New Perspective From an Old Truth

Hello, Readers Faithful to a Faithless Poster,

Yah, I'm still here. It's Christmas night. I'm at the kitchen bar in Dad and Sue's new cabin. This is the house that I spent many hours staining and sealing wood for last summer. It's pretty fantastic. My favorite part is the great room, with a big stone fireplace, the eastern-facing windows, and the views of the fields, the woods, and the house I grew up in, just a couple hundred yards away.

This is Christmas weekend two of three. Because of my (stupid and annoying) work schedule, I'm driving back and forth from DeKalb each weekend so that I can be a part of celebrating the holidays with my friends and family here. In spite of the 12 hour round trip, I'm happy to be able to come home.

Yesterday I went to the Christmas Eve service at church. I loved every blessed thing about it. Seeing friends. Listening to the choir. Remembering past years of Christmas Eve services...26 past years, in fact. And pondering the astonishing reason we gathered.

God with us. Emmanuel.

As I plod my way through my time in DeKalb, I think about Jesus, and his time on earth. Did he want to come to earth? I mean, I'm sure he wanted to save us. I mean, who wouldn't want to save me, right? But just because he was supportive of the ends doesn't mean he liked the means.

From heaven to earth? That's quite a jump. And not really a cool place on earth. Not like Monte Carlo or Paris or even, perhaps, the heartland of northwestern Ohio. Palestine. One of many lands defeated and ruled by the Roman Empire. Conquered and festering in their helpless bitterness over the foreign rule.

Jesus was born into a poor family in a nation of poverty and impotence. And in case that wasn't enough, he was born into the furious gossip and rumors concerning the situation of his birth. His young mother, unwed at his conception. Did anyone know she claimed God was the father? Cause I'm guessing THAT story went over like a lead balloon. Or maybe, anticipating the disbelief, she left people to assume what they would. Either way, no doubt Jesus started out with less than a spotless reputation.

All this, after leaving (please catch this) heaven. And not just the heaven that we expect or imagine...golden streets (probably won't seem quite so cool when we finally see them), worship God, reuniting with loved ones, checking out our new room in the mansion. That would be a pretty big change. But Jesus' change was bigger. Because He is God. And he went from being known as God to being totally unknown. Unknown except as the illegitimate son of an insignificant carpenter family in an dusty, forgotten corner of the Roman world.

That's...wow. He's just hours old, and already such a huge sacrifice. Yah, He's God, so he's into sacrifice and all. Plus there's the love thing. I mean, do you KNOW how much Jesus loves you? Us? It's pretty astonishing. But even that kind of amazing love...even still, that would be a tough move.

Not that it makes me happy that I've had to move three states away to a place where I know no one and a job that I don't care for. But Jesus' move was tough enough to at least bring some measure of perspective to my situation. And a reminder that in this, as in all things, Jesus should be my pattern.

No doubt, he hated a lot of aspects of his move from heaven to Nazareth. But He was doing what needed to be done. And he wasn't doing it with a sour expression and a superior attitude, even though he was QUITE superior to every person he ever encountered. I bet he was focused on his mission. Focused on loving the people around him. On looking for ways to love people and meet their needs, and show them his Father.

And so. Jesus is my model. Or rather, he should be. I'm ashamed to say that I haven't done a great job of looking for ways to love people and show them my Father since I've been in DeKalb. But it's time, you know? It's time to get over it. I hate being there. I hate the situation I'm in, but that's where God has put me for now, and I'm going to stop wasting my life, waiting for the better thing to happen. I'm going to keep praying that God will move me home, but in the meantime, I'm going to commit again to looking for ways to serve and love the people around me. (and in the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to hope that THIS is the lesson God's been trying to teach me and now that I've finally learned it, I'll get to come home! It can't hurt to hope, right?)

Studying Will Pits OR The Dangers of Language Learning

Here is a story that was gut-bustingly funny at the time. But I have to warn you- I'm not totally sure of its transferablity, so considered yourself forewarned.

I'm teaching a class on paraphrasing and summarizing this session. (I know, it's thrilling already) So we were practicing our mad paraphrasing skills with this sentence, which I had written up on the board:

He studied every night, but he still failed the exam.

(I try to use encouraging sample sentences like that)

We underlined words and phrases that should be replaced with synonyms, including "every night". As we discussed alternative ways of saying that (personally I was rooting for "each evening", though there was a pretty strong following for "daily", followed by some confusion as to why it wasn't an exact change), one student (we'll call him Bob) asked the following question:

Bob: Teacher, can I change it for an idiom?

Me: Sure, if the idiom has the same meaning as the original phrase. What idiom did you want to try?

Student: "Will pits"

[confused silence, as I silently flipped through my English vocabulary in search of an idiom that has a meaning remotely close to "every night" and that sounds somewhat similar to "with pits". No dice.]

Me: Um, 'will pits'?

Bob: No, Teacher. WILL PITS.

Me: Can you spell it?

Bob: W-i-t-h p-i-t-s

[I write "with pits" on the board. Bob nods emphatically. I continue to grasp frantically at anything in the ballpark. It turns out this ballpark is totally empty.]

Me: I'm sorry, Bob, I don't know what that means.

[some discussion ensues in Arabic, as the students discuss what might be the problem with this particularly stellar idiom]

Student 2: I think the spelling, it is wrong. I think it is "pets", not "pits".

[I erase "pits" on the board and replace it with "pets". Bob nods expectantly. Strangely, this doesn't really help me.]

Me: I'm sorry, this still doesn't make any sense. Pets are animals that you keep in your house, like friends.

Bob: No, no, no. Not "pets". PETS. It's like the black one. It is in the night.

Me: BATS? With bats?

[I draw a (not-so-hot) picture of a bat on the board]

Bob: YES!! With bats!

[this is said with great exasperation, as if he'd been saying this exact thing for the past five minutes]

Me: Um, Bob, I don't understand. Why would you study with bats? Are you sure you have it right? I don't think it's an idiom.

Bob: Yes, Teacher. I am sure. I made it myself.

[It should be stated that I generally try not to laugh at my students. I remember all too well how it feels to try to learn a language. But I just can't hold it in. I bust out laughing. So do most of the students, including Bob.]

Me: Well, you can't really make up your own idioms, Bob. Other people might not understand them. I think maybe you should just replace "every night" with "each evening" instead.

Bob (looking a little disappointed, but compliant): Ok, Teacher.

Three Short Stories

Story #1: Today I helped to proctor the TEOFL exam, which is a standardized test for people who speak English as a second language (a lot like an SAT or ACT or GRE). It's four hours, as as I was walking one of my students back to pick up his things afterward, I asked him how it went. He said, "The easiest part was the essay writing."

I couldn't help myself. I'd taught this student in two classes during the session that ended yesterday. Those classes were Reading and Writing, and Writing Skills. I said, "That's probably because you had such an AWESOME writing teacher, right?"

[he agreed with me, of course, but I laughed and told him I was kidding]

Story #2: This afternoon I was walking back up to my apartment after taking some laundry to our scary, basement laundry room. Across the privacy fence that separates my apartment building from the parking lot behind Pizza Hut, I saw a man get out of a car with his two boys and walk into Pizza Hut. As they walked, the dad put his arm around the shoulders of the maybe 10-year-old boy.

I immediately began to tear up. I'm always sentimental when it comes to family. But right now I'm a virtual tear fountain when it comes to any type of relationship, as I feel so alone out here. Anyway, I was feeling a sad and lonely and a little irritated at feeling that way when, about 2 second later, I looked over again to see (and hear, delightfully) the dad hock a big loogie and spit it on the outside wall of the restaurant on their way in.

Now I know I'm making hasty generalizations here when I say that this one action made me stop thinking about how kind and wonderful the father was, but sometimes the truth hurts. It was gross. I giggled out loud, and immediately felt a tiny bit less lonely.

Story #3:

[background info: During my last semester in Wheaton, a friend of mine bought me a gift membership to eHarmony. At first I was pretty hesitant, but you know what they say about gifts...and horses...or maybe that's gift horses? And their mouths? Whatever. Anyway, so I did it for the three months that she bought for me, and it was actually pretty fun, though (obviously) nothing significant came of it. ]

Earlier this week this same friend asked me if I had considered doing that again, now that I'm back in the US. I hadn't, but then I started thinking about it, and decided that I would like to. So I jumped online, but quickly realized it's out of my budget right now, which was disappointing. Then this morning I had another friend message me and offer to either buy me a coffee club membership (coffee is gross), a gym membership (I silently scoffed at such a waste of money), or an online dating membership.

Seriously? I was so excited! And not just at the idea of finding some tall, hot DeKalb farmer boy to sweep me off my feet. It seemed like a direct message from God. This message:

"Leslie, I know you're confused and lonely and a little bit mad at me right now. But I need you to hold

on a bit longer. I promise you'll eventually understand, and I promise that I am doing

this for your own good and for my glory. You aren't going home right now, because it won't

work into the plan. But I'm going to give you THIS, the gift of an eHarmony membership from

a friend, to remind you that I love you more than you are capable of understanding. I'm not

trying to make you miserable as a form of entertainment. I know you're hurting, and I care. It

matters to me. Please trust me, that there's purpose behind your pain. In the meantime, here.

Distract yourself with men."

I'm pretty sure God likes the idea of his daughters being distracted by men, aren't you?

Anyway, it was really encouraging to me. The End.

Stepping Away From the Ledge

So since I'm in a much less...shall we say volatile? place now than I was at the writing of the last post, I thought I should update you, cyber-readers and friends.

I don't really hate everything about my life. Really only a couple things. I do actually hate that I'm so far from home. I also hate that I have a neighbor who regularly wakes me up in the middle of the night. But I finally emailed my landlady about it, and she said she would take care of it, so maybe that won't be an issue much longer? I also truly hate that I can't go home this weekend.

But in all honesty, most everything else in my life is at some level which is better than "hate".

That being said, I am still looking for other (contractual) employment. Ideally in the great state of O-Hi-O. And most ideally in the great Lima region.

And I get to go home three weeks from today for Thanksgiving!! WHEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

The End.

This Is One of Those

Did you ever have a day when everything seemed terrible? When something really bad happened that immediately shaded every other part of your life in ugly, black charcoal? Well this is one of those times in my life.

I hate everything about my life right now.

I hate where I am.

I hate what I'm doing.

I hate that I don't see a light at the end of the tunnel.

I hate that I'm alone.

I hate that I can't come home this weekend.

I hate that people keep saying that there's a purpose because I KNOW THAT but it doesn't help AT ALL.

I hate when I'm busy and I hate when I'm not, because then I'm more lonely.

I hate that I can't afford to get away or to bring someone here.

I hate that I'm being unreasonable.

I hate that I feel this way.

The End.

Fear, Forgiveness, Trust, and Love

Things I've been mulling over...

If I really believed the things that God tells me; if I really embraced Truth, I wouldn't be selfish anymore. I wouldn't say things to make myself look good in others' opinions, even at someone else's expense. I wouldn't care at all that this Illinois job and plan might not work out. I wouldn't care if I ended up being a janitor until I retired. I wouldn't mind if my boss found a typo in the last quiz I gave. I wouldn't get defensive when a student challenges my explanation of the past perfect tense. Because if I really believed God, really, truly, deep down, it'd be ok with me if people think I'm naive or unimportant or just plain dumb, because I would know that none of that matters. Not really. Not to God.

God loves me, even though __________.

That blank there? That's for you. (and by "you", I also mean "me") Fill it in with whatever you've got.

Your worst sin.

The time you hurt someone. On purpose. And then didn't even feel bad; in fact, were glad you'd done it.

That stuff you stole.

Those lies you told.

That addiction you feed.

Those times you cheated.

Give it your best shot. That blank will hold anything you can throw at it, because it's a God-designed Sin Black Hole. We call it forgiveness. The real problem is that once you see how horrible you are, it's hard to believe how incredibly GOOD God is. Our own fallen nature predisposes us to doubt God.

But take a minute to allow yourself the joy of thinking about what your life would be like if you could really, truly trust God to be who He is. If we could let go of the fear and live in the freedom of unconditional Love. If we passed out that unconditional Love to everyone we came across, because we knew it would never run out. If we let true Love cast out the fears in our lives and replace them with trust.

Imagine with me. And then ask with me. Ask God to show you the fear in your life, and to reveal the roots that hold it deep in your heart. Then get your work gloves on and start digging. You can't just get rid of the fear; it'll grow back. You have to start with the roots. Like dandelions. Trusting God will kill the roots. Also like dandelions, one try won't take care of the whole problem. Today you will allow God to cast out your fears, but you'll see them again. The seeds are still around. But the more often you let trust in God kill the roots of fear, the less fear will grow back. And eventually you'll be in the habit of trusting. The fear will become the exception.

Because God is Love, and there is no fear in love. Perfect love drives out fear. 1 John 4.

I'm going to try to let God's perfect love cast the fear out of my life. I hope you will join me.

A Visit to Farm and Fleet

Today I was supposed to go with a group of students and staff from work on a visit to a local apple orchard. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but the short version is that I couldn't find the group and missed the trip. Alas.

But the up side to this misfortune was that suddenly I had the whole day free. I went home and finished grading quizzes, talked to my awesome friend, Josie, and then decided to go to the DeKalb Public Library to get my card and check out the lay of the land, and then go to find a padlock.

Yah, I need a padlock. Doesn't that seem like an item that I would have acquired at some point in life? But as it turns out, nope. I don't have any padlocks. I needed one to secure my storage space in the basement of my new apartment building, and though I considered picking one up at Wal-Mart, I opted for taking the retail version of the scenic route. On my first day here I got lost and saw Blain's Farm and Fleet in the process.

At the time it struck me with feelings that a huge store usually does not- warm fuzzies. Maybe it was the word "farm" in the name. Or maybe the multiple American flags out front? Not sure. But whatever the cause, the result was that "down home" feeling that I love so much. I get the same feeling when I sit in the poultry barn at the Allen County Fair, sweltering in the late-August heat, breathing in air that smells like chickens and sweat and fried food, and recognizing half of the people in the uncomfortable bleacher seats while I wait to hear how my niece's 4-H project chickens placed. It feels like home, only better because I've had not-home now, so I appreciate home more.

Anyway, when I decided to get the lock, I also decided to go back to the F&F. I don't think I've ever been to one of these stores, but I was expecting cross between a TSC (Tractor Supply Company, for the city-slickers among us) and a Home Depot. And I was not disappointed. I even took some pictures to document my journey.

As I entered the store, this sign greeted me:

Ah, yes, I thought to myself. This is going to be good. Nothing like a store that actually sells worms and grubs. That's country right there.

Armed with the thought that live bait was, in fact, within my reach, should I suddenly be overwhelmed with the urge to fish, I continued on my journey of discovery. Check this out:

Livestock Handling. Chuckling to myself at the memory of one of my city-friends telling me that she was afraid of cows, (which I find hilarious because my own experience with cows has been that they're pretty laid back creatures}, I snapped a shot. It was just a little awkward, with that guy in the shot. Maybe he was flattered. I'm just going to assume that he was.

I eventually found myself in the kids' area, where I stumbled upon this delightful item: baby-sized Carharts! You may remember my fondness for Carharts from a previous post. But I don't think I'd ever seen such a tiny version, and being a woman, I found the tiny version just precious. And worthy of another picture.

See the tiny little logo patch?!?

And close to the mini-carhart section, I found these hee-larious little girl spades. Cause when you teach your daughter how to work in the garden, she'll probably be more excited about the whole thing if her tools are emblazened with the picture of a Disney princess. I get it.

And now the wrench picture. I had to take this one because it made me think of my Dad, as did many things in this store. The whole experience reminded me of Saturday afternoons in middle school and early high school, when I would occasionally accompany Dad to TSC or some obscure hardware store, tucked into an ally in Lima, or to a junk yard for part to fix something, or to a John Deere dealer in a neighboring town. If the time was right, we'd listen to Click and Clack on NPR. If you've never had the pleasure, I highly recommend catching an episode or two. They're hee-larious. It's a car show. And I like it. Nuff said.

Oh, so back to the wrenches. When my family helped move me into my apartment, I was found guilty of not owning a wrench. Apparently that is bad. Dad immediately added the offending tools to my list of needed items.

Later that afternoon when we were checking out of Wal-Mart with our two carts of stuff, I saw Dad's solution to my wrench problem. He had bought me not one, not two, but 13 wrenches. I'm not kidding. He got two sets of six each. I'm not sure what the difference is between the two sets, but they're different colors, so I'm assuming there is some difference of significance. And to round it out, he also bought an adjustable wrench, in case my needs were not covered by the other 12 sizes. At the time it seemed like the most wrenches I'd ever seen. But then this afternoon I saw this:

At least he didn't see the need to get me THIS ginormous set. I mean, that set is impresivo, right? Holy cow. Maybe this one's designed for mechanics? Or people who just really, REALLY like tools?

As we close out the conversation on wrenches, I should point out that I've already made use of the wrenches that Dad bought me. I used one to put my new IL license plates on my car. Thanks, Dad!

And what self-respecting store with the word "farm" in the title would think it possible to do business without selling something with the John Deere logo stamped on it? Far be it from Blain's Farm and Fleet to so much as think of such heresy. They're proudly displaying and selling their belief that, true to the hype, nothing runs like a Deere.

And check out this next picture. See? I told you farmers are the hardest working group of people I know. F&F agrees. Upon further reflection, I think that farmers are hard-working thanks to natural selection. Lazy farmers died out long ago.

And here I am, at the end of my journey, proudly displaying my two purchases: the padlock I had originally gone in for, and a timer for my lamp. The friendly, helpful (and cute) sales guy recommended this one. It has different settings for each day of the week! By golly, what'll they think of next?

I'll leave you with one last shot. This is across the street from the store. A Taco Bell and a corn field. If I ever write my own lyrics to the song, "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music, cornfields and Taco Bell will probably make the cut. As will Blain's Farm and Fleet. It gets two thumbs up from me.

Stream of Consciousness Post

-Today my new best friend, Ann at the DMV, allowed me to get my car registered and plated without quite the right document. She did warn me that the IRS might ask for the exact document later on, in which case I should respond. I generally think that responding to the IRS is in my best interest and therefore something I'm likely to do, even without prompting from a gracious public employee. In any case, I prayed for favor before I went in, and I feel quite sure that God decided to acquiesce.

-Does everyone know the word "acquiesce" strictly from its use in Pirates of the Caribbean? Cause I do.

-I had to look up the spelling of the word "acquiesce". French-influenced spelling is dumb.

-It's 9:20pm, and right now I'm listening to loud talking and a loud movie from my neighbor's apartment. I think they have to talk loud cause they have the volume on the 'ol boob tube cranked up so high. On the one hand, I want to go tell them to put a lid on it. On the other, I'm quite happy in the knowledge that there's no mentally unstable person over there, about to come beat on my door and ask me to keep it down.

-One of the side benefits of having things stored in a shed for six years is that it gives you a whole new understand of what mildew can grow on. Wood. Paper. Of course, cloth. Plastic. Yep. Did you know that? Cause I certainly did not know that mildew was capable of surviving a non-porous surface like plastic. Please feel free to believe me and not find out through personal experience. The experience route is gross and a little stinky. Or esteenky, as we would say in spanglish. Eez no good.

-And speaking of Spanish, the guy getting his registration next to me had brought in his bi-lingual translator (aka, his brother or nephew or something), which I enjoyed listening to. In my current world, the foreign language that most often surrounds me is Arabic. Know how much Arabic I know? Here are all the Arabic words that I know:

-After my miraculous procurement of shiny new IL plates, I of course put them on Estelle (my new Honda CR-V) immediately. Well, both because they are pleasingly shiny AND because my temporary plates expire tomorrow. Anyway, in the end I made three trips up and down to my third floor apartment in the process. One for a screwdriver. Another trip for a smaller screwdriver (spatial reasoning is not a strong suite of mine). And finally a third trip for a set of wrenches. Now, how much sense does it make for the dealership to affix the front plate with screws and the back one with bolts? Exactly. None whatsoever.

-My first (and so far, only) DeKalb friend is a Greek woman named Mata. Mata is delightful. She's 57 and here by herself until her hubby finishes closing up shop in Greece and moves here next year. The other day we were driving home from somewhere and I was telling her about how I've really enjoyed discovering the joy of Greek yogurt. I turned to Mata and said, "I just want to thank you personally for Greek yogurt." With a straight face, she replied without missing a beat, in her My-Big-Fat-Greek-Wedding accent, "No problem." I like Mata.

-In reading something online today I ran across the phrase, "tempest in a teapot". It means when something little gets blown up into something big, like making a mountain out of a molehill. I like this phrase. It's very pleasing to the ears.

-Someone next door is singing now. Maybe 'singing' is too generous a term. I hope this isn't going to be a common event. I'm going to find my earplugs and go to bed. 'Night!

Boo for Alone

I know, I know. It's been EONS since I wrote. Practically a decade. You have been neglected, my cyber friend, and you deserve an explanation. Here's why I haven't been writing:

-I didn't have anything to say

-I got a new job and moved three states away and lived in a hotel for a week and then doubted my decision and almost had a nervous breakdown but then after much prayer and a lack of other feasible options decided to stay and hope the job works out. Then I had to find an apartment and start the new job and move in with the help of my awesome family and now I'm about to start my third week of the job and I have several hours of free time in a row for the first time since I left Ohio.

The second reason might be more significant than the first. After all, I don't really have all that much to say now, either, but since I had some time, I thought I'd write anyway.

Even before I moved to take this job, I was worried about being lonely. I hate being lonely, which is a shame cause I'm real good at it. I do it well, and I'm fast. I can get lonely in, ummm, maybe 2 hours. Pretty good, right?

But as I said, I don't like to be lonely. I know that, when they are trying (unsuccessfully) to be helpful, sometimes people tell me, "You can be lonely when you're with people, too." And this is true. But it has been my experience that I'm lonely a LOT more when I'm NOT with people than when I AM with people.

It's been nice that since I've been here I've had visitors three times, and I've gone to visit friends once. But tonight, as my sister drove away from my apartment, I realized something.

Visitors are great. I mean, really awesome. But the bad part about visitors is that they leave. No matter how long they can stay, or how much fun you have with them, they have to leave. And then I'm back to my previous state of aloneness.

I don't want my normal state to be alone. I'm tired of alone. I want people. For better or for worse, I want people. To say hi to. To recap my day with. To share funny student stories with. To eat with. To divide chores with. To watch movies with. To make plans with. I want to share life with people. Life is better shared, don't you think?

Boo for alone.

WARNING: This is an Ugly Truth post. It may be TMI for you.

Chocolate

It’s a little like chocolate. Everyone likes chocolate. Well, nearly everyone and when you come across someone who doesn’t, you think either they’ve had a bad experience with chocolate or they’re just plain weird. Everyone likes chocolate, but not everyone can have it.

If you’re a single Christian, God says no chocolate for you. Yet. Your chocolate might be coming in the future. Or maybe you just don’t get any. At least, you don’t get any unless you choose to break the rules. You can always choose to steal someone else’s chocolate, or pay for it, even, but that’s no good. That’s against the rules. There are pretty significant consequences.

Christians take the chocolate rules seriously. There are some rules we ignore. Or kinda conveniently don’t really understand fully. But not the chocolate rules. We’ve got those down. No chocolate until you’re married. No exceptions. You can’t buy it, steal it, trade for it. Nothin. Sorry about your luck.

Now the good news is that there’s this verse in 1^st Corinthians (7:7) that says that your chocolate-free existence has its good points. It’s really a gift. You can focus all your time and energy on serving God! Yay! I mean, we’re all pro-serving-God, right? So if you’re single, of course you should feel REALLY excited about this perk. Now I don’t want to be sacrilegious here, really. But if God said to you, “Hey kid, you can choose from two gifts: the gift of chocolate or the gift of no chocolate,” which one do you think YOU’D pick? Let’s be honest. We all want the gift of chocolate.

But what we want doesn’t seem to factor in much. No matter that you really, really, REALLY want some chocolate. No matter that most of the people you know have unlimited access to their own chocolate. It’s not important that the media shows you lots and lots of chocolate all the time. You can see it and hear it. Smell it. Lots of luscious chocolateyness. It’s everywhere. Tempting you and reminding you that you don’t get chocolate, or any of the benefits that come after the chocolate. You can’t have it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Sometimes people who have their own chocolate try to help. They say things like, “Don’t worry. Your chocolate will come when you’re not looking for it.” Or “But you’re so lucky to be chocolate-free! Think how independent you are! You can do whatever you want!” Or my personal favorite, “God has a plan. You just have to wait for his timing.” The problem is that these oh-so-helpful people are usually munching on their own chocolate, or at least licking the vestiges off their fingers while they strive to console you. Really? No. If you have your own chocolate, good, bad, or otherwise, you don’t get to pat me on the head and tell me it’s ok that I don’t have any. You don’t have that right. Go away and eat your own chocolate and leave me in peace.

Because you know what? Those things? They aren’t necessarily true. No one knows if I’ll ever get my own chocolate. Well, except God, and he seems to be pretty tight-lipped about it. YOU don’t know. Neither do I. So stop lecturing me with your chocolate-flavored breath. You may mean well, but you’re not helping.

Anyway, there isn’t really any conclusion to this rant about the lack of chocolate in my life. I just wanted to vent a little bit. Cause I’ve never had chocolate. Not even one bite. I know that this wasn’t an accident. I believe that God’s got a plan for me. I don’t know if his plan will involve any chocolate in the future, but I sure hope so. In the meantime, I’m suffering from an acute chocolate craving, and it makes me cranky sometimes. You have been fairly warned. Now go away and enjoy your own chocolate. Just don’t tell me about it. J

Suave. That's me. Yo. Soy. Suave.

I'm house-sitting right now, for some friends from church. They're off cruising in Alaska, which means I am luxuriating at their house. They have central air and cable tv. I am quite easily pleased.

Anyway, the REASON I'm house sitting is so that I can watch their dogs. I've been here for a few days, and this morning I decided to go for a jog at the track, which is within walking distance from the house. So I got all ready and decided to use the garage code instead of the house key, so that I didn't have to carry the key while I jogged. Cognizant my not-so-awesome short-term memory skills, I even wrote the combination on my hand. Just in case.

I said goodbye to the puppies (who were NOT excited about me leaving) and headed over to the track. I walked a mile and then jogged a mile. When I was sufficiently sweaty, I headed back to the house. As I came to the house, a pang of anxiety struck me. There's a door between the garage and the house. I locked it last night. Did I unlock it before I left?

I did not.

Using my cleverly recorded code, I opened the garage door, only to discover that I was still locked out of the house itself.

Dangit.

As I stood outside the door, sweating and listening to the dogs barking wildly inside I thought through my options.

-Maybe another door was open? But I didn't think so. I'm pretty careful about locking up, since I'm staying here alone.

-Maybe there's a key hidden somewhere? Yes, but where? I would check the doors, and then look for a key.

-Maybe a window was unlocked? Unlikely, since the AC means they don't usually have the windows open. But still worth checking.

-Outside help. I don't have a phone. I could walk to the neighbors' and see if they have a spare key, but when she came over before she used the garage code. Even if I had my phone, it's unlikely that my friends would be keen on trotting back from ALASKA.

I left the garage and headed around to the back door. No luck.

["How lucky that I'm so security-focused," I thought sarcastically to myself.]

I continued around the other side of the house, intending to check the front door again, though I KNEW it was locked, since that's the one I usually use. On the way, though, I noticed that one of the windows into a back bedroom wasn't locked. I went in for a closer inspection.

There was a screen. How much does it cost to replace a screen? I gently tried to push it up.

IT MOVED! It slid up to the first little notch, and then locked. But it was enough space to get my hands in there, push in those little lock-things, and get the screen all the way up.

Now for the window. I could see that the lock in the middle of the window wasn't latched, but these windows had those little levers on the inside of the frame, about two inches from the bottom of the frame. You have to push them down to release the window. Obviously, I couldn't release it from outside.

I tapped around the outside of the window frame, hoping to loosen anything that might be stuck and remembering similar experiences with various girls from the Roosevelt House. [ahh, memories!!] There wasn't a good place to push, so finally I just push out and up on the sides of the frame, and LO AND BEHOLD, the window moved up!! Whee!! I pushed it as far as I could get it; it wasn't far enough to get through, but WAS far enough that I thought with something to stand on, I could open enough to climb in.

About this time I started wondering if anyone was watching my attempted break-in. Oh well. Maybe if the cops showed up they could help.

Back I went to the garage to find something to stand on. My choices were an old, vinyl-covered chair or a plastic 5 gallon bucket with some bird seed in it. The chair seemed less likely to tip over, but more likely to collapse under my weight. I grab the bucket and return to my window.

I climb up on the bucket, realizing that it's REALLY unsteady. I tell myself that when I put one leg into the window, I will need to move the other foot to the middle of the bucket or it's going to dump me.

I manage to get the window open enough and evaluate where I need to step. I put one foot and leg into the window. As I'm grasping about for good places to hold on in preparation to pull myself in, the bucket tips over, leaving me dangling halfway out of the window, about a foot off the ground.

Some flailing ensues. I grab wildly, scraping some skin off in places that will go unmentioned, and finally manage to haul the other half of my body into the house.

I pause for a minute, breathing heavily, and take stock. The dogs are going CRAZY outside the bedroom door. I don't think I broke anything. I check outside the window; it doesn't APPEAR as though anyone had witnessed that delightful scene. I do not hear police sirens. Yet.

But I'M IN!!

So. What'd YOU do this morning?

Settled

It is Wednesday evening. 6:23pm, and I am writing from the over-chilled dining room of the Ada, Ohio McDonald's Restaurant. I just finished my chicken nugget Happy Meal. Missed the mayo that is served with fries in Ecuador. Actually, I missed the combo of mixing the mayo and ketchup. McDonald's was one of the few places that served "real" ketchup there. Most places had this runny, pink-ish liquid that maybe had a tomato waved over it before packaging. It was gross. Far worse than no ketchup at all. But I digress.

Let's get back to the IMPORTANT part of the blog. I'm not really sure what that is, but you people keep harassing me to write, so here I am. Writing. :) Hmmmm....

Well, I've been back in Ohio for 2 1/2 weeks now. Today my awesome friend, Kristy, asked if I missed Quito yet. I answered her without hesitation. Nope. Not even a little bit. Not because I didn't (or don't) like Quito. Actually, I expect to start missing it around the time that other Quito-people are returning for the 2011/2012 school year. But for now, I'm too busy rolling around in a big, juicy vat of Ohio-wonderfulness to miss Ecuador yet.

I'm enjoying family, friends, driving (though not buying gas [eek!]), peaches, books on CD, Red Box movie rentals, coupons and sales, only working a couple hours a day, reuniting with Ohio-friends, watching NCIS on Tuesday nights, lightning bugs, the Ohio accent, strangers smiling at me, NOT being the largest/tallest person in sight at any given time, understanding EVERYTHING that is said to me, knowing how to say ALMOST everything I want to say, jogging [I know. But it's true], my new space-girl tennis shoes, not being on constant crime-alert, the smell of the country, and sun sets [not many sun-rises, though...]

One day, as summer wanders off and fall takes its place, I'll doubtless miss the majesty of the Andes, the cheap-n-yummy strawberries and avocados, the excitement of a new school year, getting my classroom ready, post-summer reunions with AAI people, the mental challenge of communicating in Spanish, the convenience of a cab to a busy part of the city [when it works like it should], the fun of the Latin culture on a Good Ecuador Day, the consistently moderate weather, and my Quito-friends. But not yet. Well, not yet for everything except the Quito-friends. I started missing them back in May.

Another season change. EVERYTHING about my life is in flux right now. From a new cell phone to a new job (which I am hopeful will be coming soon) to a new community and even a new place to fill my prescriptions. Lots of new. New-overload, if you will.

I feel like I'm in the eye of the hurricane. I survived the first part of the storm- leaving Quito.

It. Was. Hard.

By far my hardest "leave" yet. And now I'm in the calm before the second wave hits. Right now things are pretty easy. But I can tell that I'm still emotionally braced for what's coming. I'm having stress dreams. When my brain goes into autopilot, the stress rises to the surface. The questions pop back up above the water level:

-Where am I going to work? Will I like my job? What will my coworkers be like? Will I dread Mondays, or not? Will I get to stay there for awhile?

-Where will I live? How long until I build up my community there?

-What church will I end up in? How long until I feel like I belong there?

-What...?

-When....?

-What if....?

-How long until I feel SETTLED again?

That's the biggest question. Settled.

Settled is a good thing. Settled means you know who you are in your environment. You also know who you aren't. It means you have a routine, and even a routine for breaking the routine. You know who you can call for a spur-of-the-moment outing. You know the best routes to work. You know where to buy your milk. You smile and wave at your neighbors. People greet you by name at church and work and maybe even the neighborhood convenience store or gas station.

If you've lived in the same place for awhile, you've probably reached settled, and you might not even realize it. But remove the settled from your life? And you are aware if it immediately. You might seem ok. You might even feel ok, most of the time. But unsettled works in the subconscious. It pops up in your dreams. Reminding you that you're in transition. Your mind isn't at rest when your body is. It's working on the questions that float around. Being settled puts those questions to rest. It lets your dreams go back to the normal weirdness of being back in high school, but with the people from your current job, or having tea with Sponge Bob or whatever your "normal" dreams are like.

And so, even as I relish life in the eye of the hurricane, my soul still waits in anticipation. Far better than the eye is that day...flitting about out there in the vast spaces of "Future". The day when I will again be settled.

My Hilarious Students

So to make up for my 6 week absence, I have finally returned with a list of the funny and sometimes profound things that my students have said this year. Some of these are from written work, and others are quotes from the day. Sadly, I only get around to recording a small percentage of the funny stuff that happens in my ESL classroom, but some is better than none, I suppose. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Student Funnies 2010-2011

Q: What is the word that means that God knows everything?

A: Omniknowing

“Martina, wake up!”

“I am not esleeping. I am reviewing my learning experience.”

Q: God used ______ prophets to write the Bible…

A: old

Q: Which of the three primary consequences of sin do you think is the worst? Why?

A: For worst one for me would be the separation from God because I love God too much for loosing him!

Student A: Miss Foster, has anyone lost points today?

Me: No, but some of you are getting close.

Student B: Some of us are getting toast?!?!

Student: Hi Miss Foster. You are tired?

Me: Yes, I am tired. How could you tell?

Student: You look kindof sad.

(looking at Pablo’s drawing)

MaJo: This is a spider?

Pablo: No! That’s my dad!!

Q: What does Charlie’s family teach us about poverty and love?

A: That love is bigger than being poor or not having lots of food.

Student A: What book of the Bible comes after Proverbs?

Students B: A-crazy-ass-tees?

“Hey Josue, how was your doctor’s visit yesterday?”

“I got tree een-jections in my butt!”

Josue, talking to another student: “Maybe Miss Foster will be your superhero!”

“There is a lot of phlegm in here.”

Josue, speaking to me: “Maybe you will punch him in his face!!”

Journal entry about field trip to Mindo: “I discovered that God do all the things beautiful: rivers, waterfalls, butterflies, and the animals and that is good.”

Students, working on a group project.

Student 1: “Let’s make it colorful.”

Student 2: “Yah! And let’s not use black because black is not a colorful color.”

Josue: “Miss Foster, what day is this due?”

Me: “Josue, I JUST told you that.”

(long, solemn pause)

Josue: “Well, could you please tell me again?”

Excerpt from book report:

“Jack never let her little sister go when they were in the water almost dying. Instead, he gave her his life savior.”

Excerpt from Narrative Essay about a stay in a hotel in the jungle:

“The snake was roaring outside and we called the hotel service…”

Martina chants in a sing-song voice as she looks up information, “Pop-u-la-tion den-si-ty!”

Following a loud, grinding noise heard coming outside the classroom, a student comments, “Someone went to the bathroom with much trouble.”

Note on student’s book report project: The plot sickens!

From a student’s journal entry:

“…I would like to change this semester is my schedule. I would like to change choir to home ec. I would like to change it because I am going through that age that when I sing I make this weird sound like a roaster.”

Student survey “extra comment”:

“You are a very good teacher mostly. You are especially very fun and creative.”

As I help a student edit his essay, Juan suggests an awkward sentence.

Miss Foster: “Ok, it’s not that that’s a BAD sentence…”

Josue: “But it’s not a GOOD sentence.”

Josue suddenly jumps out of his desk during work time. He jumps around and says, “My leg!!”

I ask what happened. “Something punched my butt!” he exclaims.

From journal entries about whether mercy or justice is more important:

“…So I think that mercy is more important [than] justice because mercy can make people change and justice cannot change people.”

“I think justice is better because if someone punches you in the face and they get mercy, that’s very bad to you. You would like them to get in trouble so you would want them to get justice. Punish that person for hitting you so that person won’t do it again. But if mercy, then it is more lickly that the person will do it again.”

“I think that more important is mercy because we have to have mercy with [everyone]. I think justice is for God and for the people that has more maturity. If somebody made something that we don’t like, we have to act patiently with others like God is patient and has mercy with us. We have to be like God. Mercy is better for us than justice.”

Answers to the bonus question, “What is the rule about gum in this class?”

The rule of gum

“We need a donkey.” -Martina

Martina: “The bell ranged!”

Josue: “Not ‘ranged’; ‘ringed’!”

Miss Foster: “Not ‘ringed’; the bell RANG! I can’t believe you guys didn’t know that; it’s in this week’s verb list!”

Josue (shaking his head mournfully): “Everywhere: ignorance, Miss Foster.”

Verb quiz Q: What is the past participle form of “to think”?

A: had thonk

Martina:“Mees Fohstair! You look BAD! You look like a tomato!!”

Juan: “You look tired. You should take a nap during lunch.”

Josue: “NO! You should eat during lunch, then take a nap during Bible.”

Juan: “But what if Mr. Bowen comes while she’s sleeping, and tried to teach the class?”

Josue: “We could pretend we’re in a lockdown.”

Pablo: “Ana Julia! Why are you READING!?!?”

Ana Julia: “Go away, Pablo, or something bad will happen to you.”

Journal: If you could have any pet in the world, real or imaginary, which pet would you choose?

A: I will chose a sphinx because it revives from its ashes. I think that is cool because I saw it in Harry Potter. Harry Potter never lies, so its probably true.”

Me: Martina, are you sure that’s the right answer? If not, you should look it up.

M: Don’t worry. I feel it in the deep of my heart.

Me: Ok, I just hope “the deep of your heart” doesn’t let you down.

Q: In your own words, explain the meaning of John 3:16

A: ….Also if you believe that Jesus died in the crust for our sins then you’re going to heaven not hell.

From student writing assignment: “Remind your kid not to talk to stingers.”

Title of Writer’s Workshop Assignment: What I want to be when I am a Ground up

Ana Julia: What’s that?

Pablo: It’s a picture of a hang-glider.

Ana Julia: It looks like a sandwich with legs.

Discussion on April Fool’s Day prank plans

Juan: Can we do a prank on you?

Me: If it’s a good prank, and you don’t hurt anyone or anything.

Josue: Can we scare you?

Me: I’m not sure. It might depend on how scared I am.

Jhony: What if we make you pee your pants?

Me: No, that would not be good.

Josue: Would you be willing to wear especial pants?

Students are playing a review game

Josué: Juan got it wrong!

Juan: I haven’t even answered yet!

MF: Wow Juan, you must be REALLY good to get it wrong without talking!

Juan: I know, right?

Josué: You are better than Chuck Norris!!

Sentence from student essay on people who are overweight:

“I always get mad when people said that I am overweight. But sometimes I understand because I think they say things because they are feeling sad.”

Sentence from student essay on racism:

“I think racism is dum.”

Josue: Miss Foster, did you know that my uncle is coming from Canada?

Me: Really? What part of Canada?

Martina: Toronto?

Josue: Yes!

Me: Do any of you know anything about Canada BESIDES Toronto?

Juan: I think it has a park?

Isa: Miss Foster, have you seen the movie of the Monster of Oprah?

[extra points if you can figure out what movie she meant]

Isa: Have you ever been to Astridi Gaston? It’s a Peruvian restaurant.

Josh: What kind of food do they have?

(whole class busts out laughing)

Q: What do you think happened to Mrs. Johanson on the trip home from the boat?

A: Maybe Nazis shot at her and she is damaged.

Q: Why didn’t the soldier want Mama to open the casket?

A: Because if Mama open the casket she can be contagious with typhus and she can contagious him and everybody.

Pablo: Can I go clean out my locker?

MF: Sure. And if you find $.50 while you’re there, bring it with you so you can get your notebook back.

Pablo: I’m not going to find $.50 in there! I’m going to find spiders! Can I pay in spiders?

Josue: I still remember the time that Miss Foster called me the dork.

Juan: Good times, good times!

Good times, indeed. School's only been out for two days and I already miss them. It was a good year.

Mothers

So, Mother's Day weekend has arrived. It occurs to me that I usually post melancholic (at best) blogs around Mother's Day. And though that seems logical considering my situation, this week a friend sent me an email forward about moms that I found stinkin' hilarious, and so I decided to be a little less depressing this year and post it here.

Please note that this is an email forward; not my own writing. What you're about to read are answers from second grade students to questions about their moms. As you read and laugh, I hope you will make a mental note to be thankful for, and thank, your mom for all she does for you. And if you're able to tell your mom face-to-face, I hope you're extra thankful.

Happy Mother's Day!

Why did God make mothers?

1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.

2. Mostly to clean the house.

3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?

1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.

2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.

3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.

What ingredients are mothers made of?

1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.

2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.

Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?

1. We're related.

2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.

What kind of little girl was your mom?

1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.

2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.

3. They say she used to be nice.

What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?

1. His last name.

2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?

3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your mom marry your dad?

1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world and my mom eats a lot

2. She got too old to do anything else with him.

3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.

Who's the boss at your house?

1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.

2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.

3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than Dad.

What's the difference between moms and dads?

1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.

2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.

3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.

4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your mom do in her spare time?

1. Mothers don't do spare time,

2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day

What would it take to make your mom perfect?

1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery

2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your Mom, what would it be?

1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.

2. I'd make my Mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.

3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.

Alien Floors and Homemade Cards

So the sad thing about living in a place for a long time (and in my world "long time" generally constitutes more than a year) is that stuff that used to seem ridiculous and out of control slowly fades into "unusual" and final "normal". Your brain kinda starts to think most everything around you is more or less acceptable.

Don't believe me? Let me give you an example. Lima people, remember the department store called Lazarus? That's a weird name for a store. Bath is a weird name for a school. 5/3 is a weird name for a bank. Seriously. Do you want people who can't fix an improper fraction in charge of your finances? And the decor at Kewpee. Now, I love me a Kewpee as much as the next guy, but shouldn't it creep us out just a little that the restaurant is decorated with naked baby dolls? The correct answer is YES. It should creep us out a skoshe.

But of course, we all think this stuff is normal. Like life in Quito has, to a large extent, become normal to me.

But today my friend, Sarah, came for a visit and she immediately commented on my living room floor. Thrice. She said, "Wow!" Three times in a row. And it reminded me that my floor, which has been slowly becoming more and more damaged from the ceiling leak that my landlady STILL hasn't fixed, is really quite ridiculous. I even took a couple pictures, so you can "wow" along with Sarah from the comfort of your computer screen.

So you're looking at my cheap-o parquet floor. The water has caused the pieces to swell and push up away from the floor. The first day it looked like a couple of aliens were going to burst out of the floor. I'm happy to report, however, that the lumps have now opened and I have not seen any aliens. So that's good news. You'll also notice that I'm valiantly trying to catch as much water as possible with various kitchen items. It's pretty much an exercise in futility, though.

But in other, happier news, Wednesday was Teacher's Day! I know because when I got to school, there was a big display with stars on it and a note in my box with a chocolate bar, wishing me a happy teacher's day. I, of course, did have a happy day, as chocolate was suddenly involved. :) But really the best part was when the two little girls I'm tutoring came in for our session, and handed me two Happy Teacher's Day posters that they had made. They were so adorable that I couldn't help but take pictures for you to enjoy with me.

Rebeca, who designed the beautiful card above, is 10 and in 5th grade.

And this Hello, Kitty gem was made by Esther, who is eight and in 3rd grade. The cards were delivered to me along with a six-pack of generic Oreo cookies. I almost cried. They're just so sweet! These cards are definitely coming home with me.