Kit Kat Bars

I have my first extended break from school this week. It is a week long, in honor of the October 23 revolution and All Soul's Day on November 1. I'm spending my time in the Czech Republic -- Cheb and Prague -- with fellow ESI teachers.

I've spent most of my time travelling so far on a bus or a train, but this travelling has reminded me about the comfort I find on the "open road." Seeing passing villages. Following a glistening river. Weaving through the hills and fields. Peace fills me up as the sun sweeps across my face.

The attributes of the week will be the following:

1. Relaxation - It already feels so good not having to think about class for a week

2. Writing - Currently, doing it

3. Reading - The Book Thief (highly suggest it!) and The Magician's Elephant

4. Picture taking

I never realized how important the weekend was to recovery for another week, so I'm excited to see what a week has to offer.

Note: I wrote this on October 30, but I didn't have some substantial computer time until today. So since this post I have gone to Karolovy Vary (Do you remember the hotel in Casino Royale? It's located here) and Regensburg, Germany on day trips. I am now back in Prague until Saturday.

The following pictures are from Cheb.

I get weak in the knees for good graffiti.

A view of supposedly one of the oldest castles in the Czech Republic and two steeples of a cathedral.

The town square.

Peace Through Humility

I've always said that the best way to get to know a place is to get lost in it. In that same sense, I have learned, since I have moved to Hungary, that the best way to find comfort/to feel at home is to force yourself into moments of humility.

I say this because I feel at home in Budapest, and it is not because I have sat at home, reading and drinking a cup of tea. I have gone to the market and stared blankely at a stand owner until he said a word I vaguely understood; I have struggled with a beginner student to arrange one-on-one lessons; I have gone to T-mobile and have been stopped in my tracks because the employees spoke no English; and I have gone to the banks, forced to go to a teller because I froze my debit card, and successfully withdrew money, and, on top of that, I learned a new Hungarian word.

It was these moments that reminded me that I'm a normal person. I'm not special; I'm not the English expert that the Hungarians tell me I am; I'm learning and living just like everyone else. I'm just trying to survive just like the seed couple I buy my dried cranberries from, or the butcher I buy my chicken from, and it gets easier every time I go and make a fool of myself as I try to talk to them with the language barrier.

Even though we don't speak the same language, I can see our relationship building. They know who I am and greet me with a patient smile as I try my hand at a new word or sentence -- it's too bad I don't understand their response. I'll figure bits of it out slowly if I keep stepping outside.

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"People don't grow when they're wrapped in cotton wool. They grow when they confront the world." - Russ Rymer's Genie: A Scientific Tragedy. (I think of this quote every time doing something or going somewhere intimidates me.)

The following pictures were taken today at Heroes Square -- statues of Hungarian heroes who weren't sipping tea at home.

The Importance of Imagination

I'm working on a couple big posts currently; however, this is a big week for the American teachers at school because we are beginning an English club -- one of those big posts to come. So to show that I am still alive and kicking, and to give you something to think about, I want to offer an excerpt from a blog post I just read yesterday. This except comes from a post on Banned Books (last week was banned books week) by Sara Zarr. Sara Zarr is a YA author, currently serving as a judge for the national book award. Here you are:

"Imagination is a prerequisite for…everything. Without it, there is no chance for change, growth, hope, faith or peace. If those who have religious reasons for challenging or banning books want to raise up a generation that has religious faith, they’d better be on the side of imagination. If you have a faith, as I do, that centers on a in a God you can’t see, touch, or hear, you’d darn well better have a limber imagination or else that faith will be dry, impersonal, and academic. Which will make it easily lost in the thick of life. If you want a Godless generation, the surest way to achieve that is being anti-imagination, being scared about thinking about things beyond your direct experience.

Books that are about people exactly like us—who believe like us, live like us, love like us, think like us—don’t require very much engagement of the imagination. Sure, they might trigger self-centered fantasies that since we’re sort of like the girl in the book, maybe we could have that boyfriend, those clothes, that social status. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Entertainment is good. But it’s not the same as deep engagement of the imagination, which is the first and most powerful stepping stone to empathy, compassion, and the beginnings of creative problem solving, and thereby hope for change where change is much needed. In the world or just in our own little spheres and communities. "

If you would like to read the whole post, go to sarazarr.com. She also has other fantastic posts that I encourage everyone to dive into -- one recent post about faith that gives links to some other interesting posts.

Beauty

Movement. Drive. Production. Efficiency. These words are all engrained into American society. If someone is not constantly busy, constantly moving, constantly working toward the most efficient production, then that person is lazy, inefficient, and run over by the American drive.

This drive is something I want to question. Is efficiency really what it is all about? Is perfection something that should be reached?

Today marks one month of living in Budapest, Hungary, so I'd like to try and share the insights that I have had this month.

I began writing this entry while listening to music, and the first song that played was "Snails" by The Format. I admit that this song is about being too quick to kiss, but I want to note another part of the chorus: "Snails see the benefits, the beauty of every inch."

During my month here, I have found that the greatest production is not possible. I came to Budapest expecting to go directly into school related things, -- get my residency permit, fill out paper work, get a tour, talk about the school's expectations, receive a textbook to begin lesson planning -- but that wasn't howt hings were going to work. I got off the plane, met my boss, and asked when I should be at school the next day, and she said, "No need. Just get situated and come in Monday."

"What time Monday?"

"Whenever."

Getting straight into the swing of things, working toward the most efficient production of my time, became sporadic moments at school and unsure feelings of what to do next. Right from the start I wasn't able to be the well-oiled machine that I have been trained to be. (Ok, maybe I've never been well-oiled, but I've been oiled.)

These speed bumps are still occuring. I had to sub one of my classes, meaning I needed to come up with another lesson during a ten minute break. Better yet, I got to a class and found out that my students were already taught, twice over, the information I was given to teach them; this means that I had to come up with a lesson on the spot. More recently, I found out that my first pay check was deposited, so I planned my day knowing that I would finally have money and wouldn't be scraping the bottom of the barrel, only to forget my PIN, freeze my card, and have to get a new PIN (1-3 weeks in the mail).

I am ever thankful for these speed bumps, though. They slow me down and remind me of several things. First, I don't need to be perfect in the things I do. I can and sometimes will have to come up with a lesson plan with very little time. Second, the efficient way is not always the correct way. Third, and building off of a previous post (A Black Widow's Story), sometimes I must let God do his work and be reminded of his amazing beauty. A quote from Jostein Gaarder's The Christmas Mystery helps me understand what I am trying to get across; I hope it does the same for you: "Whenever there's too much of anything, you can stare at it without appreciating it. That's how it's possible to be out under a starry sky and fail to see a single star because of a shower of shooting stars."

These bumps have helped me slow down and see the joys of the small moments -- a three minute conversation with students after class, an extended conversation with a colleague, or even a successful journey to the market without using any English.

These bumps slowing down my American way of efficiency are truly where I have been able to see the beauty of God's work and God's creation. One of these bumps even produced these pictures: (These pictures, in fact, are a perfect example of how sometimes slowing down [freezing time, really] highlights God's beauty.

Life in the Slow Lane

For those who have not heard, I have made it to Budapest safely with no flight or baggage problems. It is my fourth day here and my flat is feeling more like home everyday. (My next post will hopefully show pictures of my flat and my first few days.)

Shifting gears.

I keep a journal of quotes that I find inspirational or memorable; they are quotes that make me think, make me smile, or make my eyes water. Sometimes, though, the quotes I want to keep are too long for this little black book. Jon Foreman (the lead singer of Switchfoot) writes a blog for the Huffington Post that causes that exact problem. One of his latest posts talks about gardening and the human soul. Are our souls not going deep enough? Are we losing our story, trying to disconnect from the root, only wanting the end product?

If you are interested in the whole post it is called "The Economy of the Garden -- Part One." The website to all of Jon Foreman's posts is www.huffingtonpost.com/jon-foreman. I'm just going to take quotes from this post.

"My wife and I planted a garden this year. This tiny patch of dirt has become a space where small miracles occur daily. The slow and steady growth of the garden contradicts almost everything about our fast-paced world. The constant rush of the freeway traffic nearby seems to grumble in disagreement with the slow and almost imperceptible growth of the garden. The trucks roll through, the beamers and minivans fly past, and all the while the green fingers quietly reach for the sun. Slower than a speeding bullet, slower than the Internet, slower than a snail; the progress that these plants achieve has no advertisement, no PR. In fact, if I put my cell phone down long enough to examine the growth, it appears that nothing is happening. But gradually, a transformation has taken place; over the course of a few months, the ground has become thick with plants.

Lately, I've been thinking that maybe the human soul grows best at the pace of a tomato and not a combustion engine. Maybe the human condition has much more in common with this speechless greenery than I had thought. These silent life-forms really have a lot to say. These days, I've been trying to listen to the slow growth policies of the garden, this incredible place of new beginnings."

"Year round, thousands of strawberries are down the street from most of us at a relatively affordable price. This is amazing! The average American consumes groceries that kings and queens of the past could only dream of: a veritable cornucopia of fresh vegetables and fruits always at our fingertips. Any cut of meat, any beverage, any dairy product -- food from China, France, Australia, South Africa -- all within the reach of the average American salary. How incredible! Everything is available. Everything is for sale. And yet, we have been divorced from the creation of these provisions. Without the garden, I eat my strawberries out of a plastic container at the sink -- devoid of any connection with the earth. My consumption has no personal dedication… a simple, unceremonious exchange: a few anonymous bills for a few impersonal berries. Yes, our stomach and our throats receive these berries the same as if we had grown them ourselves. But are we not more than just stomachs? Are we not more than empty throats?

No, everything matters. The specifics are crucial. Ask your wife if any man will do. Ask a music fan why the Beatles are different than the Stones. Did our gas come from a BP source in the Gulf of Mexico? It matters. Are we buying our electricity or paper products from Enron? It matters. Is your bank using bailout money to pay executives their bonuses? It matters. These are important details. The children's fingers that make our shoes, the migrant hands that pick our strawberries, the repressed souls that mine the diamonds of Sierra Leone: these are not footnotes! No, these are the stories of our brothers and sisters on the planet. This is the fabric of the garden that binds all of us together in this universal ecosystem. We are all connected here on this earth, increasingly so in our global market. Our individual plot lines correspond and cross. Yes, capitalism has brought the world within our reach; but when these products are stripped of context, we begin lose a piece of our own individuality as well.

The fast-food pace of our daily lives cannot replace the slow growth of the garden. When a product is stripped of our narrative, we lose a portion of our own story. We are reduced to an appetite and nothing more. Yes, every anonymous bar code has an intricate connection with the ongoing human story. I'm not trying to swim against the tides of capitalism. And I'm not against grocery stores. I'm simply stating that we lose a piece of our identity when we are reduced to an anonymous pocketbook with a mouth at the other end. The unique identity that every one of us possesses is directly tied to the way we spend our time and our money. Faceless consumerism is hard to call progress. My backyard garden reminds me that my plot is a part of the broader narrative, opening my eyes to the stories that don't fit into a sales tag. The garden reminds me that faceless capitalism alone might not be the best model for our human existence. Maybe the accelerating digital network is not the best soil for the human soul. I want to live with deeper roots even if it means a slower means of travel. Maybe I could spend a little more time in the garden and a little less time in the fast lane. I'm pretty sure that we could all use a little more dirt underneath our fingernails."

Why Desperate Distractions?

Desperate Distractions began as an email to friends during an exam week at school. I needed a distraction from my studying, but I didn't want it to be a mindless activity -- I would never pull away from it. So I searched for something that would speak truth in my life -- a quote, lyrics, a video, a picture, a thought -- and I would reflect on it, reading/watching/listening to it over and over again.

It became a daily activity. I would stay focused until one moment in the day where I needed a distraction; I needed a break. On one of the first days that I searched for a small truth, I found one that I couldn't contain; I had to spread it. After that day, I sent what I found to a group of friends every day during exam week, and so it followed every exam week. And so it follows now.

According to the OED, desperate means suffering extreme need or having a great desire for, and distractions means drawing away from one point to another. This is exactly what I hope to continue in this blog. It is my hope and my prayer that I may suffer extreme need to draw away and search for a daily truth. I want to have a great desire for God to be my distractions, and I want to share these moments.

What can you expect to see on this blog then? Items that have touched my life, that I have found truth and beauty in, and items that I hope bring reflection. This can range from stories, pictures, and journal entries of my adventures to random quotations and videos that speak to me at the moment. The random items might not have any immediate connection to what I am doing in Hungary, but they will surely have a connection to where my thoughts are.

So I hope you enjoy reading and I hope that I might bring some reflection or conversation to the table, but if I don't, I hope you at least enjoy the pitures.

Prayer Requests:
-For safe traveling this weekend for all of the teams.
-For a smooth adjustment overseas.

Blogs to come:
- An excerpt from a blog post by Jon Foreman
- How did I come to Teach Overseas?

A Black Widow's Story

An entry from my journal:

I look for a black widow everyday under the drinking fountain. If it's there I crouch down and watch it, sitting there, waiting, shifting slightly on occasion. Everyday, I notice its web growing more complex, more intricate under the drinking fountain between the outlet and the wall.

I could kill it. I could intercede and end its life immeditely for fear of my life. Or I could wait; I could let it live. Watch it everyday and see how it grows.

Like a freshly planted flower, I must do my part in watering it and providing sufficient sunlight, but after that I must wait. I must let it grow. I can't force it to grow. I can't make it grow any faster then it would, I must watch it. Provide my part and watch.

It's hard for me to do. Immediately, I want to kill the spider -- protect myself. Immediately, I want to see a massive beautiful flower -- the fruits of my labor. But that's not how it works. I must leave myself open to attack, do my part, and wait. Nothing will happen the way I want it to, so why force the hand.

Two good friends once told me this, sometimes we try so hard to create the image we want to see that we don't let God do His work.

Prayer Requests:
- Continuous prayer for support. My support has only inched closer since my last post.
- Energy and the drive to learn during these long days of training.

Blogs to Come:
- Why desperate distractions?
- How did I come to Budapest?