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.