A Compilation

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” –Earnest Hemmingway

First: People often talk about the people who spill their souls on Facebook. That’s me. But I will gladly tell you everything the same in person. I want people to know about this place and these people, and I will tell you with every possible medium. I would prefer to tell you about it in person, but down into my soul I am a writer, and I want you to read it too. I want you to understand, though I know that you never can, not without experiencing it. But I think the closest way for you to understand is if I give you my raw emotions- I’m not going to polish anything up for you. I’m not afraid of sharing my fragility or my rawness with you- in person or online. I know that you are just as fragile.

Second: This is just a compilation of some of the thoughts taken from my journals. This isn’t the big stuff I wrote. I’ll be compiling those eventually. This afternoon I was sitting down near the Little Miami River and I realized I needed to start sharing it, and immediately. So here you go. A little bit of what I wrote, my first attempt to make you understand. This, I suppose as I compile it, is more about my response, and less about the actual stories of the people. But more writings will come.

June 17. Fathers’ Day.

God hits me with blasts of love at such inappropriate times. And I love it.

You need only to be still.

June 19.

I’m not as excited as I should be.

Terrified, God.

So many things I have wanted to write down but haven’t gotten the chance.

June 20.

Thank You for quiet joy.

my slow soul

takes sweet time

becoming your girl-

these parakeets squawk joy from the trees

announcing their king

laughing fast-

I laugh slow

deep,

all this pent up fear

busts into loud joy,

when I let it.

June 24.

And we’re all so different.

And some of us are afraid.

and You are beautiful.

June 25.

long day. I can’t remember when it started.

Your mercy.

June 26.

…But I felt only light.

“This tastes completely different from anything you can get back home.” (in many variations J) -Russ

June 28.

This experience is worth being broke[en].

“Nothing says ‘hey I’m an independent adult’ like living in a foreign country and using a squatty potty, you know?” -Sarah

June 29.

People are people and everything is complicated. I cannot explain, and you probably won’t understand. such a mix of things. feeling raw. Hold me steady, J.

June 30.

Thankful for laughter, listening to Sarah sing, echoes, sunset, “conversing” with refugees, lunch, time alone, laundry, cherries, yogurt, and G’s assurance that I am full of value.

teach me some melodious sonnet.

July 1.

And now it was July, and the air was thick and You were the same.

“The glory of God is man fully alive.”

-soft steps on stone floor

-the way our knees bend into these pew walls.

July 2.

Your love papa

coaxes oceans into puddles

and rain drops into life.

please carry me.

coax these strong words

back into my veins

and pour them out.

July 3.

“if you were any braver, you would be a lioness.”

of course I am overwhelmed. But it is all right. I taught with J, and he sat in the second row.

Jesus, let them see You when they look at me.

This is a good exercise in faith…starting from the bottom, and also being thrown into it.

It is an honor to be here. even if it doesn’t help their English at all, privilege.

July 5.

Teaching was hard today. M.

But. Tonight.

We sat in the heat for two hours, between the family building and the willow tree- stars above and lights in the distance beyond the spatter of trees. We talked with the woman who speaks English, of how she came and her former teachers. There are crickets, though they do not sound like American crickets. And halfway through, I realize, this feels like home.

They ask if we will stay six months or a year, because it is easier to learn for longer. They ask if we will tell the world about them.

She walked over mountains to get here. days and days, a year ago.

My young student grabs my hand.

The concrete is warm, even this late at night. My head hurts but it doesn’t matter.

Even compassion for M.

The crickets are loud tonight.

The day was overwhelming. But the night was beautiful.

“This is nothing. We are not home.” They feed us cake and tangy orange juice.

July 6.

A lot of show, but today I cannot find the genuine. too much today.

I start and end in You.

physical manifestation of what Americans are like on the inside.

Boil it, she says.

pray fervently.

to not hide.

“Will you help me cook my cauliflower? You can sit on the couch and watch BBC and tell me how to cook it.” (not an exact quote.)

July 7.

It isn’t a prison, but some days it sure feels like one.

A little girl and her papa on the bus.

kind of makes me feel like crying. because she doesn’t understand, because she babbles on and on, because he loves her.

It’s the small things that hit you most.

July 8.

Acts. Despite persecution, there was joy, and the message spread.

All day we sit.

I talked a lot.

We read Your words.

I had expected to be shocked and overwhelmed all at once, right away. But it isn’t like that. It’s a slow, seeping, subtle emptiness that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I was prepared for hard heart break, but not this subtleness.

Everything is visible, and everything is hidden.

It is like a physical display of the American mind. They are bored. They wait for months or years and they rarely get answers. There is nothing to do. They play football and volleyball and tennis in the evenings, but that is all there is to do. They are forgotten.

It’s empty.

Kids always running and fighting and shouting.

July 9.

I want to be faithful in the small things.

I can’t do this on my own.

keep my eyes on You.

intense dreams. disoriented.

July 10.

oh golly.

joy last night. birds this morning.

apples with breakfast- light green, like the stars at dusk.

The little girl from the bus gave me a hug!

not friendly but we’re nice. success.

they respect us.

“You will forever yield to the slightest touch from God.”

July 11.

don’t want to fight You or lie to You.

There is so much and somehow it translates into so little. And it’s making me tired. I just want to be enough. I want to run and sing and breathe and write. just to be with You. My nastiest places are becoming loud. All I want to do is sleep- because it is all I can do. And make them understand. All of them. But it’s not about me. I do not have the privilege of escaping. Jesus please carry me, I cannot carry myself. I cannot breathe on my own. I cannot love without Your strength.

“You are eternal, and I am eternally Yours.”

“If you would know me at all, one half an iota, you would know I really like men.” –Sarah

“What good is chocolate if you’re not gonna share it?” -Sarah

July 12.

people at the gate. sunsets, flies ants.

small patches of wilderness

wherever you can find them.

especially during sunset,

when the sky’s so gold it disorients you.

and when your friends approach and you, for a minute, do not recognize them, because you are outside and when you are outside you must tune everything out.

July 13.

The emotions are so strong here, but I do not feel that I can let them out.

I want you to understand but I don’t even know where to start.

My soul feels heavy, but I don’t feel justified to cry. Really, I think I’m angry, but it comes out in laugh attacks. It’s not funny, laughter is just the way the emotion spills.

July 14.

I am LIVID- is that the word? ANGRY. I can’t NOT do anything. Help me speak. Tell me who to tell. I’d rather be passionate and angry and heartbroken and HELP than run and hide. I want to help. Give me words to SPEAK. If you want, I will write a book. J. Give me words. (That’s what I wrote- not a rant.)

“Politics and real life do not mix.” -Russ

July 16.

“For since the world began, no ear has heard and no eye has seen a God like you, who works for those who wait for him!” Is. 62:4

(5:45 am)

He doesn’t ask us to be powerhouses or scholars; he asks us to love him. And that will be enough.

July 17.

I’ve known these people for one month.

no control over my impact, only G controls that. A cup of water is valuable to Jesus, if it is for him.

How to tell people at home,

how to explain.

Tell them anyway.

Pain is meaningful.

J, let me breathe.

I don’t want to go home and forget.

I don’t want to share because they won’t understand and I can’t expect them to.

My soul wants to curl up in a ball and protect itself.

A soft, quiet, persistent shove sideways, so you hardly notice it at all until you’re stuck.

It’s not extreme at all, just under the surface. lurking, seeping oppressiveness.

“I could seriously do with a can of tuna!” –Sarah

“I’m sitting here basically holding my mouth shut!” –Sarah

“…except you’re still talking.” –me

“I can see the wind but I cannot feel it!” -Kristin

July 18.

à Girl, why do you feel the need to be such a grump? Feeling a bit insecure about something, self?

They turned up the music and covered the windows and turned off the lights. Because the men aren’t allowed to see.

A woman brought her baby girl- 2 months old- born in camp. (woah) Watching M hold her, we could see the pain on her face, and the love.

When we walked back at eleven the stars were incredible.

felt purposeful, just being there was enough.

I’m not ready for tomorrow at all, but God has blessed me beyond belief.

Women are women and I’m honored to be one, slightly scandalous Bollywood videos and all. ;)

“I had a crush on a guy for six years. He had a head shaped like a basketball.” -Sarah

July 19.

Ramadan.

Being eaten by the awful subtlety and rejuvenated by how beautiful people are.

Overwhelming. Because in America I am not even a teacher, let alone a good one. But for some reason, God has chosen me to come here. And I might be the only English teacher these women have ever had. To hear them say I am good is overwhelming.

I’m so honored to be here.

You need only to be still.

July 20.

Too tired to think about tomatoes.

I sit on the floor of the train and Sarah braids my hair.

July 21.

I couldn’t even explain to Kristin, and she’s going through the same thing. I don’t really want to leave~ it’s frustrating and heartbreaking but it’s also kind of home.

My head can’t even engage because I’m thinking about how to think about it. God has blessed me so much. This summer has been difficult in ways I didn’t imagine and wonderful in ways I didn’t either.

I’m gonna miss these people. but it’s worth it.

{heartbreaking, but it’s a sort of purposeful feeling, a sort of relief.}

Apparently, we have one more weekend in Hungary, one more week with refugees. I’m not ready for this. It’s the almost end of July and I’m way less ready to go than I thought I would be. And I don’t know how to process it.

Let’s see. I love this place and these people. And as hard as it is, it’s beautiful.

“I don’t have my glasses on so I can’t hear very well.” -Sarah

July 22.

This July.

At the end of it, I realize that there are more important things than worrying about this distraction. I can feed myself with other things.

{thirsty cows}

“This is what it means to me to be twenty. To travel in Europe with a backpack and a sundress.” –Kristin

July 23.

evening- S’s mom, M, and S came out and gave us bread! And some of it is chocolate! and they’re not even eating yet because of Ramadan. warm on a slightly chilly night. Jesus. I want to love people better.

July 24.

Tonight I watched a group of kids and a father corral a cat and then stuff it into a plastic bag and pull it tight. I’m pretty sure they killed it. It made me angry. I cried a little. In public. I thought to myself, oh *, I’m crying over a * cat.

I feel like crying every time I see ____. He’s so visibly angry.

And then I realized I’m perpetually grumpy. And I’m wondering if it’s fear masquerading as anger.

can’t relax.

I don’t want to always be angry.

and then we went for orange juice and played with ___ and ___ and it made me sad but was also quite soothing.

(This [summer] has been good for me.)

“I’ll beat you!” -Kristin

July 25.

What have I learned?

How can I change from it?

How do I change my behavior?

The fourth thing Muslims pray for during Ramadan is their teachers.

“You break through the ice and then you fall through it.” –I don’t remember

“The sky is purple.” –Kristin

“SOMEBODY GIVE THAT COW SOME WATER!” -me

July 26.

Class today was fun. I’m really going to miss them.

headache- but I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had a headache here.

Every morning around nine, I walk down the stairs to go to my classroom, or make copies. And three out of four mornings, I walk down to the gaze of eight or six or two men. Some days I say hello. Some days I don’t. I never get used to it.

A psychiatrist came to camp today. I saw many of my [women] students waiting.

Depression.

Then we walked through camp and saw some of the older guys teaching the littler ones how to play cricket. It was way cute. There are definitely parts of this culture I really like.

how to be boldandvulnerable.

Today I was not angry. Irritated, yes, but not angry.

BUG INFESTATION. EVERYWHERE BIG BLACK BUGS. And! The lights are off in the bathroom. (always an adventure!)

July 27.

I want to sing You a story, paint You a song…how these children play, coaxing water from the fountain, running, laughing, and then they disappear between bushes and benches. these word doodles, amidst sparrows and brown sandals, a language I do not understand- quiet. I blend in, an afternoon, a fountain. (1:45)

The sweet sound of fountains. Like all those nights waiting on benches was for this.

July 28.

This summer my community was as it should be.

…not entirely sure how to permanently change.

“A love that never runs out, a love that never gives up, I will always need.”

Six weeks ago, I did not even know these people existed. And now, my story will always be intertwined with theirs.

We sit silent. My favorite thing, some days.

These are bigger things to think of.

how to fight emptiness, how to be. I refuse to go back to small American thinking, small American fears. She walked to Hungary from Iran for goodness’ sakes. And I’m afraid of what.

How to share, how to tell.

Teaching. Men and women. Completely different experiences for each. Watching the women be safe enough to take down their scarves and let their hair breathe for an hour. Listening to them say, “I am beautiful” as they form sentences in English. Timidly, like they’re afraid to say it, but strong too, because they know it’s true. Listening to S talk about M, how she left four children in a hard place, how she’s depressed. So many questions I have about these women. The day she comes in and her lip looks like she’s been hit. Has she been hit? When my class tells me things not about lessons. 2:00. Immigration. Positive or Negative. They’re so nervous. I’m nervous for them. They tell me, too, nervous. I go on with the lesson because I don’t know what else to do. They don’t speak anymore English to talk about it. But I’m in, you know, I’m in. They trust me to share in their joy and sadness. They did not ask me to come, but (and) they let me in. Quickly, they let me in.

We can breathe through this

blank ink-

it won’t be enough.

enough to start a gasping for air,

but not for life,

not for quiet.

We can fill a page with

these drops-

it won’t be enough.

enough to make questions,

but not to find answers,

not for rest.

We can watch the sky and write,

can breathe this blank ink

but it won’t be enough.

July 29.

sitting on a bench in the square outside Gilbert’s, soaking up the shade. Walking along the street, with the pigeons, a little Libertango… mmm.

July 30.

comfort:

with

strong.

“Comfort is not soft, weakening commiseration; it is true, strengthening love.” –Amy Carmichael

“How is it that you can eat HEN UTERUS but think raspberries are disgusting?!” –Sarah, to Russ

August 2.

I am in Frankfurt, and I am alone.

I didn’t know what to share, so I told about being angry, and the women. Those things spilled first.

And then jumping pictures and dessert.

And then Kristin and I stayed up until two, talking in the dark. It was so lovely.

…And then suddenly and without a decent goodbye, I am alone, travelling across the ocean, and there are men all over, and debriefing was so brief and my feelings so fresh.

It is rather overwhelming.

And I fiercely miss my team.

And I am so excited to be with my family, and Mama Pearl and Aygul, and free.

but I ache too, loudly.

also, I can’t sleep on planes. :/

“I think your laugh would be like a current jam.” –Kristin, about bottling Sarah’s laugh.

August 6.

My heart is catching dragonflies.

Help me not forget a single drop.