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.

Bewildered by Grace

 Our school has a policy that goes something like this: If a student misses more than one third of class meetings, they are not allowed to take the final exam – worth 50% of their grade – and thereby fail the course.

Last semester I had a girl named Mango. She stopped coming halfway through the semester. She was not allowed to take the final exam. 

I had another student, named Shari. She came on the first and last day of class. She was not allowed to take the final exam.

Shari showed up on the last day of class before the final, “Tiffany… Do you know who I am?” My blank stare told her that I did not. “Oh… My name is Shari.” Ohhhhhhh, Shari, the girl who came on the first day of class, never to be seen or heard from again, until this moment. I had asked her classmates about her and they always laughed and said something along the lines of “She does not come here.” I thought she transferred or something, but it turns out that she signed up to take an oral English course across town, before she knew she would have my class.

“Shari, there is nothing I can do. Even if you take the exam, you would still fail the course, because you missed 13 of 15 classes, turned in no homework assignments, and didn’t take the midterm. I’m sorry – I wish you had told me at the beginning of the semester. We could have worked something out.”

Her English is awesome. I was sad she failed, but also a little peeved that she felt entitled to pass, having never come and never so much as told me why.

Here we are three months later. A text message from Dan: “Tiffany, you will give a make-up exam to two students who failed last term. Wednesday, 1:30pm, in room 2- 321.”

Initially, I was really annoyed. “Dear HEC, If you are going to bother with writing and enforcing an attendance policy that says students cannot take the exam, how do you justify REQUIRING a MAKE-UP exam for the real exam they were NOT ALLOWED to take? Sincerely confused, Tiffany.”

As I sit here, about to print the exam I wrote for Mango and Shari, I am beginning to see this in a new light. Yes, it’s confusing and stupid, and it doesn’t make sense… 

but I'm starting to see it is incredibly beautiful.

The attendance policy is just. Attending class is important. It matters. There need to be repercussions for missing class. So, two young women, my students, had to spend three months bearing the weight of a “Fail” on their transcript. Two young women, whose identities are sadly tied to their ability to perform, had to sit in the consequences of choices that kept them out of my classroom, possibly facing the anger of parents, the scorn of friends, and the shame and guilt so many students impose upon themselves.

But the authorities in this place don’t want them to fail. It’s not that they want them to take the course again, do everything well and earn a pass. It’s too late for that. Instead, they ask teachers to write and administer new exams to give their students – not so they can fail again, but as a vehicle of grace. Due to no merit nor effort of their own, they are given the opportunity to finish the course that had been set before them, the course their choices had previously made impossible.

With this new perspective, I am happy to give this exam. No, they don’t deserve to pass, but such greater grace have I received, that I will freely and gladly extend this small grace to my students at the request of my department head. 

It will be good to see these girls again, and I hope to see the effects of grace in their lives.