The weather yesterday was what I would call spastic. At points it was as if I could taste spring, as the trees, the sun and chirping birds all led to the conclusion that "finally, SPRING HAS ARRIVED." Then in about 5 seconds (no joke), foreboding clouds would roll in and drop rain, which quickly turned to sleet, which then morphed into snow, lots of snow. My emotional state fluctuated like wise: happy with sun, sad with snow; happy with sun, sad with snow; happy with sun, sad with snow. Let's just say that it was "frustrating."
My first adult English class started at 4:00 pm, and at the time, the sun was so bright that I had to move the window curtains about three times, as it seemed that my students' eyes were going to burn out of the back of their heads due to the un-filtered sunlight: most of them sit facing a gigantic series of 8 square windows that encompass the whole wall (this Church is 'functional' so square is in).
On a personal note, I was extremely encouraged by the sunny weather; I hoped that it would carry over for the remainder of the night (should have known better), as I was showing a movie at 7:15, which I knew would be well attended if the weather decided to sedate itself into a decision about what it would produce, which I was hoping would be SUN! However, true to it’s from, the clear skies and reprieve from the cold were ever fleeting. Clouds came back, everything turned gray, the winds suddenly became blustery and, finally, the snow fell. Oh, yes, the weather had made decision; the choice would be snow!
I was upstairs preparing the computer, pr0jector, speaker and screen. I was watching the trailer and getting my mind focused and geared toward the film; I'm not going to lie, I was excited about the upcoming program. Then suddenly, on the black of my screen, I saw the reflection of the big circular window behind me and through the reflection of the big circular window, snow was dancing and swirling, as if to mock me. I turned sharply and peered out. It was snowing. It was dark. It looked cold. I was crushed.
You see, I have a hard enough time trying to make the programs in this church well attended, so I didn't need the weather to be against me too. But, I guess that is life. It wouldn't have been so bad, if my last movie wasn't nearly destroyed because of a snowstorm, so the last thing I wanted was this one to be dashed as well. Dejected, I took my leave from preparations and went downstairs to teach my second class. I only had 6 students (not a good sign, as it signaled people were not driving).
I ended class a few minutes early and went upstairs to make sure everything was in order. When I opened the door, I saw one of my high school students sitting amongst the chairs. He was all alone. I asked him if he was excited for the movie and he replied, "Yes! My friends might be coming too." "Good." I thought. But I was still a little bit skeptical. I waited about another 15 minutes and slowly some people came in, but the crowd was only numbering about 13: it is a decent number, but I was really hoping for some more. I began to speak and introduce the film, when sure enough, as it always seems to happen; I was interrupted by a group of 8 people walking through the doors. There were older students, married couples, elderly couples and some people I had never seen before. Jamie and I were scrambling to get more chairs.
Ironically, in parallel fashion to the day’s weather, I went from sad to ecstatic in the space of about 2 seconds. The movie had been a success. And, I had beaten the snow!
In the back of my mind, I knew that Everything is Illuminated would be well received by the Czechs. For one, it is a story about Central/Eastern Europe that was filmed (some of it) in the Czech Republic. Also, this movie plays on stereotypes of both nations, as Ukraine takes the role of the comically-backward, kielbasa-loving, stern-faced eastern European epitomized in the character Alex; and Elijah Wood (Jonathan), plays the role of a sheltered, rich, rigid American. At many parts, the movie is tragic, beautiful and hilariously funny, as both characters struggle to span the cultural barriers that are between them, and attempt to reconcile a long-forgotten past, which will spawn a new understanding of who they are in relation to each other. (After living in the Czech Republic, I relate to this movie on a wholly different, more appreciated level than when I watched it in College.)
In the end, I wanted to spawn reflection on what it means to reconcile. In the movie, all three characters end up on a journey together, as each one of them is searching for truth and reason. Alex might not know it at the time, but his Grandfather- their ornery guide/driver- is also on a mission for meaning and forgiveness: forgiveness of himself and the "illumination" of who Alex is in wake of this understanding. Jonathan (American) was the one who initiated this whole progression, but he is by far NOT the only one with a keen interest into the past.
Fun side note: throughout the course of the movie, a couple in the corner consistently lauged at many of the appropriate times. I was taken back, because I knew that the couple did not speak any English at all; they did not understand my Czech or English when I offered them a seat. Naturally, part of me began to wonder if they were listening to the Ukrainian. When the movie was over, Premek came up to me and said, “I think there were two Ukrainians next to me. They were speaking Ukrainian, I think." As I shutdown all the equipment and walked downstairs to grab my coat to go home, I met an older woman from Policka who started speaking to me in French (read my blog post "Fluency!?"). I informed her that I don't understand French but I can understand some Czech, and when she switched languages, I heard it loud and clear: "These are my friends from Ukraine. I thought they would like the movie. Thank you for having it."
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Reflections on home and a Slavic grandmother
Growing up in the Ohio Valley was always a little distant for me. Things just seemed so "old" and past that it was really hard to fathom how this part of the country could have ANY story to tell, let alone one that "non-townies" would want to pursue. I saw it everyday: the rust colored barges, the coal trains that stretch for miles, the hulking remnants of factories, the gravity-stretched faces of old people and former mill workers plodding down the street past boarded up store fronts and fading paint. I heard the stories of fond memories about community connectedness, respect, hard-work and confidence: "Ambridge steel helped the troops during the war!" "At one point, this town was thriving; cars were on the street and the sidewalks were jammed with shoppers." "They used to call this place the quarterback cradle: Johnny Unitas, Joe Namath, George Blanda, Joe Montana, played high school ball along the Ohio River." Everything was uttered in reference to the past. Why the past, ALWAYS the past?
I didn't live in the valley, really. My family and I grew up on the hills surrounding it. So, most of my time was spent looking down into it, which at many points in my life, was how I wanted it to be. I had jobs in the valley and went to school down there and I did HAVE to drive past the graveyard of America's Industrial heritage, but I was happy that my house didn't have the same two-story brick front and 10-square-foot yard that all the former "company" homes had. Nope, we were different.
Going to the library was a pastime of mine that I had kept secret until I want to College. I remember being young and going down to Baden or Ambridge just to sit in the library and look at books. Sometimes I would be there for hours perusing through gargantuan-size world atlases, photo collections and encyclopedias. I would read about the American West and the enchanting natural beauty of Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Oregon; I would see fold-out posters of some of the most beautiful scenery that could be found on earth: Victoria falls, Ayers rock, Madagascar, British Columbia, Jamaica, and on and on..... Sparks of envy would well into my thoughts, forcing me to ask the question, "Why not here?" We had no beauty; everything was gray and rusty and dilapidated. Yeah the hills are pretty, but you could never really admire them when some gigantic stack is blocking your vision, or when the screeching sound of iron vs. iron radiates up from the train yard.
Seriously, how romantic and grandiose is that!?
Things really came to ahead when our family friends from Tennessee would come up to visit. They lived in a beautiful state with minimal damage from heave industry: there were pretty mountains, sunny weather, warm breezes and, most shockingly, a lack of rust. So, when they would visit my gray part of the world, I was a little bit embarrassed.
I don't know why I took it so personally. After all, I didn't contribute to the demise of steel and, remember, I didn't LIVE in the valley anyways; I was above it.
As I got older, I began to acquire an appreciation for my home and the area where I grew up. I kept hearing tales about immigrants and the hard life that awaited them when they arrived in Western Pennsylvania, as most were thrown into the mills or worked in the many inglorious industries that surround the area: coal mining, railroading and logging. Kids in school were always so proud of their past heritage. My friends from Italian descent would brag about food, history, girls and the family. The Greek kids had such an identity and I wished I could be a part of it; their looks, their food, heck, everything about them screamed "pride." And for me, I didn't know what I was. Maybe I was an Irish, German, Scottish, Slovak, mutt? I had no real "cool" ethnic past to grasp onto (remember this is a 14 -year old mind speaking).
I'm glad I've grown out of this mentality, because being a mutt is great: just think of the crazy family history!? Yet, there has always been an affinity towards the "Slavic" half of my heritage, because of my Grandma Ault. Grandma was actually born in Slovakia in 1921 and was brought to the United States before her first birthday. Supposedly she only came with her mom, as her father (my Great Grandpa) found work in 84, PA as a coal miner and then in Aliquippa in the steel industry (talk about easy labor). She really did live a rough life: she was divorced, remarried then widowed; she gave birth to three boys to two different husbands; she saw her oldest born son off to the military and then had to deal with the grief of watching her second son die in a motorcycle accident; and to top it all, was diagnosed with Lou Gherig's disease in 1969. Consequently, my father was the only one left to care for her, as the disease ravaged her ability to walk, but miraculously, stopped below her waist ( if you know ANYTHING about ALS, you know that it is a ruthless killer. Sometimes, it will take a patient in less than 6 months). Yet a bargain had to made, so while the disease did spare her life, it confined her to a bed for over 35 years. Not exactly the life of dreams, huh?
I don't know why I am recounting to you this family past, because I'm sure that some of you REALLY don't care and I think I have written about it before. Yet, the past is what I wanted to talk about today.
I feel like I am rambling, so sorry for the inconvenience.
In the hope of brevity, I want to tell you that living in the Czech Republic has made my heritage, my past and my Grandmother's story (and all those other Slovak Pittsburghers' stories) a little more real to me. Today, when I sat down to plan some of my classes, I was distracted by a magazine sitting on a table in the corner of the room. The magazine is a quarterly called Nase Rodine, which means "Our Family" in Czech and Slovak. It is published in the United States and is the handy-work of the "Czechoslovak Heritage Foundation". I opened the first few pages and read the captions of pictures and, shockingly, each picture was from Pittsburgh: Duquesne, Munhall, Aliquippa, etc. My curiosity being engaged, I then began to flip the pages and look at more articles. Sure enough, there were more: one article was about churches, the other was about Slovaks in the steel strikes and the last was about the University of Pittsburgh's summer course in Slovak language.
What struck me the most was the fact that all of these essays and thoughts were written by people completely separated from Pittsburgh. They had an interest in the history of the city and the people of the region. In fact, the woman who wrote the article about the Slovak course offered at the University of Pittsburgh resides in Washington State. She recounted her experiences walking around the city and being completely immersed in Slavic food, bars and music.
Living in Policka is helping to usher in a new realization about the richness of my family's past and the connectedness that we all have to our own history. This might seem kinda' silly, but each time I learn a new Czech word or smell the countryside, I can't help but feel that much closer to my Grandmother
Maybe I am being a bit too nostaligc?!
I didn't live in the valley, really. My family and I grew up on the hills surrounding it. So, most of my time was spent looking down into it, which at many points in my life, was how I wanted it to be. I had jobs in the valley and went to school down there and I did HAVE to drive past the graveyard of America's Industrial heritage, but I was happy that my house didn't have the same two-story brick front and 10-square-foot yard that all the former "company" homes had. Nope, we were different.
Going to the library was a pastime of mine that I had kept secret until I want to College. I remember being young and going down to Baden or Ambridge just to sit in the library and look at books. Sometimes I would be there for hours perusing through gargantuan-size world atlases, photo collections and encyclopedias. I would read about the American West and the enchanting natural beauty of Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Oregon; I would see fold-out posters of some of the most beautiful scenery that could be found on earth: Victoria falls, Ayers rock, Madagascar, British Columbia, Jamaica, and on and on..... Sparks of envy would well into my thoughts, forcing me to ask the question, "Why not here?" We had no beauty; everything was gray and rusty and dilapidated. Yeah the hills are pretty, but you could never really admire them when some gigantic stack is blocking your vision, or when the screeching sound of iron vs. iron radiates up from the train yard.
Seriously, how romantic and grandiose is that!?
Things really came to ahead when our family friends from Tennessee would come up to visit. They lived in a beautiful state with minimal damage from heave industry: there were pretty mountains, sunny weather, warm breezes and, most shockingly, a lack of rust. So, when they would visit my gray part of the world, I was a little bit embarrassed.
I don't know why I took it so personally. After all, I didn't contribute to the demise of steel and, remember, I didn't LIVE in the valley anyways; I was above it.
As I got older, I began to acquire an appreciation for my home and the area where I grew up. I kept hearing tales about immigrants and the hard life that awaited them when they arrived in Western Pennsylvania, as most were thrown into the mills or worked in the many inglorious industries that surround the area: coal mining, railroading and logging. Kids in school were always so proud of their past heritage. My friends from Italian descent would brag about food, history, girls and the family. The Greek kids had such an identity and I wished I could be a part of it; their looks, their food, heck, everything about them screamed "pride." And for me, I didn't know what I was. Maybe I was an Irish, German, Scottish, Slovak, mutt? I had no real "cool" ethnic past to grasp onto (remember this is a 14 -year old mind speaking).
I'm glad I've grown out of this mentality, because being a mutt is great: just think of the crazy family history!? Yet, there has always been an affinity towards the "Slavic" half of my heritage, because of my Grandma Ault. Grandma was actually born in Slovakia in 1921 and was brought to the United States before her first birthday. Supposedly she only came with her mom, as her father (my Great Grandpa) found work in 84, PA as a coal miner and then in Aliquippa in the steel industry (talk about easy labor). She really did live a rough life: she was divorced, remarried then widowed; she gave birth to three boys to two different husbands; she saw her oldest born son off to the military and then had to deal with the grief of watching her second son die in a motorcycle accident; and to top it all, was diagnosed with Lou Gherig's disease in 1969. Consequently, my father was the only one left to care for her, as the disease ravaged her ability to walk, but miraculously, stopped below her waist ( if you know ANYTHING about ALS, you know that it is a ruthless killer. Sometimes, it will take a patient in less than 6 months). Yet a bargain had to made, so while the disease did spare her life, it confined her to a bed for over 35 years. Not exactly the life of dreams, huh?
I don't know why I am recounting to you this family past, because I'm sure that some of you REALLY don't care and I think I have written about it before. Yet, the past is what I wanted to talk about today.
I feel like I am rambling, so sorry for the inconvenience.
In the hope of brevity, I want to tell you that living in the Czech Republic has made my heritage, my past and my Grandmother's story (and all those other Slovak Pittsburghers' stories) a little more real to me. Today, when I sat down to plan some of my classes, I was distracted by a magazine sitting on a table in the corner of the room. The magazine is a quarterly called Nase Rodine, which means "Our Family" in Czech and Slovak. It is published in the United States and is the handy-work of the "Czechoslovak Heritage Foundation". I opened the first few pages and read the captions of pictures and, shockingly, each picture was from Pittsburgh: Duquesne, Munhall, Aliquippa, etc. My curiosity being engaged, I then began to flip the pages and look at more articles. Sure enough, there were more: one article was about churches, the other was about Slovaks in the steel strikes and the last was about the University of Pittsburgh's summer course in Slovak language.
What struck me the most was the fact that all of these essays and thoughts were written by people completely separated from Pittsburgh. They had an interest in the history of the city and the people of the region. In fact, the woman who wrote the article about the Slovak course offered at the University of Pittsburgh resides in Washington State. She recounted her experiences walking around the city and being completely immersed in Slavic food, bars and music.
Living in Policka is helping to usher in a new realization about the richness of my family's past and the connectedness that we all have to our own history. This might seem kinda' silly, but each time I learn a new Czech word or smell the countryside, I can't help but feel that much closer to my Grandmother
Maybe I am being a bit too nostaligc?!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Fluency!?
Learning a completely different language can be really funny. Aside from the horrendous pronunciation, confusion that comes when one is in public, the laughter of insensitive people, the mix-up of sentence structure, the feeling of hopelessness and frustration, and the realization that you will NEVER speak this language like a born and bred native, there are moments where I thoroughly am pleased with myself. Not with how much I know of Czech, but by how well I conceal my confusion.
I am convinced that my students only understand about 70 percent of what I actually say in class. The other 30 percent gets lost in the blank stares and icy complexions that arise when they realize, "Crap, he thinks I know what he is talking about. I don't. Uh oh, how do I tell him I don't know? Maybe I should pretend. That's right, I'll pretend. Oh, I hope nothing important is discussed. What if he asks me a question!?"
At this point in my journey here, I am much better acquainted with my students on an emotional level, because I FEEL and UNDERSTAND their pain.
Many times when I enter into a Czech conversation with someone who is willing to engage me, I bluff. Sometimes I feel as if waves of words keep washing over my head and I am just kicking to stay afloat: "maybe there will be a break, just a few words I know." Other times, I catch the general idea, lose the train of thought, then pick it back up at the end of the sentence: at this point it is always good for me to make a comment or ask a question to assure the person that I do understand, a little....
During a conversation, there is always a period of conflict where you can either chose two directions: one, you say you don't understand; two, you let them talk in the hopes that at some magical moment, you pick up what they're puttin' down. Often times, I chose the second option. For one, I like the adventure; for two, I really do feel guilty telling the person they make no sense to me, especially if I can see they are passionately into the conversation; I feel so fake when I engage in this charade of understanding. So, I asked Jan, "is it common to ACT like you understand when learning a new language?" He answered, "of course, we all do that, and we all go through the dread of being found out!"
When I speak Czech, I have grown to expect certain reactions from the Czech person who is hearing my words. They are as follows:
1. They instantly start speaking in German or French: This is quite interesting for me, because it really makes me feel bad. Number one, I don't understand German of French, which leads to the really embarrassing concession, “I only speak English and a little bit of Czech, but you obviously don't understand my Czech, so I can't say I speak a little bit, huh?"
I know why people revert to German and French: they know that these two languages are more international than Czech, so they assume that I understand those as well.
Also, many Czechs, who have never studied English, at least know that it is a "Germanic" language, which some how gives them reason to assume that I actually understand German. It is usually a surprise to some old-timer Czechs when I am totally lost. I think part of the problem comes about because Czech's closest linguistically related language is Slovak, and both of these are multi-intellgible: they can understand each other. Sadly, English and German are not so.
2. Looked confused, squint, then speak really QUICKLY: I can't really blame Czech people for this reaction either. Unlike English speakers, Czechs are not used to their language being butchered. I mean, if a Czech man comes into my class and says this, " Want. class. I", I just help him out by filling in the blanks and moving the words around in my mind. However, when speaking Czech, I have to be aware of my accent and the fact that I WILL mess up the structure of the sentence, because Czechs will be completely lost; they can't think in their language unless it is PERFECTLY spoken.
This leads to some really frustratingly comical incidents where I repeat the words or sentences about five times and get the same blank look. I want to say, "OK, I know the words are in the wrong order. I know I have an accent. But, HELP ME!!!"
Upon hearing "Czenglish," the Czech person will then proceed to speak at a speed that is the equivalent to 13-year girls in a mall. I ask them to slow down. This does not work. Asking them to slow down, some how (maybe it is my accent) means "please, speak really loudly and quickly, so I can be thoroughly embarrassed." It's amazing; it's like magic.
3. Proclaim that most beautiful, holistic Czech was just uttered: there are times in life where I can appreciate a lie. This is one of them. Usually the conversation goes something like this:
- Czech man: " qofiejaqpwoifjaposifjapsdoifjapsdoifapodij"
-me: “I’m sorry, could you slow down? I speak English."
- Czech man: " ARE YOU ENGLISH?"
- Me: "no, I am an American."
- Czech man: "You understand Czech?"
- Me: "I understand a little bit. It is hard."
-Czech man: “you speak the most beautiful Czech I have ever heard."
(Remember, this whole conversation has been translated into English......)
Now, I know that he is lying to me. Yet, it makes me feel good. However, they often times will leave very quickly upon announcing that I speak beautiful Czech and never come back, hmmm......
These are the three major reactions that I receive. Now, these are not static reactions; in fact, I might experience all three types in just ONE person!
I am convinced that my students only understand about 70 percent of what I actually say in class. The other 30 percent gets lost in the blank stares and icy complexions that arise when they realize, "Crap, he thinks I know what he is talking about. I don't. Uh oh, how do I tell him I don't know? Maybe I should pretend. That's right, I'll pretend. Oh, I hope nothing important is discussed. What if he asks me a question!?"
At this point in my journey here, I am much better acquainted with my students on an emotional level, because I FEEL and UNDERSTAND their pain.
Many times when I enter into a Czech conversation with someone who is willing to engage me, I bluff. Sometimes I feel as if waves of words keep washing over my head and I am just kicking to stay afloat: "maybe there will be a break, just a few words I know." Other times, I catch the general idea, lose the train of thought, then pick it back up at the end of the sentence: at this point it is always good for me to make a comment or ask a question to assure the person that I do understand, a little....
During a conversation, there is always a period of conflict where you can either chose two directions: one, you say you don't understand; two, you let them talk in the hopes that at some magical moment, you pick up what they're puttin' down. Often times, I chose the second option. For one, I like the adventure; for two, I really do feel guilty telling the person they make no sense to me, especially if I can see they are passionately into the conversation; I feel so fake when I engage in this charade of understanding. So, I asked Jan, "is it common to ACT like you understand when learning a new language?" He answered, "of course, we all do that, and we all go through the dread of being found out!"
When I speak Czech, I have grown to expect certain reactions from the Czech person who is hearing my words. They are as follows:
1. They instantly start speaking in German or French: This is quite interesting for me, because it really makes me feel bad. Number one, I don't understand German of French, which leads to the really embarrassing concession, “I only speak English and a little bit of Czech, but you obviously don't understand my Czech, so I can't say I speak a little bit, huh?"
I know why people revert to German and French: they know that these two languages are more international than Czech, so they assume that I understand those as well.
Also, many Czechs, who have never studied English, at least know that it is a "Germanic" language, which some how gives them reason to assume that I actually understand German. It is usually a surprise to some old-timer Czechs when I am totally lost. I think part of the problem comes about because Czech's closest linguistically related language is Slovak, and both of these are multi-intellgible: they can understand each other. Sadly, English and German are not so.
2. Looked confused, squint, then speak really QUICKLY: I can't really blame Czech people for this reaction either. Unlike English speakers, Czechs are not used to their language being butchered. I mean, if a Czech man comes into my class and says this, " Want. class. I", I just help him out by filling in the blanks and moving the words around in my mind. However, when speaking Czech, I have to be aware of my accent and the fact that I WILL mess up the structure of the sentence, because Czechs will be completely lost; they can't think in their language unless it is PERFECTLY spoken.
This leads to some really frustratingly comical incidents where I repeat the words or sentences about five times and get the same blank look. I want to say, "OK, I know the words are in the wrong order. I know I have an accent. But, HELP ME!!!"
Upon hearing "Czenglish," the Czech person will then proceed to speak at a speed that is the equivalent to 13-year girls in a mall. I ask them to slow down. This does not work. Asking them to slow down, some how (maybe it is my accent) means "please, speak really loudly and quickly, so I can be thoroughly embarrassed." It's amazing; it's like magic.
3. Proclaim that most beautiful, holistic Czech was just uttered: there are times in life where I can appreciate a lie. This is one of them. Usually the conversation goes something like this:
- Czech man: " qofiejaqpwoifjaposifjapsdoifjapsdoifapodij"
-me: “I’m sorry, could you slow down? I speak English."
- Czech man: " ARE YOU ENGLISH?"
- Me: "no, I am an American."
- Czech man: "You understand Czech?"
- Me: "I understand a little bit. It is hard."
-Czech man: “you speak the most beautiful Czech I have ever heard."
(Remember, this whole conversation has been translated into English......)
Now, I know that he is lying to me. Yet, it makes me feel good. However, they often times will leave very quickly upon announcing that I speak beautiful Czech and never come back, hmmm......
These are the three major reactions that I receive. Now, these are not static reactions; in fact, I might experience all three types in just ONE person!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
new painting
I didn't paint at all in February. Ok, that's a lie. I painted one picture and I didn't like it, so in my mind I painted nothing in February. Anyway, the last 4 days I've had some inspiration. Jeremy is constantly telling me that I should paint a "theme" because it would be cool. I could have a series of pictures what could tell a story or be the same thing just using different colors or something creative like that. Well, on Monday during our Czech lesson I spaced out and had an idea for a painting. Jeremy and Vlada were talking about the world and I thought I would paint of picture of Jeremy and the world. After that painting I figured I would try this "theme" idea of Jeremy's, even though I know that he wanted me to do an african savana theme with neon animals...not him. Enjoy.
only half though March, hopefully more to come.
only half though March, hopefully more to come.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Reflections.
It is becoming more and more difficult for me to articulate what has been happening in my spiritual, intellectual and personal life since I have arrived in the Czech Republic. At times, I feel as if I have broken through the clouded mess that is my thoughts and things finally begin to make sense; I think I can make a definite statement on how I have changed and how living in the Czech Republic has nudged my passions into a different direction. Yet, then the morning comes and my whole existence, from exercise, to hobbies, even to what I eat, feels nebulous. I wish this feeling on no one, because I am not even sure that my confusion indicates a deeper more profound restructuring of my personal being or my idealism that I acquired in college. Maybe my confusion is a manifestation of seven months of stress and personal laziness when it comes to reflection? Ah, I don't know.
In trying to come up with tangible examples of how my thinking has changed since last year, and definently since 2007, I am often left going in circles. I loved the past four years of my life; the people I met, the books I read, the professors who challenged me and the personal searches and critiques I engaged in, all formulated, for a time being, a worldview that placed every inch of my life in the correct compartments. The years at Waynesburg and the immediate time after graduation were safe and straight forward. My idealism made sense. My passions made sense. My energy made sense. Yet, what didn't fit into the mold of my life were the hum-drum activities of actually LIVING. But how could it, if I never experienced the day in and day out work? So, I am left with the knowledge that I need a reorientation of my priorities and "life compartments," but I am reluctant to let go of a past that I am very nostalgic about. So, you see the circle? I can't let myself engage too much into changing my being, because I really am scared. It is unknown. And for the first time in my life, I am left without a plan, without a cause, and most horrifically, without an opinion.
I am continually infatuated with the engagement of passion and ministry: the tangible, creative acts of normal, non-pious people to speak and manifest God's Kingdom on earth in ways that make me sit back and say, "Wow." And in some ways, my job right now SHOULD satiate that yearning and hunger for such a "purpose-driven life" (I had to, sorry.). But, in truth, it doesn't. It isn't because the ministry here isn't creative enough, or isn't glorious (OK maybe that is part of it!?). No, it is because I am an inherent LAZY person. I mean, I have many interests, but rarely do I ever throw myself into full engagement with my thoughts. For example, I like theology, but I don't focus seriously enough to consider myself a "student" of it. I love the IDEA of language, but I don't like to think about grammar (even though I think it is EXTREMELY important). Sports are fun, until I realize that if I want to be in "shape," I should probably get myself out of bed when my alarm goes off, not rationalize why it would be better to wait until tomorrow. And in reality, the list goes on and on.
The confrontation with the REAL me, not one shrouded in facades of piety, intellect, talent, engagement and passion, has been hard to take. In ways, I am grateful for this ministry in the fact that I am here living in a different country, making new friends and experiencing culture; however, the ME is always glorified in every instance. It is true that some look up to me as a mentor and as a friend; I know it and I abuse it. At times when I let my mind wander, it usually ends up at the ego. How will people think of me when I am home? Will they be impressed with my language skills? Will they WANT to hear all of my amazing stories? ME, ME, ME, ME.....
This whole experience in the Czech Republic, has in ways, been my time in the desert, alone. It is a crucible of self-reflection (as is marriage) that constantly brings critiques back onto the man I really am and the man I pretend to be. Some days I hope for a life of quiet solitude, where no one wants to talk to me and where I do nothing exciting. (Is this statement in itself self-glorifying? I mean, why would anyone REALLY want to talk with me now?)
Also, I want to be a man of passion and engagement; I am sick of scraping the top of an interest and never fully delving and indulging in it. There are times where I admire protesters who are focused so hard on one issue that it seems they have reoriented their whole life around it, because at least they can sit back and say, “I cared, I REALLY cared."
I don't think I am making any sense, because, as I said at the beginning, misty eyes have become the vehicles through which I perceive the world; consequently, isolated statements and random thoughts are how I post. Sorry if you are frustrated.
I guess if I had to sum up my hope and my thoughts it would be this: I am a man yearning to reach a goal of maturity. I am a man fighting against my obsession with ego and fame. I am man attracted to power. I am a man too lazy to work for what I idolize. I hope to become a man of humble reflection and modest proclamations. I hope to be a man of deep interest and passionate questions. I hope to be a man who focuses not on glory, but on place. I hope to be a man who appreciates the now, not the "if" or the "when." I want to be a man who encourages others. I want to be a man where envy is the most foreign of feelings. I want to be a man who loved faithfully, encouraged relentlessly and was impassioned by beauty, the most free-wheeling, wide term of beauty that could be thought.
In trying to come up with tangible examples of how my thinking has changed since last year, and definently since 2007, I am often left going in circles. I loved the past four years of my life; the people I met, the books I read, the professors who challenged me and the personal searches and critiques I engaged in, all formulated, for a time being, a worldview that placed every inch of my life in the correct compartments. The years at Waynesburg and the immediate time after graduation were safe and straight forward. My idealism made sense. My passions made sense. My energy made sense. Yet, what didn't fit into the mold of my life were the hum-drum activities of actually LIVING. But how could it, if I never experienced the day in and day out work? So, I am left with the knowledge that I need a reorientation of my priorities and "life compartments," but I am reluctant to let go of a past that I am very nostalgic about. So, you see the circle? I can't let myself engage too much into changing my being, because I really am scared. It is unknown. And for the first time in my life, I am left without a plan, without a cause, and most horrifically, without an opinion.
I am continually infatuated with the engagement of passion and ministry: the tangible, creative acts of normal, non-pious people to speak and manifest God's Kingdom on earth in ways that make me sit back and say, "Wow." And in some ways, my job right now SHOULD satiate that yearning and hunger for such a "purpose-driven life" (I had to, sorry.). But, in truth, it doesn't. It isn't because the ministry here isn't creative enough, or isn't glorious (OK maybe that is part of it!?). No, it is because I am an inherent LAZY person. I mean, I have many interests, but rarely do I ever throw myself into full engagement with my thoughts. For example, I like theology, but I don't focus seriously enough to consider myself a "student" of it. I love the IDEA of language, but I don't like to think about grammar (even though I think it is EXTREMELY important). Sports are fun, until I realize that if I want to be in "shape," I should probably get myself out of bed when my alarm goes off, not rationalize why it would be better to wait until tomorrow. And in reality, the list goes on and on.
The confrontation with the REAL me, not one shrouded in facades of piety, intellect, talent, engagement and passion, has been hard to take. In ways, I am grateful for this ministry in the fact that I am here living in a different country, making new friends and experiencing culture; however, the ME is always glorified in every instance. It is true that some look up to me as a mentor and as a friend; I know it and I abuse it. At times when I let my mind wander, it usually ends up at the ego. How will people think of me when I am home? Will they be impressed with my language skills? Will they WANT to hear all of my amazing stories? ME, ME, ME, ME.....
This whole experience in the Czech Republic, has in ways, been my time in the desert, alone. It is a crucible of self-reflection (as is marriage) that constantly brings critiques back onto the man I really am and the man I pretend to be. Some days I hope for a life of quiet solitude, where no one wants to talk to me and where I do nothing exciting. (Is this statement in itself self-glorifying? I mean, why would anyone REALLY want to talk with me now?)
Also, I want to be a man of passion and engagement; I am sick of scraping the top of an interest and never fully delving and indulging in it. There are times where I admire protesters who are focused so hard on one issue that it seems they have reoriented their whole life around it, because at least they can sit back and say, “I cared, I REALLY cared."
I don't think I am making any sense, because, as I said at the beginning, misty eyes have become the vehicles through which I perceive the world; consequently, isolated statements and random thoughts are how I post. Sorry if you are frustrated.
I guess if I had to sum up my hope and my thoughts it would be this: I am a man yearning to reach a goal of maturity. I am a man fighting against my obsession with ego and fame. I am man attracted to power. I am a man too lazy to work for what I idolize. I hope to become a man of humble reflection and modest proclamations. I hope to be a man of deep interest and passionate questions. I hope to be a man who focuses not on glory, but on place. I hope to be a man who appreciates the now, not the "if" or the "when." I want to be a man who encourages others. I want to be a man where envy is the most foreign of feelings. I want to be a man who loved faithfully, encouraged relentlessly and was impassioned by beauty, the most free-wheeling, wide term of beauty that could be thought.
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