Last night I hung up the phone after talking to my
grandmother only to receive a call from her a few minutes later. She asked how
I was feeling about coming home, is it sad, will I be ok, am I going to be
content being home again? It meant a lot that someone from home was taking the
time to ask those questions because honestly, no, I won’t be content. It will be hard, it’s sad to leave, and
there will be times when I really will think I am not going to be ok.
I know that God has put this place and these people on my
heart for more than just to spend this year here (3 months + 9 months). I do
not believe this is the end of God’s plan for me here and it is hard to see
myself as the ‘settling down’ type. For now I just have to follow where he
leads me.
Anyone who was around me a year and a half ago when I
returned from Bulgaria the first time got a good look at what reverse culture
shock, culture shock entering your home culture, looks like. I was engaged in
conversations and lectures on the topic and even did some reading on my own
beforehand, but nothing could have prepared me for this experience, except
that: the experience. To be blunt, it sucked to have triggers I still haven’t
been able to pinpoint make me cry several times a day for three weeks. I didn’t
know why I was having such a hard time, but I can only expect the same or even
worse going home the second time around.
For my friends and family: This is going to be a hard
transition for me. There are going to be times when I just need someone around
to listen or even to be a distraction for a little bit. Please do not tell me
to ‘just forget about it” or to “just focus on things here”. That is probably
the worst thing you could say and I cannot tell you how hard it is to hear. It
may be a while before I can fully articulate what I am going through or how my
experience has been, what I learned, and how I have changed. I have tried to
post updates, I really have, but honestly, I am just really terrible at it.
That is going to part make this processing a bit harder. Some of the things I
have seen and experienced have been life changing in both positive and negative
ways, and condensing an entire 9-month experience into a little conversation is
not easy. Not only that, but I have been living in a culture that values
relationships. They do not engage someone in conversation if they do not care,
which is something Americans are notorious for. To be frank, if you don’t care,
then please don’t ask me.
It meant so much to me to have my grandmother ask those
questions because they are questions that need to be asked. She may have
expected most of my answers, but some of them came as a surprise to her, as
they do to others. Believe it or not, time on the mission field can be a very
lonely experience, especially if people at home do not know what it is like and
going home is no different. In this time of transition, I am going to need
support from those around me who care.
I have been extra surrounded lately by strong women doing
amazing work in the fight against human trafficking. We have had the
conversations I have so desperately missed: “What is being done? How does trafficking look among different (European) cultures? Who are the victims/perpetrators? What is the
next step?” and the hardest for me, “How do you not hate the men involved?”
Through the work that I have done and been exposed to, I
have had encounters with Johns, a
term for men who solicit (pay for) prostitution. One experience, in particular,
just drove me over the edge. This man sat across the table from three former
prostitutes, women that I had been working with for months, and me, and
listened to their stories. They told about how they had come to be prostitutes,
what the life of abuse has done to them, and the difficulties they have been
through trying to leave that life behind. One woman asked, “How can you do this
and still love your wife?” “Oh, I still
love my wife! Having sex with a prostitute doesn’t require any feelings. I
don’t have to love her so it’s not like I love my wife any less.” The man
left completely unapologetic to the crimes he had been committed of; but not
before shaking my hand and thanking me for the work I am doing. “These women
really need the help,” he said. I have never wanted to hit someone like I did
at that moment.
As if I didn’t already have a hard time loving these men, it now seemed impossible as I got in my car and drove home that day.
The idea that Jesus died on the cross for everyone is not an
easy thing to grasp and accept. These men do not deserve that kind of grace.
They do not deserve to have a second chance.
But then again, neither do I.
A few days ago, I listened to a song I have heard a hundred
times before, but this time, something struck me.
The first verse contains these lines:
Cigarettes are
burning down to my fingers
In my motel, where
the smell still lingers
From the night
before...
With a ten-dollar whore who didn't even know my name
The idea that a man becomes a John in hopes of seeking
comfort and approval breaks my heart. It does not change the situation; however,
knowing that is the best way he knows to feel those things is saddening. One way or another, these men need help just as much as the women do. (By
the way, I am only speaking about Johns right now. Pimps are another story.) This man in particular told my women story after story of the pain he feels, which drives him towards these acts, "We have pains, too. It's not just you women, the prostitutes, who are hurting." Whether these stories are true, or just an emotion-inducing cover up, I do not
know, but I have heard them plenty of times. Either way, I cannot be the one to
judge.
Despite my feelings of hatred (judgmental, I know), it hurts
to see human suffering.
Grace is a hard thing to give, but so easy to receive.
Today, January 1, 2013, marks exactly 17 weeks that I have
been living in Bulgaria. I’d say I’ve done a pretty good job of living here and
getting acclimated, however, there still are and always will be things that
prevent me from being seen as a Bulgarian.
·I can’t walk in heels (but I’m learning)
·I can’t walk on ice (not so much learning
happening in that area)
·I have dreads, which apparently not only pegs me
as a foreigner, but specifically American
·I have tattoos
·I try not to wear the color black too much, and
when I do, it’s usually paired with some brown
·I’m not fond of dressing up, especially to run
errands
·In fact, my style, the “ Messy hair, comfy, and
hopefully a bit stylish” look, seems to be pretty out of place here
·I wear scarves as a normal part of almost every
outfit, instead of only for the warmth when it gets cold
·My ski coat comes out once it gets below 50
degrees Fahrenheit
·Being more reserved in public is something I
often have to be pretty intentional about
·I usually carry a one and a half liter water
bottle wherever I go
·I tend to want to drink more than 350 mL (about
12 oz) of water during a meal
·I like refills. Free refills
·I often carry a travel mug of hot cocoa or hot
tea with me, especially on cold bus rides at 6:50am
·I do not like coffee, especially straight
espresso shots
·I hate using an umbrella, my raincoat is where
it’s at
·I sit on the ground
·I like open windows
·I am white. Really white
·I love my Tevas
·I say “Yall”
·While I’m at it, I’ll go ahead and admit that my
Bulgarian, if nothing else, usually blows my cover
I’ve
been itching to blog about something lately, but I realized all I really have
to write about is being sick. I think it would be pretty accurate to say that
out of the last month and a half, at least one of the four of us has been sick
almost every day. We’ve also been dealing with Tonsillitis, Laryngitis, and
some other stuff, on top of all the viruses that constantly make their rounds
in the villages. Eighty-eight residents and thirty to forty staff members make
the orphanage especially vulnerable to illnesses.
Luckily,
we did get a break, for the most part, for Thanksgiving. We were invited to
spend Thanksgiving with some of our fellow missionaries in Sofia. Before
starting our holiday festivities, we had to make a stop at the police station
to visit the Office of Immigration. Luckily, this trip only required that we
drop off some paperwork, so we were in and out in just a few minutes. We even
ran into Charlie Chaplain while waiting for our taxi outside! Because we still
had a couple of hours to kill, we headed to the mall for Starbucks and to buy
some art supplies (I'm teaching myself the art of bookbinding!) before going to the house.
Aside
from the three of us, and their family of five, there were also four other
couples and three more kids.We each even had our own place cards, ready for us at the table, courtesy of little Johnny. J I think I did my part to
bring some humor to the table when I realized why my cornbread, my only
contribution to the meal, was so awful. --Let’s rewind, shall we?
The
night before, as I was preparing my self-proclaimed famous cornbread, things
didn’t turn out so well. I wanted to use a foil pan to make things easier, but
the only ones I had were larger than the pan I use for this recipe, so I
doubled it thinking if I had some leftover I could make some cornbread muffins.
In case I’ve never mentioned it before, our oven is slightly larger than an
Easy Bake Oven, which in case you were wondering, doesn’t always work in our
favor. Turns out, the top layer of my cornbread was burnt way before the inside
was cooked. I tried to salvage it by scraping off the top and trying to bake it
some more, but it was a disaster. The cornbread muffins didn’t taste good,
either. I had no idea what had gone wrong, but I made another batch. This time,
I made a single recipe, in the usual pan.
Fast
forward to Thanksgiving Day… We are all sitting around the table and I get no
answer from Alex when I ask her how the cornbread is. I quickly taste it only
to realize it tastes like, I don’t know what, a household cleaner?? Well,
anyone who knows me, will be able to see/hear it when I say I started laughing
my unstoppable, tears in my eyes, I can’t breathe laugh. I could barely muster
out the words, “Don’t eat the cornbread” between breaths. First thing someone
does is pick up a piece and before she can bite down, I yell, “STOP!” I take a
second to compose myself and I am finally able to tell my side of the table
that I used Baking Soda instead of Baking Powder, three and a half teaspoons of
it. Luckily, a flood of, “Oh, I’ve done that before!” stories followed and I
didn’t feel so bad. We then started looking around at all the untouched pieces
of cornbread on everyone’s plates on the other side of the table. Again, just
as someone takes a bite, we all yell,
“STOP!” only to startle the poor guy. After explaining what had happened, he
surprises us by saying that was his second piece! I don't know how. It was nasty.
Aside
from my cornbread fiasco, the day went pretty well. It was nice to be around
kids that we weren’t responsible for. It was awesome to
sit around and talk over hot tea and chocolate cranberry fudge, apple pie,
pumpkin pie, apple caramel nut bars, ice cream, etc, while the football game
was on.
I have to admit, as the adults went around the table sharing what we were thankful for, I got a bit emotional. I knew that being away from home would be especially hard during the holidays, but it wasn't until that time came that I realized just how hard it would be. We all shared thanks for specific things, but I think we all had common ground when it came to our family, friends, support systems both here and at home. We all understood that without them, living here would be so much harder, but I really came to appreciate my missionary team that I have here. Yes, I miss home. I miss my family and my friends, and I miss Nashville. I miss having a car and being able to go and hang out with my friends whenever and wherever we want. However, I am thankful to be at a point in my life that I have the opportunity to live in a foreign country, in a culture that is so different from my own. I have a great public transportation system that eliminates the need for a car, markets only a block either way from my house with fresh meat and produce every day, and I am being taken care of by people who believe in me. I don't know that I could ask for any more.
I
mentioned a while ago, that a team had come from the City University in London
to do a documentary in our orphanage and the night of Thanksgiving, we were
invited to Sofia University to the screening. Only the trailer is available
now, but we were able to see it, along with some others done by the journalism
department at SU. The director of the orphanage was there with two of the
residents who were featured in the documentary as the first from the orphanage
to graduate from high school, a few staff members, and his daughter, who is a
friend of ours. It was a really fun night. After the screenings, we went
upstairs to a café where we were served hors d'oeuvres and wine (which we
politely declined, of course), and spent some time talking to the woman who
runs the department of media technology at Oxford University. She is Bulgarian,
learned English in the States, and moved to England 25 years ago.
The
full documentary will be out in the next month or two, but until then, I would
suggest watching the trailer. Yes, it is in Bulgarian, BUT it shows part of our
interview, which is in English. Because it is being done in conjunction with
BBC and will be released on their network, I am assuming that when the full
documentary comes out, it will at least have English subtitles. Everything in
the documentary was filmed either in the orphanage or the school, so you can
see where we work.
I've been trying to keep up with this blog as best as I can in order to keep people informed (ESPECIALLY those who have made financial sacrifices to make sure I got here). Sometimes it is hard because there are things that just shouldn't be said on the internet; I think that can be true in any ministry setting. That being said, this is my public pledge to really stay on top of this thing. However, if you would like to see different perspectives, please visit the articles below:
A few weeks ago, Micah Mandate, the magazine of Trevecca's J.V. Morsch Center for Social Justice, published an article on my time at Trevecca (May 2012) and the work I am doing here. It was written by a friend of mine, Brennen Finchum, the magazine's current editor.
Each offers a unique perspective on the work being done here in Vidrare. I am also working on a video update for the missions service at my church, Hermitage Church of the Nazarene (Hermitage, TN), and depending on how it turns out, I may upload it next week. Wish me luck!
Yesterday was my first time teaching English. It wasn't anything too official right now; we are just filling in for our Bulgarian teacher while he is away at a conference. He needed three days covered, so Alex, Susanna, and I each took a day.
I had a Pre-Certificate class, meaning they are all grades nine through eleven and quite good in English, from 2:45-6pm. Being the much more spontaneous, go with the flow teammate, I thought about the class while laying in bed the night before and came up with a plan during the hour I had to kill before it started. Alex, on the other hand, had two hour and a half classes and came up with this big lesson plan and structured homework assignment. The differences in our learning styles became so much more clear this week. :)
My class had six students: three girls and three boys. The boys sat in the front row and were quite talkative. Movies, Bulgaria, sports, school, America, music... the list of topics goes on and on. The girls, however, were quite a different story. As with most teenage girls, these three sat on the back row and whispered (in Bulgarian) the whole time. Even specifically asking them questions usually led to blank stares and giggling. I did get some answers out of them, so it wasn't a complete failure. We talked about our Bucket Lists and life goals, places we have traveled and places we want to visit, and things we like/dislike about our own cultures.
It wouldn't have been a normal conversation without the all too common, "Why are you here? You are from America..." and got to explain why I love it here. They all want to go to Germany or the States for college and would love a reason to stay out of Bulgaria. I really liked the group, they seem like a bright bunch of teens and I'm excited to see where life takes them.
After an hour and a half, we took a break so the girls could go to the store down the street and the boys could find a deck of cards. That's right, I have now gotten six more teens hooked on the greatness that is Mafia. Honestly, it was a bit confusing to explain to people who'd never heard of it, but we got the gist of it. Because we had such a small group, we must have played at least 20 rounds over the next hour. I had to pat myself on the back for getting them into one of my games, not to mention, one that REQUIRES talking.
I am also looking forward to reading their homework essays: Describe your dream job. Why is it your dream job? Does it require a college degree? What would you have to study? Is it something you would do in Bulgaria or somewhere else? How much does it pay? Do any of your family members do the same job?
Overall, I'd say it was successful. I certainly enjoyed it.
Today was a pretty busy day at the orphanage. A team came delivering new shoes for most of our eighty-eight kids. The kids who can't walk/wear shoes were not involved, but it was quite an ordeal. The team was comprised of a missionary couple, members of a church in Sofia, and a few visitors from America, all associated with the baptist church. This missionary couple has been in Bulgaria for eighteen years now, working with several orphanages, and was quite familiar with our children. As is customary when hosting visitors, a group of kids performed some songs. A few of the older ones were dressed in traditional Bulgarian outfits while everyone sang and danced traditional Bulgarian folk songs. Everyone had his or her hair done and all the girls were elated for an opportunity to don some makeup.
This project is, I am assuming, similar to some of the nazarene church's compassionate ministries. This couple has been working in a total of twenty orphanages for almost twenty years now, occasionally hosting teams who feel the need to reach out to the children, as well. The team from America is here for a week and I may have misunderstood, but I thought I was told that they will be visiting all twenty homes. They had a large box truck full of shoes, so I am assuming and hoping that I heard correctly. That would be a huge feat (no pun intended), but leave it to the Lord to make big things happen.
After the production, an assembly line was set up in the small room used as a cafeteria. As children were brought down, their shoe size was written on their hand and they were sat down in front of a visitor who found a fitting pair. I was pleasantly surprised that every pair I saw was brand new and appropriate for the coming winter weather. When I think of projects like this, I tend to assume that the items will be cheap or used, but this was not the case at all. Everyone was tromping around showing off their new boots. Some kids are drawn to zippers so they were found accidentally tripping those whose boots had zippers. One boy likes to look at the soles so he was laying on the floor looking at those of the kids sitting on the couch. He didn't touch, just laid there mesmerized.
The organization this team had was awesome. It took less than an hour to fit almost 80 kids with shoes, which included bringing them all from their rooms into the cafeteria.
All that said, I am about as happy as all the kids are about their new shoes! I am thankful that people invest in their lives and that others are also called to do ministry here. One of the workers told me today that she is happy Alex and I are here because the kids aren't as lonely. Especially in the room of bed-ridden kids, even if just to sit with them and to hold their hands makes a difference because they know someone cares.
I am so appreciative of comments like these because honestly, I feel like I am just in the way sometimes. I appreciate the workers who have no problem looking like a fool using charades and silly noises trying to communicate with us. I love the kids who laugh at us and say "ти не разбираш?" (You don't understand?) then turn to each other with this funny "Oh my word!" look on their faces. They made me feel like it's ok that I am not fluent. They get so excited when I tell them "Аз уча български" ("I am learning Bulgarian") and often take on the role of учители (teachers) while simultaneously wanting to soak up as much английски (English) as possible.
It is a lot easier to give grace when you rely on it daily.
