability and consistency in the home and the powerful help of unconditional love and support. He has had the opposite of that, and he expressed those longings in ways that now haunt me. I want so much better for him than what he has had; I imagine God's heart must break for him as well.

I was honored to sit with him and hear his story; I was honored to offer empathy where he has experienced rejection, to offer hope where he sees nothing good. And, as I left, he asked if I wanted to write him… He asked for my email, and I paused, then asked if instead I could have his, just in case someday I have words for him. I have his email address, and almost every kind bone in my body wants to reach out to him and be more than “another five-minute coffee shop friend” – the only kind of friend he has known lately. But as I have learned more about what it means to be kind to myself, and as I face the reality of the fear and pain that overwhelmed me once I found myself in the safety of my car… I know that I cannot offer him anything beyond the time we spent yesterday.

Anyone reading this, please join me in praying for my friend. He needs consistency, love, and understanding hope and compassion. Pray that he can find fellowship with God and people in the midst of a chaotic and lonely existence. He also wants us to pray for the transformation of humanity, so that we do not continue on the path to destruction. Amen.

I’ve learned about schizophrenia in the past, but this was my first time to be face to face with someone experiencing active symptoms (hallucinations and delusions). Honestly, I am undone by it. I see such glory and goodness in him, and it is buried in a mess of paranoia and uncontrollable emotion. I want more for him than just what medication can do; I know that because I saw him again this morning. To my great shame, I hid and made sure that he would not notice me when I walked into yet another Starbucks to have Thursday coffee with my dad. He was not the same brilliant, present man I had seen the day before. He seemed small; he had trouble walking; his eyes were cast down. It was painful to see in such stark contrast to the vitality I had seen the day before. Certainly, he seemed more calm, but it was like part of him was missing. The brilliance was gone.

There is a glory about this man… and I earnestly hope to meet him on the other side of this broken world.

 

Expectation

For weeks, my senses have been alerted to the coming change of seasons. A chill in the morning air. A gentle crunch underfoot. The squeaking brakes of a school bus slowing at the speed bump in front of my house. All these things tell me that fall is here.

And with it comes a change in my heart. I’m really here this year. I’m really not leaving any time soon. I can really settle into rhythms here in this place, enjoying the season and all it brings as a resident, rather than a visitor.

Relationships that have been defined by sporadic “catching up” can take on a whole new character. We can go deeper places. We can enjoy spontaneity. We can grow into one another and develop patterns that are comforting and lovely.  We can create memories together, instead of only sharing them as stories. 

Before I went to China, relationships were one of my deepest hopes and greatest fears. I wanted so badly to have depth and real connection with my teammates and students. I had hope that the Lord would provide, but my hopes far underestimated the good plans God had in store. I had no idea the greatness of the blessings that awaited me in the women of my team (and the guys, too) as well as in my students and other teachers. Those relationships continue to bless me abundantly.

Coming home, I had expectations that things would look the way they have for the last five years: Sporadic and a little distant. I expected to be isolated. I expected for things not to measure up to my year in China or my time in Memphis. They couldn’t. The past few weeks, my expectations proved to be self-fulfilling prophecies. …Until yesterday.

I finally gave in to my growing desperation for real relationship. I asked a girl I don’t know to have coffee with me later this week; I made plans to join a new friend from church at a weekly gathering of CSU’s international students; and I finally called my best friend from elementary school and junior high after five weeks of intending to do so.

She and I drifted apart in high school, and our relationship has been sporadic – at best – since 2006. But last summer I had the honor of attending her wedding to a man I know she truly loves, and today we started a new chapter of our friendship, kicking it off with lunch, a walk downtown, and an hour in a coffee shop. The afternoon was filled with wonderful conversation - full of depth, good questions, and genuine care. I couldn’t ask for more.

There are many questions to which I still have no answers for this coming season, and I know many challenges lie ahead.

But the lightness of my heart tells me that I am finally free to hope.

A Name for the Road

Coming into this season, I imagined a “coming down” out of the heights of living and teaching in China. Going into China, I imagined a coming down out of Memphis and all I’d seen, learned, and been a part of at Rhodes, SOS, and Jacob’s Well. Going into senior year, I imagined I would be coming down out of my time in Nepal… But each time I’ve made a transition, it seems I’ve climbed a little higher. The road keeps getting narrower and more difficult to traverse; the fall to the bottom is noticeably farther than it once was (thank God); and the higher we go, the more I have to look to God for fellowship, because He’s the only one who has been with me on all of the other mountains.

I came back to Colorado with no idea what I would be doing here, knowing that I don’t yet have real community in this place. I came back painfully aware of what I left behind in Memphis, including the opportunity to pursue the dream He has placed on my heart to become a counselor. But…The Lord has been faithful to fulfill His promise to make a way in the wilderness.

Immediately upon my return to Colorado (I had literally just driven across the Kansas border), I got a call about a temporary job at an office in Denver with people I love. Thanks, God, for the job.

Later that week I got a call from a professor at the graduate school I had just walked away from, offering to enroll me in two “hybrid distance learning” courses that were just approved by the accreditation board, in addition to an online course I was already registered for, thus making me a full-time counseling student. Thanks, God, for making that possible.

The first Sunday I was back, Pastor Rick beckoned me over, then invited me to consider joining Iasis leadership. Thanks, God, for the promise of community and intentional ministry at my church.

The following Wednesday, my niece Clementine was born. THANKS, GOD, FOR MY GROWING FAMILY!

Thursday, I committed to be on board with leadership. Saturday I applied (maybe too late?) for a few open para-teacher jobs in Poudre School District. Sunday I began to see how I might fit in my church family, engaging fully and with purpose. Monday I started classes. I worked in Denver again Tuesday and Wednesday. Today, I had class and homework. Tomorrow (Friday) I’m getting trained in First Aid and CPR, and then leaving for the leadership retreat…

Rick put it well when he told me that it’s time for me to hit the ground running. He meant at Iasis. God meant in life.

As things started picking up momentum, I found myself beginning to fear that I would lose my footing.

Reading through a book (that I highly recommend) called Church@Community by Ed Delph, I decided to read through Nehemiah, since that was a primary Biblical example of community building as he talks about it in his book. For some reason this spawned a visit to a baby names website where I investigated the meanings of many, many Hebrew names. I’ve done a lot of weird things… I really don’t understand what I was doing, but something came out of it.

The Lord gave me a name for the journey:

Jael. (Not for the incident with the tent peg.) For its meaning: mountain goat. Most of the names I saw mean things like “Strength from God.” “Belonging to God.” “Salvation of God.” And then there was Jael. Mountain goat. That’s different. Also very, very meaningful to me. If you know me, you probably already knew that. Whenever I face the icebreaker question: What animal would you be if you could be any animal? I never hesitate. MOUNTAIN GOAT!! People always think it’s weird. It must be a mountain state thing.

I have always been mesmerized by mountain goats. They live and thrive on terrain that is impassible to most humans and other animals. They don’t look down. They don’t get scared. They just… are. They live in some of the most beautiful and dangerous places in the world, climbing to the highest heights simply because they were made to. And they do it so gracefully.

Rather than continuing to wait for the descent out of the heights where I’ve been living, I think I need to just accept the name God has given me, until He gives me a new one. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about embracing a sustained “mountain top experience.” This involves major ups and down; this involves ground giving way beneath me and continuing on without losing step; this involves radical faith to run and leap in unfamiliar, wild high places.

I’m glad I have a name for the journey, to remind me of who He has made me to be. And I’m glad I have Someone to make the way.

Exercising Faith

I have been in America for less than a month, but it feels like so much longer. My time at home has been nothing like what I expected. There have been so many twists and turns in my plans, in my heart, in my circumstances; all of it has left me feeling jumbled, but somehow centered.

This past Sunday I had the honor of praying with a woman from Iasis about areas of our lives in which we are exercising faith. It was a perfect question: My whole life is currently an exercise of faith. Everything I thought would happen next week… is not happening, or is not happening the way I thought it would. I’m not going to grad school. I’m not moving back to Memphis. I’m not going to be re-investing in person in the relationships in my Memphis community. I’m not going to be a part of Jacob’s Well this year.

Where does that leave me? It left me confident about staying in Fort Collins, excited about being near my family, wondering where to work, wondering what would come next, hopeful about continuing Memphis relationships from afar.

The theme of China continues: “I thought ________ but then _______.”

The scriptural counterpart goes something like this: 

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the desert.” 

(Isaiah 43:19)

I have been perplexed by the question: Do you not perceive it?

I don’t know… That depends on what exactly “it” is. Lord, I’m here, I’m waiting… What is it?

All I know right now is that my life is not my own, and any good thing will come from the Lord in His wisdom, not from me.

Whatever that means. Wherever that leads.

Okay. Here we go?

Closing Harbin

The past month has been a blur. There were so many things to do before we left Harbin, and so much sleep to get once I got home... Looking back it really is difficult to remember everything that happened.

Closing time in Harbin involved giving exams, getting grades done, writing notes to all of my students, having a lot of conversations and meals with students, doing fun and necessary things with teammates (like decorating gingerbread cookies at a restaurant... which made more sense than throwing them away, taking them home, or leaving them for the next team). Things were a little hectic and unpredictable as our departure got closer, and my last full day in Harbin brilliantly maintained the theme of "I thought .... but then.... " Here's the story:

On Tuesday, my student Jennifer sent me a message asking if we could "play together on Friday" with Rambo, Sherlock, and Ruth. She said something about going to the fairground (What is that?) and I told her that I had some plans for Friday, but I would tell her soon if I would be able to leave campus. The next day, Sherlock told me that Jennifer had a plan: "We will go to my house and cook food." Okay. That sounds like a wonderful honor. I'm in. Friday morning I saw my student/ good friend Elmo in the morning, catching up and taking pictures, and then I had lunch with another student. After lunch, I bought some fruit to take to Sherlock's home, because according to chinese custom, you don't show up to someone's home empty-handed, and fruit is always an appropriate gift. I met the group and we piled into a taxi to go to Sherlock's home. Forty minutes later we were on the opposite side of town, pulled over in front of the amusement park. "What are we doing here?"

Jennifer looked confused. "I told you we were going to the fairground." ... I thought we were going to Sherlock's house to cook. "Oh... we will go there after." The pieces all came together. Not at all frustrated (except by my purse full of fruit) I started laughing as I comforted Jennifer and assured her that, although I was surprised, I was certainly not upset. The whole thing still makes me laugh... and I am still bewildered by the communication fail that occurred. We had a great time on some rides, they sang me a song on the karaoke stage, and we headed to Sherlock's house to cook and enjoy our final dinner together in Harbin.

 

Jennifer, me, and Lolita

Leaving day was a day full of students and hugs and goodbyes, including our most emotional goodbyes at the train station as we said goodbye to our teacher friend, Sunny, to a favorite English major named Julia, and to Rambo, Sherlock, Ruth, and Rambo's soon-to-be-girlfriend. They bought tickets to go to the platform and help us with our luggage... to wait as long as possible to say goodbye.

The next week was a blur. A sleeper train, a couple days in Beijing, a day of travelling, and several days of jetlag bring us to this point where I can honestly say I'm happy to be home. :)

I miss my students; I miss my friends; I miss being constantly surrounded by people and living directly above a supermaket where food is really cheap; I miss fried green beans and chewy apple candy; I miss Chinese pop music; I miss Chinese hymns sung by choirs, by laypeople, and by a certain delightful woman who worked in dining hall 2.

But more than I miss all these things, I am grateful that they were a part of my life this year, and I am grateful that I serve Someone who is continuing to lead me forward into blessings, lessons, challenges -- seasons I cannot imagine, just as I could not have imagined this past season.


I don't know what's next. Well... I know I'm going to grad school, but let's face it: that's only a small part of the picture.

I hope you will continue to walk with me as I follow my Father into the unknown.

How can I keep from singing?

I always lament having to come inside on a day like today. Not only is the weather phenomenal, but there are all these wonderful people outside. Pretty much every time I go outside, I see students and teachers who are incredibly dear to me. Standing outside for fifteen minutes brings unfathomable joy as dozens of said beloved people walk by on their way to the shops, to class, to the dining hall, to the street, etc… They stop, we talk, we smile, and we love every minute of it – all of the awkward language fail and satisfying language success moments.

Today was special. Since the semester wound itself down – rather abruptly, if I do say so myself – I had an afternoon free. Unsure if it would rain, I grabbed my book and didn’t stray too far from my building. I sat down on a bench adjacent to the first dining hall and immersed myself in the world of Janie Crawford. But not for long. I was joined by a woman who works at our school.

At first (and for most of the conversation) I had no idea what she was saying, and before she realized how bad my Chinese is, I think she was  asking if I could teach her how to read English. But we quickly moved on from there as she pulled out a small purple device and started singing along to a recording of herself.

It was so lovely listening to her sing. Her voice was clear, her songs so peaceful. After a few songs she said something I understood and she smiled widely, pointing skyward. Ohhh she’s singing hymns.

We tried to talk a little more – my Chinese is so bad. But amid many communication fails, I gathered that she has four kids, she has worked in our dining hall for the past ten years, she is a disciple who goes to a different fellowship than we do, she’s twelve years younger than my parents, and she really didn’t mind that my Chinese is terrible. She learned that I have two older brothers, that I’m 23, that I’ve been in China for 11 months (not since November which is what I said first), that I wish my Chinese was better, that I’m also a disciple, and that I think she sings beautifully.

I love that sat down with me. I love that my student brought me ice cream in the middle of the conversation.

And I love that she filled the many awkward silences by singing.

Sherlock

I got to sing to Catherine (my Chinese tutor) tonight. In Chinese!

Every week at fellowship, the choir sings this beautiful song about listening quietly to the voice of our Shepherd. I asked one of my students what the words were in English, and rather than just telling me, he made me a wonderful song map with the words in Chinese, pinyin (Roman alphabet phonetic spelling of Chinese), and English. His handwriting is incredible.

One day when he was little, he came home from school and told his parents, “I want to study handwriting.” So they found him a master and he learned. He told me that story at lunch today. He had told me before that he studied handwriting, but I had never heard how it began.

After our first class, he came to my apartment with a picture for me that said “t-france” in lovely Gothic script. (It was the strangest, most thoughtful and interesting housewarming gift I have ever received.) The next day, he showed up to my apartment with two scrolls. He had noticed that I like to decorate with words, so he went home and found some of his old work. “I did this one when I was 8. This one when I was 10.” They’re awesome… so awesome that I was really uncomfortable accepting the gift.

But that’s just who Sherlock is. He loves giving people gifts to make them happy. He gives me and the other teachers candy… pretty much every time we see him. Sometimes he disappears and reappaears with ice cream. Sometimes he spontaneously offers other things, like after our second day of class when he gave me both seasons of Sherlock (if you have never watched that particular BBC show, do it. Seriously. It’s good.) He cooked for us one weekend – delicious lamb and onions and some really boss corn. One day he bought teas for everyone on our team. (Lemon red tea? YES PLEASE, and thank you.) He also gives us the gift of his words.

Words are my favorite.

He sends us incredible text messages, such as this Women’s Day message: The world because of had the woman, appears particularly beautiful! The regards are only the short several lines, is actually thick true meaning! Wishes the March Eighth to be joyful, is forever young attractively!

Another text message: Today is World Smile Day. More smile, less trouble. Y:)Y (Allow me to decode that smiley for you: the Y’s are arms and hands, making the excellent happy peace signs Chinese students love to flash in pictures.)

I also have a piece of paper on my desk which – in flawless script – reads: The Titanic was sank, and a lot of people died. But to the lobster in kitchen, it created a miracle of lives. :) Sherlock)

He tells us jokes all the time. He’s very clever and enjoys a good pun now and then. Our favorite… Well, I can’t do justice to our favorite, but it involves Titanic, Michael’s favorite Chinese dish, and Jack waking up fatter and older on a beach in Inception. Intrigued?

Our most recent favorite goes something like this:

You know… If I come to America, I will have something that you can never have.


…


…




Okay, really, we have no idea. What?

Exoticism.


:)

You know it’s going to be a good moment when Sherlock announces: “Joke?” Yes, please. Please tell us your joke. If we laugh really hard, he exclaims, “I win!!” When Sherlock wins, really we all win.

In addition to being artistic, generous, and hilarious, Sherlock is also the champion of chivalry. He never walks through a door before a girl. He never lets me carry anything. He calls the women in his life “queens.” He doesn’t just say it to teachers in English, I hear him call female classmates queen in Chinese, wirth a wonderrrrrful Dongbei accernt.

He’s really genuine and trustworthy; he’s really loved; he’s a really good friend to everyone he knows. And he’s modest.

 It is my honor to teach him in the classroom and on the weekends. It is my joy to watch him beginning to teach the things he’s learning to his good friends. And it is my privilege and pleasure to be his teacher, friend, and sister.

I will miss Sherlock.

I just want you to try

I started writing this blog post on the back of a receipt I found in my wallet (Chick-fil-A, Fort Collins, CO, December 30, 2010). I was sitting alone in dining hall two for the first time ever (all of my students were practicing for a competition on Saturday), almost sad that I didn't have anyone to eat with (mostly I was just relieved to be sitting and to be quiet.)

As I sat, quiet and thoughtfully twirling my noodles (with chopsticks, yes, I was twirling noodles with chopsticks), scenes from the morning slid back into my mind.

Class was difficult. This morning, blank stares masking deeply engaged minds gave the illusion that my students were not with me. But they were. We were talking about stress and the ways we deal with it. (.... causes me stress. I feel stressed when... I cope with stress by...) They were tracking, they were thinking, they were using the structures correctly. It felt hard, but they were with me.

And then there was Adam. Asleep. I woke him up when I took attendance. I woke him up when I put the students in groups. I found him asleep again, apart from his group, while the groups were supposed to be working together – helping each other learn the material. “Is he okay?” I asked the other students. “Yeah… Maybe last night he had too much to drink.”

I lost it. I knocked my pen – LOUDLY – on the desk near his head and invited him to engage with the other students. He wouldn’t move. He looked irritated. He started trying to go back to sleep. I tried again. Again he resisted and put his head down, looking at me like, Who is this ridiculous woman who doesn’t understand that I need to sleep off my hangover? Doesn’t she know that I don’t understand what she’s saying? “Ting bu dooong.” (Anyone who has been in the DongBei knows what that’s supposed to sound like. Everyone else, I’m sorry. I’ll demonstrate for you some time.)

Every week, I try to engage with him. Usually he leaves in the middle of class. His English is really bad… No. I take it back. That’s not the problem. The problem is that he hasn’t learned English (I think due at least in part to a lack of motivation.)

I turned to his classmates and calmly said, “Please tell him that he has two choices: He can stay here and try, or he can leave. He isn’t doing himself, me, or anyone else any good by sleeping through class.”

He got up to leave, looking at me with a face contorted by anger and shame. A wave of peace and compassion rose up in me and washed away my frustration. I was standing in the aisle and he stopped in front of me. My demeanor softened, and I felt my face take on an essence of pleading and hope.

“I want you to stay. I want you to try.” I gestured toward the desk where his group was sitting. He had not understood; but he got it now. He stood there for a minute, looking agitated that I had first told him to leave and then told him to sit back down. As I awaited his decision, I realized that I couldn't make him stay and that if he left I would almost certainly break down into tears. He sat down, looking less angry but still a little peeved, and now a bit confused as well.

Donald (Donald is awesome. One of my favorite students.) stood up to meet me at the front of the room. “Teacher. What happened? He said he isn’t so good today.” He was expecting me to be my usual cheery, compassionate, “Doesn’t matter!” self.

“Yeah, I know. What do you think is wrong with him today?”

“Last night, he drank too much.”

“Yeah. …I know.” He stood looking at me, like he was waiting for me to get it. He was waiting to see the sympathy and compassion my students have come to expect from me when they’re not feeling well. I added, “...Maybe he shouldn’t have done that.” Donald looked puzzled for a moment, and then his face reflected understanding. I could see him mentally putting himself in the shoes of a teacher whose student is hung-over and uncooperative.

“Oh. … Yeah. I suppose you’re right.” He chuckled a little, and then looked more serious. “You know… he doesn’t understand when you speak.”

Equally serious but substantially more compassionate, I responded, “Yeah. I know. That’s why I want him to sit with his group. He can't understand me, but he can understand them, and they can help him.”

Donald looked at me like he had never heard of something so brilliant as classmates helping each other learn, and he went back to explain my odd behavior to Adam. A little later, I went to Adam's group to see if he was trying to engage. Ironically, his group was reading about unhealthy ways of dealing with stress. "Do you ever deal with stress in unhealthy ways?" He said no. "Really?" I asked. "What about.... this?" I pointed to "drinking too much" on the list. He met my eyes and found them to be friendly. His demeanor finally softened, and his lips curled up into a sheepish smile. His classmates laughed softly. "Yes." I coached him to say, "Sometimes I drink too much." We laughed a little; I affirmed his effort and left him and his group to continue. He needs a lot of help speaking, but his attitude is wholly different now than it was at the start of class.  He kept trying.


After he successfully said in English, “Studying causes me a lot of stress.” I said to him: “You can…” (he translated, "wo neng...") “… speak English.” He took another moment to process, then beamed. He knew what I said, and he knows that I believe it. And after today, he knows that I won’t give up on him. Even when he is hung-over and belligerent. Lord, help us.

After class, I handed back their exams. He got an 8 out of 50 and cheated to get most of those points. We’re going to work it out together. If it takes all of my free time and kills both of us, he will pass my class. In one day he came from angry to beaming, hopeless to hopeful, unwilling to successful. I hope this is a new beginning for Adam.

Reflecting on all of these things, I realized that a quiet, slow lunch by myself was probably the best idea ever.

...But as much as I needed time to be alone and quiet, I was delighted and profoundly grateful to run into my two best teacher friends – Alice and Sunny – and their friend who will be spending the summer in Atlanta. All three of them are completely lovely.

We sat on a bench outside my apartment, talking and enjoying the wonderful spring weather until afternoon classes began.

Some days I don’t feel like a teacher, but...

Today was not one of those days.

A Beautiful Paradox: What's Bad is Good

Talking with a friend this morning, I mentioned that I need to write more "because so many things have happened."

She answered with, "Good things?" I thought for a moment. "Mostly." She prodded back, "And some not so good?"

What an interesting question. I hadn't thought about it like that.

Don't get me wrong, I know that life has been really challenging this year - emotionally, physically, culturally, professionally, spiritually, inter-personally... But it has been a year in which the Father has provided abundantly in the midst of and in spite of difficulties and trials.

I reflected for a moment on my friend's question. At first nothing "not so good" came to mind. In my mind's eye, I looked back over a week of "chance" encounters with students, opportunities to pour love out on loveable - and not-so-loveable students, a couple days of much-needed rest, and blessed time in the classroom.

This is what that looked like on the ground:

I'm friends with a boy who was my student last semester. He and I have had some incredible conversations over the past several weeks. On Thursday night, I decided to go for a walk and ran into him coming out of the library. He had a lot of things on his mind, and I spent about half an hour that night listening to him talk about his fears about dying, stories about a friend of his who is gone, and thoughts about what happens after someone dies. He left me a little space to share my thoughts, but that night he was looking for someone to just hear him. It was heavy, but I held it with him.

Earlier that day, I had lunch on the street with a couple girls after class. It was a completely lovely adventure, except for the crushing revelation that one of those girls now considers me closer to her than any of her other friends. I would hardly consider us to be very close... but there's no one else she believes she can trust. And she's not the only one who has expressed that to me. My heart is broken for these beautiful people who have so much to say and no one to say it to... so much love to give and no satisfying way to express it... and no one offering those things to them either. Oh, that I could be a best friend to all of them! I would pour out on them the abundant love that is in my heart, love that is not my own but which comes from my Father who made them.

The "not-so-loveable students": I gave an exam in class last week. A lot of students cheated. Some of them lied to my face about cheating. I got to show them love through discipline and grace, noticing things most teachers don't care about and going to greater efforts to get them to learn the material. I suppose it was really frustrating, but I'm grateful that I got to show them care in a new way.

A very different kind of challenge: I'm really good friends with my student, Ruth. Last week, during our team dinner, my phone rang, and Ruth was crying on the other end. Her grandfather had just passed away. "Tiffany, I'm calling to apologize because I won't be able to take your exam on Friday. My grandfather passed away, and I will go home." (Girl! Stop apologizing to me about my stupid exam.) Team meetings that evening prevented me from seeing her, but I bought her some fruit and met her early the next morning to see her off to the train station. She was a mess, and I hugged her while she cried; I walked with her while she talked through what she was feeling. Watching this strong and joyful girl cry brought me to a deep level of empathy and grief that transcended linguistic and cultural barriers. When I saw her again a week later in the dining hall, I was overwhelmed with a deep and beautiful joy. Another big hug was had, this time with smiles not tears.

While Ruth was gone, we had a three-day holiday. I had big plans to see students and get things done. But then... I got sick and was completely out of commission most of Sunday and Monday. I had to cancel and postpone plans with students, and I was really disappointed. I had really high hopes for spending those days well, but I found myself sleeping away the days. Fortunately, during that time, I was forced to really rest. To stop. (I hadn't stopped in a while.) While I was apartment bound, our team had an afternoon cooking adventure with some sophomore English majors. They used my kitchen while I sat, and I got to spend some quality time with a few lovely students. If I hadn't been sick, I would've missed time with these people and continued to wear myself out.

I suppose that these things aren't really ... good, per se.

But I see the good in them.
Oh, do I see it.

I'm tired... but life is so rich. Isn't it interesting that some of our deepest joy is found in the greatest difficulties and heaviest burdens?

Moonlight and Cherry Blossoms

Looking out my window this evening, the moon shone brightly, illuminating large and interesting clouds. The air was warm, the night quiet. It was so inviting and peaceful that before I could really think it through, I had pulled on my shoes and was knocking on Lauren’s door to see if she had any interest in a walk. After a short – good – chat, I left her going to bed and stepped lightly down the stairs. A yi looked apprehensive as I waved and smiled. I glanced at my watch. 9:15. I made a mental note that I would probably be back at about 9:30. It’s a small campus. Walking alone is a little weird, so there’s no way I’ll stay out longer than that.

The lights on the path were glaringly bright, so I made my way toward the library where it’s a little darker. Replaying it in my head now, I see the moon in the sky behind the grove of cherry trees which have just bloomed outside my apartment building. It was incredibly lovely.

As I rounded the corner of the library and teaching building 2 came into sight, I started to talk to my Father. I was hit with a wave of emotion and the only way I knew to pour it out was to lift up my students. In order not to look crazy, I had my phone out.

All of the lights in the library seemed to be out, but suddenly about five students emerged from the side door, among them my friend Raphael. We were mutually surprised and delighted to see one another, and we agreed to walk together for a bit, enjoying the beautiful evening. “Are you okay? You seem like your heart is full of something.”

In fact… it is. I told him what I’d been doing and why, and we talked about how difficult it is to be a teacher, loving and letting go, learning to read so many different people, adapting ourselves to reach our students. (He taught for a couple days once, and as a result has a lot of respect for me. That was affirming.)
He is one of my best friends here, and I think tonight was the first time that he has talked about a real fear that he has. We’ve talked about hurts and hopes, but tonight for the first time he opened a topic that he doesn’t know what to do with. He’s afraid of death.

He doesn’t know what will happen when he dies. He believes in reincarnation, but he’s not sure he likes what that would mean for him in the next life, so he’s decided he will just defeat death and come back to this life. We talked about a friend he lost in high school. We talked about a friend I lost in college. We talked about where I believe she is now and why I’m not afraid of death.

He’s searching for answers… and I’m incredibly honored that he has invited me to join him in his quest. By no means do I have things all together. By no means do I have answers for his profound questions. But I have hope and assurance and stories and a really awesome Father to talk about.

I’m glad I went for a walk tonight. I’m glad I have a Father who orchestrates meetings like this one. I’m glad I have wonderful students… beautiful friends.

The Wind Is Strong

The wind has been blowing something fierce. This is no pleasant wei feng; it is a fierce gale that leaves nothing undisturbed. It is a wind that redirects steps, slams classroom doors, and requires us to lean in order to remain standing.

We don’t lean away from the wind, or we will fall down. We must lean into the wind, embracing it, and allowing it to support us. It’s uncomfortable, but that is the only way to stay on the path.

Images from today fill my head, causing me to smile, ponder, and laugh: students on the sidewalk outside building two, walking 30 degrees from vertical; a chicken on the road behind building four, unable to complete its journey to the chicken coop; blowing rain streaking the windows of my sun-filled classroom; ...
the hopeful and optimistic faces of students – in class on a Saturday afternoon – hearing out my dreams and plans for the coming years, sharing theirs with me.

As the end of the semester looms, I find myself constantly needing to lean into the One who is orchestrating all of these changes. I can’t lean away from the fact that we are leaving in well under two months; I can’t ignore the growing need to close really dear relationships; I can’t turn my back on the highly ambiguous future that awaits on the other side of the ocean. I’m tired and windblown, but I will continue to lean into the changes, embracing as best I can the beauty, delight, and challenge that these final weeks in China will hold.

"Today the wind is too strong," observed the man who runs the shop downstairs. The wind tore the sign off his door and nearly knocked me down on the way to class... but I understood what he said in Chinese!!!!

Blue Sky Surprise

I woke up at 5 this morning. I didn’t set an alarm, but at 4:52 I found myself wide awake. I launched into the predawn day with my journal and the word. And some hot water. I wasn’t the only person awake on campus. Out my window I saw a small group of people walking toward the street, bravely led by the most ridiculous little dog ever – legs and hair flying everywhere.

The clouds thickened as the sun rose, keeping the world dim and gray. It started to snow, so I made hot chocolate. I spent time with the Father, interceding for people at home and people here, and I spent some time lifting up my lunch time. I didn’t yet have lunch plans and I was hoping to find some hungry students to eat with.

Walking to class at 9:30, no trace of the dawn blizzard remained. The sky was a brilliant blue and the sun was shining brightly. I wasn’t expecting blue sky. 

Greeting my students as I walked through the door to room 334, I wasn’t expecting blue sky. Rather, I was surprised by Blue Sky. There is this student at our school; his name is Blue Sky. He studies tourism, but he’s friends with some of our English majors. At the beginning of the year he said something… memorable… to one of my teammates, so I have never forgotten his name.

After explaining why he was in my classroom, why he was skipping his class, and why he was attending my class, I agreed to let him stay for today only. We walked to lunch together after class so that he could talk to me about the summer job he just got – working as a bus boy in Yellowstone. On the third floor of dining hall 2, we talked solidly for about ten or fifteen minutes, but at that point we had exhausted the topic. We started fishing for things to say and our awkward lunching started to feel like a bad date.

I have never been more relieved to see Elmo. Ever. He sat with us, and we had good conversation. The three of us talked about jobs and our future plans. At this point, I got to share more with both of them about my plans to get trained as a counselor and the places that could take me. We talked about the joy of serving and helping others and the joy I have in walking in the midst of plans laid by the Father.

Elmo needed to go, and once again it was just me and Blue Sky. He asked me a question about my friend that led to a really interesting conversation about true masculinity. Blue Sky shared a lot of his opinions and perspective on power and strength – the ways it should work in relationships and the ways it shouldn’t. For the second day in a row, I found myself in a really encouraging conversation about abuse and violence with a Chinese man. Fascinating.

Faith played a big role in that conversation. He kept bringing up the fact that China doesn’t have a faith, wondering repeatedly why people here don’t have faith, voicing his opinion that it’s a good thing. He kept asking me questions about the Father and his Son, and we talked so long that my impending class had to bring our lunch to an almost unnatural end, nearly two hours after it began so awkwardly. Parting ways in front of the dining hall, he said, “Oh, Tiffany… The next time we talk, we will talk more about this Man.” He really likes what he heard today about forgiveness and repentance and restoration. I like it too. It provides life and hope in the midst of things dark and hopeless.

After a lesson on forgiveness that led two of my students to genuinely reconcile with one another – in English – I walked Rambo and Sherlock to the gate (they were going to see the doctor. Hoping Rambo gets better soon.) I turned up the street to buy some fruit. As I walked I tried to process through the day, seeing and greeting like a thousand students I know as I traversed the 200 yards to my fruit stand.

While selecting apples, the ridiculous dog trotted by and I laughed out loud as I recognized a most excellent bookend to another richly surprising day in China. If I ever see that dog again, I will take a picture.

I have learned to expect the unexpected...

but that doesn't make it any less surprising.

Today, again, I stand amazed.

I would love to walk you through every moment of my day, sharing the ways in which the Father has been awesome and faithful and surprising, but I don’t want this story to get lost:

Leaving Dining Hall 1 with Elmo and Grace, I spotted one of my other students from last semester. I parted ways with my friends and asked if I could join him at his table. It’s not the first time I’ve done that. He often eats by himself. He often does a lot of things by himself. The one time I have seen him not alone outside of class, he was with another teacher.

I am always happy to see this student because we have the most interesting and surprisingly deep conversations. His English is pretty excellent, and he loves to learn, so we’ve talked about things all over the board, from literature to cats to world history to possible careers in nutritional consulting.

As I sat down today, he asked about my winter travels to Xi’an and Guangzhou. He talked about his dreams to live in Xi’an someday. Then he wanted to talk about western China and the presence of Islam there. He took a moment aside to confirm his assumption that I believe in God, and then he continued his pondering of the situation out west.

Then we were talking about violent crimes and trafficking… then we were talking about domestic violence. 

We stood briefly on the brink of real conversation.

Unwilling to miss the opportunity, I stepped gently across the threshold.

“What is your family like?”

Cheerily, he replied, “Oh, perfect. No problems.” The way he had brought up domestic violence, I was simultaneously confused and relieved.

Then he went on, “My father used to abuse my mother. He would hit her and insult her. I started defending her, and he and I had a cold war for five years. We didn’t speak; we didn’t make eye contact; if he spoke, I ignored him. I hated him. Things are better now.”

I made space for him to talk more about his life following this brief and blunt overview of what is indeed not a perfect family life, but one filled with pain, shame, hatred, fear, and guilt. He took the opportunity to share very freely and openly about his family life. It didn’t seem easy for him to talk about, but he spoke with the ease of someone who has taken space and built up defenses to guard his still wounded heart. He was grateful for the opportunity to talk about it, but at one point he transitioned the conversation abruptly away from his experiences.

He started talking about someone else who has suffered a lot, the One described by Isaiah as the Suffering Servant. The transition was unexpected but lovely. He expressed deep respect for this man who loved people, loved peace, and was willing to suffer so much on behalf of others. “I don’t understand why they killed Him, though. He was such a great man.”

You know, He declares Himself to be more than merely a great man, right? “No… Really? I didn’t know that. When did He do that? What did He say?” I got to tell him about the identity claims He makes, the ones that caused the Jewish leaders to tear their robes and mistakenly cry Blasphemy! He was completely fascinated and wanted to know more about what He said and did, and what it means for the Divine to become human and suffer willingly.

We talked about many things, continually returning to the character of the Father, the role of the Son, and the help of the Spirit. At one point he looked at me and said, “Thank you for telling me this. I don’t know why I’ve never heard this before.” He thoughtfully questioned me, pondering and responding. He asked good questions that took our conversation all over the world, dipping into different issues clearly close to his heart.

I had the honor of conveying the love and acceptance and grace the Father offers to all who call on His name. And I didn’t get to share this with just anyone, but with my very dear student whose sexual orientation deems him basically unapproachable, unacceptable. “Disgusting and sick,” as he put it.

Out of the blue, he asked me what I think about homosexuality. He brought it up in a detached way, unsuccessfully masking the pain and fear driving the question. Forgetting that he had inadvertently come out to me last fall, he very gingerly informed me that he is gay. “I know.” You know? “Yeah, you told me last semester.” He looked as though a wave of peace and understanding washed over him. You have known this about me, and it has really not changed the way you interact with me. We talked about what that experience has been like for him, and I was relieved to hear about the relative acceptance he has experienced from his roommates.

We also talked about his deep longings for true love, and about the ways in which our Father pursues us to meet those longings more completely and more perfectly than anything else ever could.

Our conversation continued, bouncing back up to shallower waters. We continued for a while to enjoy friendly conversation with this new bond between us, and then he walked me back to my apartment so that we both could get on with our afternoons.

“Hey, I’m really glad that I ran into you today. This was great.”

“Yeah, me too. You know, you are leaving China soon. You don’t know if you will ever be back in this place again, so if you want to do some things, see some sights, I would be happy to go with you. Just give me a call.”

We exchanged numbers and parted ways good friends, with plans to continue exploring the things into which we delved today. I’m blessed to call him my friend, and I plan to make every effort to help him understand how loved he is, how good his true Father is, and how glorious is life in the Way. 

I wouldn’t dare offer him anything less.

“Faith, Nope, and Love"

Monday. Mondays tend to be my hardest days. I teach a new lesson back to back with rowdy classes, and the majority of my discouraging classroom moments (teacher fail and student problems) happen during the window from 1:20-4:35pm on Mondays. Today I was delighted by the extras on my calendar: skyping at 5:30am, lunch with two sweet girls from my Thursday class, dinner after class with two sisters from Michael’s junior class of English majors. Even if classes are rough, this will be a good day.

Sweet. Okay, here we go.

Looking back over the day, I’m not sure how to tell the story, so I apologize in advance for the stream of consciousness mess that could result from following my memories of quotable moments, starting with,

“Do you like shao dofu? It… smells disgusting. Tastes very good.” (I don’t know how to spell that. Sorry.)

Oh. Stinky tofu. After an hour and a half of excellent conversation with Christen and Haley over wanton soup at a restaurant near campus, the question caught me a bit off guard. I answered honestly that I have wanted to try it (don’t tell my teammates. They would be appalled.) Before I knew what was happening, I was sitting alone in a hun dun restaurant pretending to understand the waitress as she asked if she could take our empty bowls. For about ten minutes, I sat drafting myself a text message (because I was bored), reflecting on the evening. I had met these two girls a couple times, but we had never really talked together. 

They are really sweet, really busy, and really overwhelmed by the pressure of school and exams and the looming future. I felt like I was talking to Rhodes students, and I heard myself pouring out years of accumulated wisdom to these two young women – things that I walked through so thoroughly, so repeatedly that I sometimes forget that there was a time when those revelations and realizations were in fact novel. Ten minutes later they walked back into the restaurant with a container of stinky tofu and something else, one for each of us.

“This is for you! Chicken neck! Have you ever had it before?”

No. No I haven’t, but I won’t be able to say that tomorrow. They were so delighted that I ate it with them! (The sauce was excellent, by the way… sausome, if you will. I hope you will). I’m not sure what the fascination with that particular cut of meat is, but it was tasty enough. “We’re so glad that you like it. I think maybe many foreigners don’t like the neck.” Cool. Is that true? I think it’s true.

About an hour earlier, we had the additional company of Dracula, one of my students from International Trade 5.

“T-France, can I tell you a joke?” I don’t know, let’s find out. He did. It was pretty funny. A little while later, he turned around again (he was at the table behind me).

“T-France, can I ask you a question? Why do you always laugh when you call on Silence in class?” I started laughing and explained that it’s an odd name, that Silence is a funny guy, and that it’s a really ironic name for a student in an oral English class. I’m laughing as I write this, thinking about Silence, who originally wanted his name to be Nevertheless. After saying no to Nevertheless and to Lucifer, he very proudly chose Silence. Fair enough.

We picked up Dracula on our walk to dinner from Building 2. He was really excited to see me and very enthusiastically practiced his English. I asked if he had a good day, and he said,

“No! I’m heading to my department.” Haley started laughing and Christen explained to me that he didn’t understand my meaning. Oh, girl, I know. Trust me, I know. I do this every day. I have no idea what he thought I said, but our exchange was hilariously awkward enough that I was genuinely surprised to see that he had purposefully staked out the hun dun restaurant in order to talk with us more. By the way, department = apartment + dormitory. It’s difficult.

Perhaps you are thinking, What a nice way to end a day of difficult classes! My classes rocked. I found the key: Build chaos into the first twenty minutes, let them run and yell their energy off, ease into greater focus, and keep things short. Very short. They were with me. It was excellent. PTL.

Lunch was also good, though a little challenging in the communication department (this time I mean department, not dormitory apartment). I was happy to see both of them eating, unhappy to hear them saying they’re fat, and very sad to hear some of their stories about their broken homes. However, I was completely delighted to hear Susan saying great things about her dad who sounds like an excellent and loving human being. I've heard enough, “My father is mean,” stories to know that it is good and right to celebrate the good stories. So celebrate with me!

The day ended with a trip to the library to see Sophie to prepare for an interview for her News class. She gave me papers with the questions, so that my friends and I can prepare. Excellent things about this paper include a small picture of the Colorado state flag, the Colorado state motto: “Nothing without the deity,” (I’ve never heard that), fantastically Chinglish questions, and across the bottom, the ever inspirational reminder of,

“Faith, Nope, and Love.”

H’s and N’s look similar enough. Totally understandable. But that doesn’t make it not funny. :D

From an excellent skype call (worth the early hour), to a giggly debriefing session with Laura, with surprise appearances by Dracula, Katy, and my parents…

and everything in between…

This was a great China day.

That's normal?

In the middle of a lesson on time expressions and priorities I found myself completely exposed before my class. It caught me off guard. I was trying to expose them. I was telling a story about someone who lived for years on the streets without anyone calling him by name. Farmer piped up, “That’s normal in China.” 

Mid-story, I stopped. “That’s normal in China?”

Without emotion, he shrugged and repeated, “That’s normal in China.”

“That’s… normal...” My face, my eyes betrayed the depth and force with which that statement and its casual delivery hit me, and the weight of a tragic reality hung heavy in the room, hovering just above my students. They knew I was moved, but they weren’t yet with me.

I invited them to imagine with me for a moment that the person in the story was not a stranger on the streets of a distant land, but You. Imagine what it would be like for you to live for years without meaningful interaction with other people. You can’t get a job because you’re dirty and you smell. You can’t bathe and change your clothes because you have no money and no place to clean up. What would it be like to depend upon strangers to throw you enough money to eat? Sometimes. No one knows your name. No one cares what happens to you. Do you feel like a person?

The weight settled, and their expressions changed. There was silence, and I had all of their eyes. In this rare moment in which I had their undivided attention and profound interest, I invited my students to see strangers as people. I invited them to see people that their culture – and mine – taught us from a young age to ignore. And I invited them to respond differently – to offer them words, money, and time, to convey worth and humanity to people who have been cast out as worthless and treated as less than human.

I don’t know what they’ll do with that. I gave them some suggestions.

But I hope they’ll never again be content to avert their eyes in the presence of someone begging on the street. 

I hope it no longer seems normal to do so.