Wednesday, November 14th:
Today ended up being a harder day than I thought it would be. It began easy enough with a ride in the Bishop van to school. I had a good time in all of my classes. It was confirmed yesterday that there is no school tomorrow. This meant today was the last day of our school week and my students and I were all in a good mood. Having a day off isn't necessarily the easiest thing on the teaching end - there are lesson plans that have to be changed, more information given a day ahead of time, one less day for students to turn in late work... but I remembered what it was like on the students' end and was happy for them. On my way home from school I stopped at Mena Market to pick up some meat for this week's meals. Mena Market is a new kind of shop, selling already-cut pieces of meat stacked neatly behind cases of glass. If I wanted to buy meat before, I bought it frozen from Mazi or already cooked from a restaurant. There are butcher shops, but I don't know of anyone here who has gone to one. I bought a kilo of chicken that came in a spicy marinade with a mix of corn, mushrooms, bell peppers, and onions. After stopping at a few shops along the way to pick up other groceries, I went home and made chicken and rice for lunch. The rest of the afternoon I spent grading while listening to an audiobook. The book is intriguing and helps the time pass more quickly.
A little before 4pm, I stopped grading and spent some time praying about my time at the orphanage. Spurgeon's devotional a few days back was an encouragement to follow the Savior's example and pray before we embark on any endeavor. As I prayed, I felt a little tightening in my chest. At my last visit, one of the workers (whom I'd never seen before) asked me in English if I would be interested in reading about Islam and becoming a good Muslim. While interacting with her would be profitable, I am afraid she will want to take me away from my time with the girls. It is relieving to know that God places people in our path and will guide us in the way we should go. When I was there last time, I told the girls I would be going to Istanbul for the holiday and they asked me to bring back pictures to show them. As I left, I made sure to grab my iPad. I've never walked to the orphanage before, but "Julie" wasn't coming with me this time. I figured out the way and found myself walking through their little peach-colored gate. Two women were sitting in the main room and greeted me when I entered. The one woman I recognized indicated that the girls were gone. "Hemme?" or "All of them?" I asked. Yes, but apparently they would be back next week. Perhaps, I thought, they were away because of the holiday tomorrow. The women were obviously displeased by my inability to communicate fluently in Kurdish (Julie is very proficient and has been the liaison in the past.)
As I left, the emotions I'd been struggling with finally took hold. I had pushed them away all day, trying to stay focused on my time with the girls. Uncertain of where to go or what to do with the large block of time I had set aside, I decided to go to Texas Chicken, the farthest destination I could think of where I could sit and remain fairly unnoticed. I walked furiously, trying to shake the pensive mood that had set in. Thoughts tumbled around and around. When I got to Texas Chicken, I ordered two biscuits and sat in a corner booth, thankful I had brought my iPad so I could spend some time researching on the Internet. At 5:30pm I left to join the rest of the team at Vin House. My hour or so of quiet had been enough of a break to clear my mind, but something still hovered and I couldn't quite place it. I realized later that it was my talk with Maria at school that had started it all ... At Vin House we ordered our food and enjoyed catching up on everyone's lives. The Bishops drove us back to their house where we had coffee/tea while settling in for our Skype call. Our conversation was enlightening. The headmaster of our schools had spent some time with Dave and Lisa and they had discussed the future changes in our relationship with the schools. They will be sending us set guidelines for our interactions with students, monthly reviews will be made available, and at the upper levels, qualified American teachers will be offered a more comparable package to the local, full-time teachers. All in all, positive changes that will need to be navigated with Godly wisdom.
After our call, we discussed the changes, laughed as Andy gave imitations, and empathized over our discipline issues. Even though it was pretty late, we pulled out a game and had some competitive fun, just barely managing to avoid hurting anyone's feelings. Andy drove us home at 11:30pm.
Getting ready for bed, I thought I'd be asleep in no time. But as I lay there, my mind reviewed the day. All at once everything came together. My pensive mood and torrent of thoughts, all distractions from the enemy to keep me from reflecting on an important conversation I'd had with a student just as I was leaving the school.
Maria is an Assyrian-Christian student in 5th grade. Our conversation had started with a simple question, "what will you be doing for the holiday?" She explained that because her uncle had died, she wouldn't be able to do anything fun or cheerful, "people will talk, Miss." I tried to encourage her that the Bible tells us to rejoice when those we love have gone to be with God. I asked her when her uncle had passed away. He died over the week-long holiday. I was sorry I hadn't known. How old was he? 32. Her eyes looked a little moist. Was he a favorite uncle? Oh yes. Her eyes lit up. I was so sorry. She could see it in my eyes and continued. He had been burned. No one knew how exactly, but he was taken to Turkey and had started to get a little better. "He saw angels before he died, Miss. He saw that his daughters would grow up and his son would take care of his wife. Isn't it wonderful?" I could only nod, feeling her heartbreak and grieved by how much she tried to restrain it. As Maria explained that her cousins were young and missing their father, she shared how she mourned with them, how their family was giving everything to them. Her eyes were full, but the tears wouldn't spill over. I tried to encourage her that God cares for the fatherless too and He would not forget them.
I had noticed how quiet she was during the past two weeks, but couldn't find the reason. As I reflected, I wondered if she now felt able to confide in me because she had finally caught up on all her homework assignments that day. She was overjoyed when she had turned them in, being sure to tell me how anxious she had been and relieved when she finally finished. It made me think of the lesson I've been learning - we long to be accepted in our shame, and God, through Jesus Christ, is the only One who is able to do this to the uttermost. My student, Maria, had been suffering under the shame of not meeting my expectations, and I had no idea. Now that her homework was turned in, she felt that the barrier between us was broken ... oh Lord, help my students to see that I love them in the midst of their shame and not because of what they have accomplished.
Thursday, November 15th:
What does a day off look like in the life of a teacher? Well, it began after devotions, at 7am, cleaning the bathroom and taking a shower. From there, I threw in a load of laundry and started on grading. 91 quizzes, 45 homework assignments, 20 random assignments checked off, and I found myself at lunch time. I washed the chicken from Mena Market (it had been a little oily), then cooked it in Teriyaki sauce and ate it with rice. Entered grades in the gradebook, calculated students' Phase 2 averages, and started writing up their vocabulary quizzes. Mary graciously allowed me to use their dryer to speed up the laundry process, and I took a break to check email (relieved that I could log on after the Internet stopped working this morning). I made a list of things to bake this week and ran to the nearby markets for ingredients. When I got back, I folded laundry and sat down to write out answer keys for past homework assignments. Answered a couple emails and found Mom waiting on Skype!
We had a really encouraging discussion. I told her about yesterday's difficulties and she pointed me to the Lord. Part of the enemy's tactics to distract and discourage was to point out all the things I am not doing well and solidify it with others' opinions of me. I was so afraid that I would talk to Mom and she would add to my list of should's and ought's (and that she would be right to do so). But, by God's goodness, she reminded me that it isn't in my doing that I am accepted. It isn't my goal to prove myself to God or anyone else. "Delight in Him," she said. Little by little, I am starting to understand what this goal means. Spurgeon's devotional today comforted me with the reminder that "the Lord's portion is His people." He has chosen us to delight in. Despite what others may think ("how shameful that she can't speak Kurdish!") or what the enemy may tell me ("you're not very loving," "how very selfish of you"), my name is written on His hands. And this is my delight.
If my cup wasn't already brimming, Mom ended the conversation by telling me news that was a direct answer to prayer! I try not to share about finances here, but I hope this will be an encouragement in our modern age that God is still the same God that provided for the needs of past saints - George Mueller being the one I often think of. This week I had several bills coming due that couldn't be paid by the amount in my bank account. I had entreated the Lord many times, each time feeling confident that He would answer prayer, and that it would be a "down to the wire" situation. It was a test of faith, which the enemy was making harder by his incessant whisperings of my unworthiness. Knowing that the money needs to be in my account tomorrow, I prayed about whether or not I should tell Mom. Would that be a denial of my faith in God's ability to provide? With reluctance, knowing that she and Dad would pay the bills out of their own pockets, I told Mom the situation, including my belief that God was going to provide the funds. "God has answered your prayer!" she said. In my study on "giving graciously" I have been reminded that as God's stewards, our primary concern is to feed and clothe those of His household. I have thought of that a great deal. Am I taking care of the household of God? One side of my duplex in Medford is being used by a man in my church, who was recently converted after being stripped of all that he had. I am thankful to use it as a means to take care of the household of God, but my IRS refund recently ran out and I have no other means to pay the mortgage. I was beginning to think I would have to sell... but God is faithful! Mom told me that just yesterday, the property manager they'd hired (which I didn't even know about) found a renter for the other side of the duplex and they've moved in! At the news, I broke down and wept. Out of the depths I cried, and He delivered me.
As I fell asleep, thinking about the day, I was encouraged to know that God has not forgotten me. He continues to grow me, drawing me away from the cares of this world, the thoughts and praises of others, my accomplishments and my failings, and draws me to Himself. My Beloved is mine and I am His! My cup runs over!
