Brown Socks

You’d think the novelty would have worn off. I was also nervous that it might have - as most things do the second time around. Nothing is new anymore and it becomes easy to adopt the “been there, done that” mentality. The center of the field boasted six lanes meticulously outlined in gravel waiting to be claimed. The mangrove branches that protruded from the ground had been arranged at fixed intervals to form the inner edge of the track. The speakers were blaring island beats from the rec house. The tarps were strung from nearby coconut trees to keep out the sun and the rain. The tents were assembled in the exact same spots as last year. It was complete déjà vu as I scanned the empty field. I already knew how the teams were going to process onto the field. I already knew that all of the island nations would sing their national anthems and the flag bearers who had spent three and a half years awaiting the opportunity would step to the ledge and flaunt their patriotism with grace and grandeur. While there is always viridity in being surprised for the first time, the beauty of the second time around is having something to look forward to.

Even with so much to look forward to during Xavier Day 2006, there were still events that succeeded in turning over 200 people of varying ages into toddlers no older than 5. Hot Ramen and Ice Cream Eating contests, dizzy races, wheelbarrow races and my personal favorites….a moderator race that pleased the crowd as the female moderators “pantsed” (I’ve never had to formally spell that word) the two male moderators and proceeded to laugh hysterically as they tore off for the finish line with the guys struggling to overcome the handicap of running 100M with pants around their ankles, and the coin biting race where “athletes” had to (without their hands) find a coin that had been buried in a pile of flour, complete the lap around the field and then at the finish line be the first to whistle – it’s a lot harder and funnier than it sounds!

As the mounting tension was released in the final heats of the relays, I found myself eagerly looking forward to the closing ceremonies, the hug fest that marks the desegregation of both the Tigerz and the Tritorianz teams, the emotion of those who have just realized the finality of the event, and the circular chorus of Amazing Grace that spans the entire field. I thought I had learned a valuable lesson about expectation, but found myself again disappointed that I missed the former events while tending to an injured Tiger who needed to be immobilized and lifted into the back of the pick-up truck to be transported to the hospital (She’s fine! No worries) Just as we are about to get her into the truck, the clouds open up and wreak what most would consider havoc on anyone standing below. But as the truck pulls away I notice the rain did not dampen but rather enlivened the conjoined circle of 150. As the song finished, all who were brave enough released the grasp of the person next to them to make a head first charge into the puddle that had become the middle of the field.

The festivities that followed the conclusion of the competition could have been out of a dream…. Even though it seemed foreboding as we watched students, cooks and even the director take hard falls on the icy slope, muddy behinds and 2 overturned containers of food couldn’t stifle the buoyant mood. That slope only minutes later turned into a hopping dance floor – if you wanted to call it a floor – more a thick layer of mud dissolving the few remaining blades of grass. The lack of island power and sporadic passing showers weren’t even enough to clear the dance floor of its brown knee-socked party-goers. Teachers, Directors, Students – sloshing around without a care in the world.

After the mess had been cleaned up and the girls had departed for the evening, the faculty had a chance to kick back in our refuge – the faculty porch. A relaxed game of Yahtzee wasn’t enough to hold the interest of everyone – only a select few who you could imagine after a while started to get the late night munchies. While we had the strength to stay up past our typical 10 pm bedtimes, we could not muster up the same might to resist the pristine cake just sitting idly on the kitchen counter. For reasons unknown, (but a hypothesis that it was being saved for a special dinner the next day) it had not been cut and served and on numerous occasions that evening we could hear it whisper secrets of tantalizing indulgence. Finally, someone among the 6 of us made the executive decision to cut it….though after a good 20 minutes of discussion, we had decided on attempting the unthinkable….Yes we were going to cut the cake without anyone noticing. How you ask? Well, I thought horizontally would be best, but it seemed as though vertical was our best bet for a clean getaway with minimal injury to the writing on top. We decided we were going to try and cut the cake in such a way that we could slide the pieces together to make it look whole again. Brilliant- I KNOW!!! What first started out as a joke turned into an hour long surgical procedure...first we marked the cake in the icing -exactly where we wanted to slice- certain that our lines were parallel so they could match up again.

Then using boiling water to clean the knife of any colored icing contamination and residual crumbs, we made the incisions carefully sidestepping the iced roses in the corners. Small piece by small piece we lifted out what we had cut for ourselves to enjoy post-op. With only one minor mishap – dropping a foreign object onto the cake which after a good laugh required an immediate reconstructive ice job, the procedure went well. It was then time for the risky part – the suture. First we were going to try and lift the whole right side of the cake and move it, but it was too dangerous given that the cake had been iced to the bottom sheet of cardboard – it would have been a disaster. Instead one of my esteemed colleagues thought of the ingenious plan – to cut the foil upon which the cake had been decorated. So we cut through the foil and in our defining moments of glory, slid the extraneous piece ever so slightly to the left until it matched up perfectly. With a little touch up work on the icing and a missing “y” in anniversary (a mistake that could have happened to any good baker when spelling such a long and complex word), the damage was virtually unrecognizable. I’m quite certain that I have never eaten a piece of cake that tasted better – and though I realize how ridiculous the previously described scene must sound, I can assure you it was perhaps the most fun that I’ve had at Xavier on a Friday night!!

Saraam

Three more minutes. 8 more tests to grade. 35 to record in the book. 1 lesson to plan for tomorrow. Power out. No moon tonight. Pitch black. I don’t like being told when I have to go to bed. Even when I was a little girl, I would sneak downstairs to ask why people die, or where babies come from in the hopes that it might spark a lengthy conversation so as to avoid having to be put to bed prematurely. But here – lights out – 10 pm, which in my opinion is much too early. I sit behind my desk in the complete dark for at least a minute or two waiting for my eyes to adjust and optimistically hoping that it might just be the generator turning over to island power. I haven’t yet determined if it is because I’m too lazy to get a flashlight, or because I love the challenge of it, but as it becomes apparent that power will not be returning, I decide to head back to my room – an extraordinary feat that has become routine. I put my pen down and leave the papers exactly as they are. I swing my hand around my desk about six inches above the piles of books that are strewn across it to locate my Nalgene which is never farther than an arms length away and is the only thing protruding from the surface of my desk. With my left hand I swing open the door of my desk and I identify my ukulele by the awkward sound it makes when my right hand goes to grab it. Standing up, I try to maintain balance as I grope my way over to the fan to shut it off so that it doesn’t waste energy when the power comes back on. Nearly knocking it over, but still proud of myself for remembering, I reach for the base – 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, no - 4^th button shuts it off. I shuffle step back to my desk which appears to have moved from where I remember it last, but with minimal disorientation I slide my hand along the edge until I find the door frame. I reach behind me and after a few tries make it to the doorknob and close the door behind me. The teacher’s hallway really isn’t very long, but in the dark can be treacherous. Switch from the right side (where my office is located) to the left side because there are shelves that line the right side of the hall which can be painful when you take one of those to the ribs. Lightly tapping my hand against the wall I walk at a relatively normal pace – straight forward - which is safe so long as there are no stray zorries (flip-flops) lurking about – they tend to throw off your gait. Oh geez, I forgot to turn out the light. Turn around. Go back. Nicky’s office. Dwyer’s office. Mine. Find the doorknob. Crack the door. Reach my hand in. Up. Up. Little more. Flick the switch. Close the door. Switch walls. Walk. Walk. Walk. Teacher’s Resource Room Door. Walk. Walk. Walk. Alright it should be right about here. Corner. Turn to the left. With my arms flailing in front of me, I’m careful not to walk into the doors that lead to the teacher’s hallway, which may or may not be closed. There it is. Tonight – one door open, one closed. I shake my water bottle to determine whether or not I need water, and I figure I should refill just to be safe. Hands still flailing I try to locate the door that leads to the kitchen – normally open. Oops the wall. Left. Left. Okay. I’ve got some breathing room, but still keep the limbs flailing to locate the door to the dining room. That one is always open unless the wind blows it shut. There’s the frame. Turn to the left, but avoid clipping my hip on the table and avoid…….Damnit face first into the concrete pillar. Regroup. Walk. Walk. Walk. Locate the water jug. I can tell the water bottle is under the spout because there is no longer the sound of water spilling on the floor and the bottle is getting heavier. Screw on the lid. Walk. Walk. Walk. DAMNIT concrete pillar AGAIN. Door Frame. I swing my feet around the floor trying to find my zorries. I find one. Nope too big. I step on another pair. They feel pink. Slide them on. Disoriented again. Arms out. Bulletin board. Walk straight. Walk back through the open door to the kitchen. Display case on the right. Touch. Touch. Touch. Edge. Now walk forward and you’ll hit the concrete railing. There it is. Slide right and you’ll feel it start to slope. That’s the start of the stairs. Down. Down. Down. Just at the last step the railing levels off so you don’t over step. Flat. Flat. Flat. Down the 2^nd set of stairs. Down. Down. Down. Alright now I need to walk out far enough to walk exactly down the middle of the hallway. If I walk too far to either side, I’ll kick the potted plants, or one will brush up against my leg which is terrifying in the dark. Arms out just in case. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. I can smell fresh air. I made it outside. Oh bother - I always forget that step there. One more. Big step to avoid the puddle that is always at the door. Shuffling along I zig-zag in the direction of my room which is faintly outlined by the light of the stars. I’ve become accustomed to where the puddles are and where I need to step to avoid them. A little more to the right. Careful of the rocks – no stubbed toes tonight. Oops wet feet- it must have rained. That puddle was a little bigger than I thought. Walk. Walk. Walk. Coming down the home stretch. If I walk to the right it is a little more gradual, a few more rocks for traction and a little safer. Baby steps down the little hill. Baby steps. Baby steps. Almost there. One little hop and I made it to the concrete walk. Up the stairs. No problem. Around back of the top landing. Fumble for keys. Get in the lock. Try again. Get in the lock. Try again. Click. Turn. Place my water bottle in the designated spot on my dresser inches to the right of my door. Identify the box of matches always on the very corner. Pull one out. Strike it. Light.

Satisfaction

Journal Entry November 4^th 2006

“Satisfaction. It feels wonderful. It feels like you’ve accomplished something – you’ve worked towards a goal and achieved it and can now revel in the success. So then lack of satisfaction = failure? Who doesn’t want the selfish satisfaction of being a skilled, revered, renowned teacher, mentor and coach?… I admit it. I have an unhealthy desire to be perfect and among countless others, the main problems with that are two-fold: #1 I foolishly think this is something that I do on my own…as in God gave me all of these gifts and it’s my job to perfectly return them to Him. #2 He doesn’t expect perfection from me. Yes, He has given me these gifts, but somehow I am oblivious to the fact that He doesn’t just drop the package, ring the doorbell and run…It is through Him that they come to fruition…Somehow I have this twisted notion that passion = perfection and that I’m not living passionately if I’m not perfect and if I’m not perfect I’m not succeeding and if I’m not succeeding then I am failing….

“The goal is to realize deeply the faith vision of all reality as the dynamic movement of God’s creative love toward the fulfillment of His external purpose (Eph 1-10). Through this realization, I am graced with a profound sense of the reality and majesty of God and of His personal love for me in creating me. I recognize His personal call to me to open myself to Him to perceive His unending fidelity to me. Consequently, I seek total spiritual freedom expressed by Ignatius in the words ‘make ourselves indifferent in order to surrender all of my desires to His concrete call to me, known or yet to be discovered, so that in all ways I shall always praise, reverence and serve God our Lord.’ Thus, all of my desires and choices and uses of creatures will become ordered to my own profound ruling desire – to move more and more to God as I discover every new call to me…[23 First Principle and Foundation – Spiritual Exercises]

And I suppose I’ve never thought of it like that – being indifferent so as to live with passion. It sounds ridiculous but it’s so true – emptying yourself of your own desires and wants – being completely indifferent to the world in the sense that you are free to let God decide and direct you where he chooses instead of me taking the liberty of doing it myself. It’s a fantastic concept and I guess that’s why they paid Loyola the big bucks!

The fact of the matter is that there is no ME in this, and it’s a truly humbling epiphany – that there is absolutely no I in this endeavor and I need to be indifferent to whatever part of ME demands attention. It’s not about what I desire or what I aspire to be. In all honesty, there is nothing skilled, revered or renowed about what I do everyday, and when all is said and done, I will become nothing more than an idea or maybe not even that….

but I’ll exist in each one of them. I trust that just as every impression of them has now become a part of me, each one ever so slightly changing the way I view the world, so too have I been absorbed into part of their being. I have to be content knowing that my effect is small, not trivial, just small. Whenever they hear the word passion, they may never associate it with me. I will never physically see the lightbulb go off. But in some miniscule way, they might view the world a little differently having known the definition of that word…

It’s something that requires an extraordinary amount of patience and trust because it’s a matter of giving without expecting anything. I won’t see the results. I won’t thrive off of the results. All I receive is the satisfaction of knowing there are results somewhere at the end of the process. Perhaps the most amazing part about all of this is that this is not just about teaching…of course it’s more directly applicable because I get to see and interact with the same 175 people everyday, but doesn’t this hold true with every single person with whom our paths have crossed??

Hasn’t every person that I have ever come into contact with left some mark on me that has affected the person that I am? It seems absurd but it only further proves my point that while I don’t consciously think about it, they are there in some form absorbed into the essence of who I am. Most of the time I don’t realize it or care to notice….but it’s there. I myself, am simply a composite accumulation of the number of people who have touched me and the final result is the way I put all of them together and present myself to the world.

Honestly, it’s terrifying when I really think about it. How many people in this world have I touched directly or indirectly? Whether it’s the person I didn’t wave to on my morning run and never thought twice about, or the person I stay up and talk with until the first glows of sunrise grace the horizon. The numbers are upwards of thousands……….and how many of those are mindless interactions? Indifferent interactions? If I would have known at that time I was altering someone’s life, I think…I know my behavior would have been drastically different…..

But see that’s the best part – I can’t just walk around with this chip on my shoulders thinking I have this special power to touch the lives indelibly of every person I come into contact with – talk about absurd – the truth in that only leads to arrogance. But the fact that we truly do belong to each other paradoxically cannot be something that you consciously think about not just because it’s overwhelming but because it negates the beauty of it. This idea, this concept needs to be ingrained into my very being….not infused artificially but absorbed into my spirit and my flesh.”

Broken

25 Minutes Too Late - by Michael Learns to Rock (Remixed!)

After some time
I finally made up my mind
He is my Lord
And I really want to make Him mine.

I’ve traveled everywhere
To find Him again
Tell Him I love Him
And I’m sorry for the ways that I’ve sinned

I find Him standing in front of the church,
The only place that I was too scared to search.
He looks so helpless in that tattered dress,
But He’s smiling as He’s saying this…

Girl I’ve waited so long
Now you know just how strong
You are when your faith lies in me.
Child I know your broken,
I’ve got plans unspoken
You’ll know when I reveal them to you….

Into the wind,
I’m coming home again
He’s pulling me back
To His arms where I feel safe and secure

I still see Him standing in front of the church,
The only place that I was too scared to search.
He looks so helpless in that tattered dress,
But He’s smiling as He’s saying this…

Girl I’ve waited so long
Now you know just how strong
You are when your faith lies in me.
Child I know your broken,
I’ve got plans unspoken
You’ll know when I reveal them to you….

Bone Dry

Shades of tattered blue. Azure bandanas. Cerulean sweats. Turquoise tank tops. Carolina spray paint up and down legs and arms. Cobalt shorts saved especially for the one day of the year that the exception is made for showing skin above the knees. While for most teams, the concept of a uniform is nothing more than varying hues of a designated primary color, Ichkumi stormed the field with a more unified front. Though it bore no meaning for any of the hundreds of athletes or onlookers, I couldn’t help but notice the smile escaping from my lips - born of nothing more than the pride of seeing that glorious combination of 6 letters screen printed on the chest. Racer back singlets with LOYOLA scripted across the front. Loyola T-shirts that boast of the foreign school’s athletic prowess, and old spikes whose holes and battered laces now hold bilingual secrets of battles fought and races won.

The inner edge of the track was outlined by the remains of freshly whacked bushes and the outer edge of the dirt oval was subjectively created by the crowds of multi-colored clad fans. Grown men barreling around what may or may not have been a 200 meter track, so fast that they turn the corners running sideways because of the way the momentum propels them. The rhythm of pounding feet guided by the chorus of encouragement from the sidelines. Young women, whose field consisted of no one older than 14, circling the ring with rosaries around the neck, cross in the mouth. Noisemakers created by the raucous melody of hundreds of hands banging empty water bottles together. Stems of coconut leaves became official relay batons. Speaking of official, while the day was filled with heated competition, it was all as official as the idea of me officiating the finish line!

The weekend away at Fefan, especially in the midst of turmoil going on at Xavier was wonderful, but perhaps even more exciting than the day itself was the trek from the “kuranto” or the dirt ring the Chuukese like to call a field, to the church to stay with my host family. The track meet ended around 5:30 with the arrest, restraint and removal of a drunk guy who had wandered onto the field. In typical Chuukese style, we waited….waited…waited at the dock until about 7:30 when the motor boat finally came back to take a few of us part of the 5 miles stretch back to the church before taking the rest of the boatful back to Weno. Squished in between two ideally round Chuukese ladies, neither of whom I knew, I found myself comfortably enjoying the tranquility of the evening on the water and the contemplation such peacefulness evokes. Gradually however, the gentle splash of saltwater started tasting less and less salty until the once forgiving night sky turned angry and deluged a passionate fury. My behind, which was so comfortable just seconds earlier, now sat in a pool of water up to my waist, and as my clothes soaked through, I think for the first time since I’ve been here, I heard my teeth chatter. As we docked, the boat operator handed me my bags – one with my remaining supply of dry clothes and the other containing the stacks of grading that I had to do – neither of which I could really afford to get wet. Though I had taken the precaution of wrapping them in garbage bags, I was certain that they were just as, if not more soaked than I currently was.

So about 8:30, we began to make the 2 mile journey home, and I don’t think that the situation would have been quite as bad if it hadn’t been pouring rain, or if we had a flashlight to navigate the pitch black. Fortunately, the feeling of each of the steps that followed was a more than perfect metaphorical representation of the reality of these past 2 weeks, and though at the time it was terrifying, I suppose it was worth it to be able to encapsulate and articulate my sentiments.

There was definitely a path we were following, but by path I mean what my feet identified as broken concrete which became slick as ice when the sheer layer of moss covering it got wet, jagged rocks, deep puddles, slippery leaves, downed branches, flash flood streams, sink holes that sneak up on you and water pipes fit for hurdling. If I wanted to make it “home”, I had to keep moving forward – I didn’t have a choice. The best I could do was pray that wherever I put my next step was secure. One blind step at a time, and a good hour and a half later, we made it and believe it or not, when I changed out of my drenched clothing and opened up my endless pile of grading, I found the contents of both bags were bone dry.

I returned home to Xavier the next day to learn the heartbreaking news that two of the major offenders of the incident on the previously blogged CSP had been expelled, and had packed and left before I even got to say goodbye. When I speak of the Xavier community, I am referring to a group of incredibly diverse people who have gotten so close to each other that the mood Sunday night and all day Monday was like that of a funeral. The Orions had lost two of it’s finest, the school lost two of it’s loudest and most loved…

You would think that a 4 day week with a faculty retreat awaiting us at the end of the road would be a breeze to get through. The aftermath of the aforementioned situation served to create for all of us, the longest 4 days we had yet to spend at Xavier. Tuesday morning I found myself amidst a student staged mutiny, wondering where we went wrong and what I could possibly do to amend the situation. Perhaps the hardest part was as a mother-like figure to all of them – wanting and working for what I thought was best, but in the end losing that status, and questioning if there was any point where I did anything right through the whole mess. The bonds I thought we had created seemed to dissolve in the face of adversity and instead of finding purpose in my struggles, I found the stark realization that I am nothing more than an expendable volunteer.

The whole faculty, whether affected or not by the actions of the Junior class were all dealing with internal battles of their own and were in desperate need of the relaxation, hiatus and reflection of the upcoming weekend…a weekend whose perfection far surpassed everyone’s expectations. Hospitality is a word that insults the way the Tolese people treated us…Before we had even dropped our bags, the little girls picked up our hands and clutched them for all of the 4 miles around their home that we walked…only to return to an unreasonably elaborate spread of food and a catechist apologizing for not being able to give us more. While our days were spent swimming, snorkeling and sipping coconuts, our evenings were spend singing, dancing and playing adult-only games of duck-duck goose. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. I haven’t smiled that big in a long time. I haven’t felt that peacefully at ease in a long time, and though I’ve spend the past few weeks questioning my true purpose here – for one night – I felt as though I was supposed to sit and laugh and smile and dance so that this village would have someone to absorb their light as they simply let it shine. As one of the deacons there so eloquently put it “All of you people coming here from Australia, America, Indonesia, Japan, Weno, Yap & Pohnpei – you have shown us that there are so many good people all over the world….there are Christians all over the world who believe the same things that we do, and strive to live lives of love as we do.” And as Dali so beautifully summarized, “If Jesus came to this island today, what he found here would make him very happy…”

As hard as the past few weeks have been on all of us, and as hard as it is going to be to step back into the fire, the beauty and radiance of this weekend made it worth it. There is really no feeling that parallels laughing so hard you cry and crying so hard your tear wells become bone dry.

The “1….2…3…” countdown began in my head and slowly escaped through my feet as “6…7…8…” signaled me to make my move. I walked up behind her and a slight graze of the hand was enough to amuse her attention. Rejection. But I wasn’t giving up that easily…and with the next round of “4…5…6…” I was back for another chance and this time was determined not to concede to mere disdain. She would have to try a little harder to refuse my forwardness. I had her next to me for a moment until a series of flailing arms and spinning heels whirled her away from my all too eager hands. Rejection. And then she kicks me while I’m down. Jealous of her time spent elsewhere, I ever so carefully reel her back in, certain not to lose her this time. With her hesitant hands in mine, we walk and I show her off – her delicate manner, the way she moves, the way she smiles. I’d like to say I had a little something to do with it, but all I’m responsible for is making her dizzy and as she falls, I cradle her on her way down and gracefully lift her back to her feet.

…and the crowd goes crazy, as they’ve never seen anything like it. Eight Orions couples give an ecstatic curtsy and run off stage right to triumph in their success at having learned, practiced and deftly performed 3 minutes and 46 seconds of a somewhat traditional merengue. A merengue on a Pacific island is an anomaly in the midst of hula and native cultural dances. Every year the upperclassmen practice dances and skits in preparation for an annual entertainment show for all of the new students. While the thrill of dancing, teaching, moving, counting, choreographing, twirling, grooving, hip-shaking and two-stepping sent my spirit reeling for about two weeks it was only after I flipped my point of view from that of Steve, my precious little “Micronesian-Latino” heartthrob, to a more metaphorical partner, that I gained a little perspective.

“Imagine you and the Lord Jesus are walking down the road together. For much of the way, the Lord’s footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace. But your footprints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnaround, circles, departures and returns. For much of the way, it seems to go like this, but gradually your footprints come more in line with the Lord’s, soon paralleling His consistently. You and Jesus are walking as true friends. This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: Your footprints that once etched the sand next to Jesus’ are now walking precisely in His steps. Inside His larger footprints are your smaller ones - you and Jesus are becoming one. This goes on for many miles, but gradually you notice another change. The footprints inside the large footprints seem to grow larger. Eventually they disappear altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one. This goes on for a long time, but suddenly the second set of footprints is back. This time it seems even worse! Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts. Gashes in the sand. A variable mess of prints. You are amazed and shocked. Your dream ends. Now you pray:

“Lord, I understand the first scene, with zigzags and fits. I was a new Christian; I was just learning. But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with You.”

“That is correct.”

“And when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps, following You very closely.”

“Very good…You have understood everything so far.”

“When the smaller footprints grew and filled in Yours, I suppose that I was becoming like you in every way.”

“Precisely.”

“So, Lord, was there a regression or something? The footprints separated, and this time it was worse than at first!”

There is a pause as the Lord answers, with a smile in His voice…

“You didn’t know? It was then that we danced….”

(*Cute eh? Contributed by our lovely accountant Lily!!)

* * *

Though I suppose with every consolation comes desolation…This past weekend I accompanied my Orions Junior class on their Community Service Project (CSP)– a weekend in which the original Footprints story was perhaps more appropriate. Two and half days where I could do nothing more than trust that the weight of my heart and the dead weight of my body wasn’t too much for one Savior to carry…

Purpose. It’s something we strive to find or fulfill. It’s what drives our days, opens our eyes in the morning and give us breath. Belief in the fact that there is purpose in what we do, where we go and who we are. Do we ever really find the answer? Can we really ever be certain of His purpose for us? Certainly it is elusive, but it is comforting to think if we look hard enough we might gain some insight. I naively thought that maybe my purpose here was more than just to fill a role that needed to be filled – doesn’t matter by who – just another body – I thought maybe I could help some of these students find, brighten or uncover the light that exists within them…Who am I to think and honestly believe I can do that?

Each class embarks on a weekend long trip to a neighboring island in the lagoon in the hopes of stepping beyond the comforts of Xavier. They venture out into a culture of people, all of whom are not much different, yet still somehow shock Xavierites with the realization that the sun also rises and sets in places besides our isolated hill. Clearly the purpose of the weekend is for Xavier students to reach out to the community and incorporate this Jesuit ideal of service into their vernacular. But as with all high-school aged teenagers, trying to keep them focused on heaven and not hormones is an insurmountable feat. Perhaps even more challenging is to convince high-schoolers of the value of optimism and purpose when things don’t quite work out as expected. It has been traditional for classes to go out on CSP’s and work and stay together to foster unity. On this particular weekend it worked out that solidarity became a more important priority as there were sponsors who took groups of 5 or 6 to stay with and work for them. When you’re staring at 37 irate juniors, all of whom expected to spend the weekend as a class, one can only pray that there must be a reason.

Personally I felt that the set-up was more conducive to fulfilling the supposed purpose – to spend a weekend being more concerned about another besides ones own self – a purpose that often gets mangled amidst the ever popular, you know you’ve played it, spin the bottle and truth or dare. I don’t quite remember if I was mature enough at 16 to be able to genuinely look for the positives in a seemingly negative situation, or understand that life doesn’t always work out as I expect it to, but more often than not it works out as I need it to, or realize the value in living for another human being besides myself and so, I suppose that it is not fair to expect them to either. But I found myself constantly reminding my heart to trust and to relinquish control perhaps to the detriment of my awareness of the reality of what was taking place around me.

Perhaps I was so worried about them still benefiting from the weekend, or maybe it was just an over confident, unwarranted trust, but upon returning back to the homestead, it was discovered that a good majority of the class had used betelnut while away. To fill in the gaps of this cultural practice, betelnut is a naturally grown plant that is rampantly used as a drug by anyone from 10 to 84 years old. Once cracked open, most usually break off a cigarette, place it inside and chew it for the buzz, for the release, for the rebelliousness, for the addiction or for the hell of it. While it is outlawed at Xavier, the problem is never going to be eradicated as it is a cultural practiced reinforced by parents, chiefs, elders, and even Micronesian teachers here at Xavier.

It makes no sense to scold them. I would if I thought it would do any good, but perhaps I need to suck it up and swallow some of my own medicine. I expected a lot out of them. I trusted them - I mean come on - they’re amazing. It honestly never even crossed my mind that they would pull something like this. I know it’s pessimistic, but it feels AWFUL when you think so highly of someone, or a group of people and one thing changes your whole impression. Maybe it’s just this unresolved tension within me because I refuse to believe that is actually them. I want to believe that their true selves exist within them – their light, their beauty, the kingdom of God already exists with them – they just haven’t found it, don’t know or can’t see it when enslaved to addiction. Who am I to think my purpose is to make them realize it? And if it is…there is a part of me that still wants to believe that it is… the desolation in that is I’m failing miserably at it.

As I sat at my desk trying to get by one moment to the next – using 3^rd period to plan for 4^th and using 5^th period to plan for 6^th & 7^th , (clearly still not caught up on work or sleep from a “busy” weekend) the Lord inspired me with the lesson plan for Junior college counseling class today. I’ve felt such a burden on my shoulders this week trying to wrestle with my own emotions, trying to confront and move past my disappointment all the while trying not to wear my heart on the sleeve of my mumu (traditional Chuukese dress). Being that today is the first time that I’ll face the Juniors as an entire class since the weekend, I’m not even sure if I am composed or strong enough to look them in the eye and speak from my heart. If it is not already obvious by the fact that you’re back again….reading this blog and walking with me on my journey – writing is my preferred means of escape. The thought of making copies of 37 letters was vetoed right away – interestingly enough - not my more practical side, but by the fact that we currently have no working printer for large jobs…..or Xerox machine! We do have a small printer whose black cartridge has run out and is only useful for printing in blue. And so I sat down last night and hammered out what I hope is comparable to an ETS quality practice reading comprehension exam….

The passage below is followed by questions based on its content. Answer the questions based on what is stated or implied in the passage and in any introductory material that may be provided.

Questions #1- 9 are based on the following passage:

This passage was an original writing composed by someone who cares very much about you to express something in the only way she knows how…

There is absolutely no one who looks at life the same way you do. It is a beautiful thought. Your experiences are truly your own because there exists nobody who has traveled the exact same path, walked in your exact same shoes, or looked at the world through your exact same eyes. It is through this, your own personally unique experiences that you have acquired wisdom. In all your years of life, you have gained wisdom from those times that made you most happy, those moments that made you cry, those fights that made you angry, those loves that made you jealous and those smiles that made you feel welcome. It would be wonderful if all of the time you spent furthering this wisdom were of some greater benefit to someone else than simply to help you as you grow, but because every individual must experience life for him or herself, wisdom is something that cannot be handed down. As pessimistic as it sounds, it is a gift that can be neither given nor received - only experienced. It would also be wonderful if some of life’s hardest lessons could just be learned from a conversation, or just by observing someone else make the mistake. Unfortunately, even the most difficult lessons must be experienced in order to grow.

Perhaps one of the most crucial lessons to learn, but also the most challenging lessons to accept is what can be summarized so eloquently in the phrase, “If you want to hear God laugh tell him your plans.” It is only natural to create expectations about the way things are supposed to be based on the way you want things to be. You expect to have good food at lunch because you want to satisfy your hunger. You expect to find love because you want to be happy. You expect your friends will listen to you or help you, because you want to consider them your closest companions. You expected to stay together on your CSP because you wanted to bond as a class.

Often times, God sits on his throne in the clouds and laughs at us, as we get frustrated, angry, exasperated and rebellious because things don’t go our way, because we are too stubborn to realize that what we want, is not always what we need, because we are too arrogant to realize that we don’t always know what is best for us. I expected a lot out of 37 Orions who are some of the most beautiful people I have ever met. I trusted 37 Orions enough to expect the best out of them. I expected 37 Orions to find value in spending one weekend in service of another instead of themselves. I expected 37 Orions to respect themselves, their honor and their integrity. I expected 37 Orions to be mature enough to handle things responsibly when they didn’t go the way they wanted. I expected 37 Orions to realize that the ripples of their actions affect an entire school community and not just themselves. I expected 37 Orions to realize the number of underclassmen who admire them and look to them as role models and examples. It is a lesson I will not soon forget, that sometimes when you set your standards too high, you only set yourself up for disappointment.

It is a type of wisdom that you have to truly experience to understand. You can’t communicate the hurt of having underclassmen approach you and ask why the Orions don’t care that there are so many people at this school who revere them and look up to them as the perfect class. You can’t communicate the pain of looking them in the eye and not having an answer. You can’t communicate the ache of what it feels like to have your trust breached, and made a mockery of through indifference. You can’t communicate the fury of witnessing the hypocrisy of expecting to be showered with privilege because of the uniqueness and individuality of each class, but ruining experiences for classes behind you. You can’t communicate the frustration of knowing and believing so strongly in the spirit, the light, the passion, the goodness, and the pure beauty that exists within each one of you but not understanding why you choose to hide it. But I suppose that’s just God laughing at me for not trusting His plan.

While I pray you never have to experience the adversity of disappointment, it is an inevitable part of life and perhaps this all will make sense when you get there. Thus, I would be foolish to even think this essay was for the purpose of bequeathing wisdom, a gift I desperately wish I could give you. But fortunately, I can attribute its greater purpose to preparing you for your practice SAT test tomorrow. Good Luck.

1. The words “made a mockery of through indifference” in line 54 primarily emphasize:
a. the humor of the situation
b. the way this situation is different from others
c. how many people don't care about the seriousness of this situation
d. why people trust you
e. the anger invoked

2. In line 34, “exasperated” most nearly means:
a. shocked
b. maddened
c. hurt
d. disappointed
e. stubborn

3. which of the following is the main underlying conflict of this passage?
a. selfishness
b. betelnut
c. disobedience
d. overcoming challenges
e. trust that was broken and trust that needs to be earned back

4. in line 43, the phrase "ripples of their actions" is a metaphor for:
a. the reasons for their actions being faulty and rippling in the wind
b. the little tears they have made in the community
c. the strength and courage it takes to make a decision to act
d. how the effects of their actions are like droplets of water in a pond. One small seemingly insignificant action can affect people in ways they are not even aware of
e. the meaning of their actions being influential and powerful

5. the primary purpose of the sentence in lines 55-57, ("the hypocrisy of...for classes behind you." ) is to suggest
a. hypocrisy is not respected
b. uniqueness and individuality should not be recognized
c. that people should not expect to shower
d. it is disrespectful to be careless of upcoming classes
e. that when you demand that decisions be made not on the failings or carelessness of classes that have gone before you because you are different, but you don't find a problem with tainting the experience of future CSPs

6. the author's intention of the passage is most likely to:
a. make you feel guilty
b. scold you
c. make you change
d. be honest with you even though the truth is not always what you want to hear
e. make you angry

7. the main idea of this passage is:
a. the most difficult lessons must be experienced in order to grow (lines 22-23)
b. it is only natural to create expectations (lines 26-27)
c. if you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans
d. experience is the adversity of disappointment (lines 62-63)
e. wisdom is something that cannot be handed down (lines 17-18)

8. the word "inevitable" in line 63 most nearly means:
a. necessary
b. unavoidable
c. difficult
d. hopeless
e. purposeful

9. one of the basis of the information provided in the rest of the passage, "revere" in line 51 most nearly means:
a. envy
b. love
c. like being around
d. genuinely admire and respect
e. despise

You asked for proof…

My darling Lu-A never ceases to amaze me…..

You Say:	God Says:	Proof:
"It's impossible"	All things are possible	(Luke 18:27)
"Nobody really loves me"	I love you	(John 3:16 & John 13:34)
"I can't go on"	My grace is sufficient	(II Corinthians 12:9 & Psalm 91:15)
"I can't figure things out"	I will direct your steps	(Proverbs 3:5-6)
"I can't do it"	You can do all things	(Philippians 4:13)
"I'm not able"	I am able	(II Corinthians 9:8)
"It's not worth it"	It will be worth it	(Roman 8:28)
"I can't forgive myself"	I FORGIVE YOU	(I John 1:9 & Romans 8:1)
"I can't manage"	I will supply all your needs	(Philippians 4:19)
"I'm afraid"	I have not given you a spirit of fear	(II Timothy1:7)
"I'm always worried and frustrated"	Cast all your cares on ME	(I Peter 5:7)
"I don't have enough faith"	I've given everyone a measure of faith	(Romans 12:3)
"I'm not smart enough"	I give you wisdom	(I Corinthians 1:30)
"I feel all alone"	I will never leave you or forsake you	(Hebrews13:5)

My lifelong aspiration…..

By conservative estimates, Mata Amritanandamayi, known simply as “Amma,” has given more than 26 million hugs. This may not seem so unusual to Angelenos accustomed to greeting with an embrace, but in Amma’s native India, there is no precedent for a single woman—even a holy woman—embracing multitudes of strangers. Defying traditional Indian mores, Amma’s long, tender motherly enfoldment has become her trademark gesture of compassion.

Born to a poor fishing family in Kerala, Amma witnessed deep pain and poverty while growing up. While still very young, she concluded that the world’s problems were rooted in a “shortage of love.” Her solution to this disturbing condition was to pledge her life as an offering.

Over the past 35 years, Amma’s reputation has grown as a result of her charitable work. She has been compared to Mother Teresa and Gandhi for her devotion to the poor—providing food, shelter, hospitals and schools. Sleeping merely a couple of hours each day, she teaches by the constant example of her own life, emphasizing selfless social service. Amma is considered a living saint in her homeland.

On May 2, the Interfaith Center of New York bestowed the Annual James Parks Morton Interfaith Award on Amma, India’s “Hugging Saint” and five other global humanitarians including Noble Peace Prize Laureate Dr. Mohammed Elbaradei; Supreme Court Justice Stephen G. Breyer; actor and Healing the Divide Director Richard Gere; Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf and Daisy Khan, Executive Director of the American Society for Muslim Advancement.

Despite the prestige attached to the award, for Amma, the most important prize is “the happiness of people.”

WLT met with Amma for a rare interview on the day after the award ceremonies. She spoke in her native Malayalam dialect and her responses were translated into English.


After the awards ceremony, New York’s elegantly dressed elite lined up to receive your blessing. Why do so many people seek your embrace?
Whether it is in India, Europe or America, people are searching for the same thing—true love. Love and peace are universal. Wherever you taste honey, it is sweet. Similarly, fire is always hot.

People are born to be loved. They live for love. Yet, a famine of love plagues the world. When Amma embraces people, it is not just physical contact that is taking place. The love I feel for all of creation flows towards each person who comes to me. That pure vibration of love purifies people, and this helps them in their inner awakening and spiritual growth. It helps both men and women awaken to the qualities associated with motherhood, which are severely lacking in today’s world.

This year, in India, the crowds seeking your blessing seemed to have leaped from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands, with reportedly 300,000 coming to one program. How is this manageable? Isn’t it exhausting for you?
I am used to big crowds. Everyone who is patient enough to wait will get darshan. Sometimes I will give darshan to around 40,000 people, sitting for 24 hours straight. Even what is considered a big crowd in America is like a vacation for me. I am able to do this because I realize that I am one with the Supreme Self—the main current supply, and therefore I’m not like a battery that needs to be constantly recharged.

As long as I can continue to reach out to those who come to me, as long as I have the strength to caress people, console them and wipe away their tears, I will continue to do so. One day, everyone’s body will die. This is inevitable. Therefore, rather than allowing our bodies to rust from lack of use, it is better to wear them out in service to the world. Where there is true love, there is no feeling of burden. For example, a maid finds the task of looking after another’s child burdensome, but for the mother of the child, it is not so. The love for the child is natural.

You often say, “Compassion to the poor is our duty to God.” What do you mean by this statement?
Just as the sun doesn’t need a candle’s light, so too God doesn’t need anything from us. But we should come down to the level of the poor and needy, try to understand their pain and serve them in any way we can. For me, there is no such thing as a God living up on some throne in heaven. God is the all-pervading Consciousness that throbs in everyone and everything. My God is each and every one of you—all the people, plants, animals, trees, mountains, rivers…. This is Amma’s God.

In Sanatana Dharma [Hinduism], the Creator and Creation are not two. The ocean and its waves are not two. There is water in both the ocean and its waves. Gold, the golden earring and the golden necklace are not different. Likewise, we worship everything in nature, seeing God in everything. Our prayer is Lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu (“May all beings in all the worlds be happy”). When we see the entire world as a manifestation of God, will we allow anyone to go without food, shelter, medicine or clothing? No, of course not. This is how we should serve the world—seeing all as embodiments of God.

We human beings seem so selfish. Can we overcome that through meditation?
Our true nature is not one of selfishness, but one of love and compassion. We just need to realize this and awaken to that truth. The problem is that people are not really asleep, but only pretending to be asleep. If they were truly asleep, it would be easy to wake them up. But it is nearly impossible to wake up someone who is pretending to be asleep.

Our selfishness and the resulting selfish actions that spring from it are due to our identification with the ego, the sense of “I” and “mine.” Thinking of ourselves as limited, incomplete individuals, we naturally struggle to gain and maintain the things we feel we need to be happy. In reality, we are the eternal, ever-blissful Self, full and complete. But currently, our minds are not pure enough to imbibe this truth. Divinity is everyone, but it is expressed more in people with pure hearts. Electricity is the same, but it manifests differently depending on the capacity of the medium. There are 1000-watt, 50-watt and zero-watt bulbs. Similarly, the more pure your mind, the more divinity manifests within you.

Spiritual practices such as meditation and selfless service are essential to purify your mind. It’s like cleaning the vessel before you pour in the milk. If the vessel is not clean, the milk will spoil.

It is not possible for everyone to meditate with one-pointed concentration all the time. Therefore, I recommend that people spend their extra time trying to do something beneficial for the world. This way, everyone benefits. The goal of spiritual life is to understand our fundamental oneness—with one another and with God. Only when this realization takes place will we be truly content and happy. But this philosophy should not be limited to mere words. It should reflect in our actions. It must be brought into the heart and practiced. If we truly believe everyone to be one with our own self, then we should reach out to caress the suffering as quickly as we would apply a bandage to our own injured hand.

There is no precedent for an individual expressing compassion the way you do—embracing upwards of 26 million times. Do you think the world is more accepting of this from a female?
First, God is neither male nor female. If anything, God can only be referred to as “That.” God is the Consciousness that throbs in all objects and beings. But if you really want to give a gender to God then God is more of a She than a He because “She” contains “He.” The need today is for the awakening of qualities associated with motherhood—love, compassion, acceptance and patience. I want to awaken such qualities in humanity. Only a true mother who can love everyone as her own children can be a true humanitarian and serve the world selflessly.

Between global warming and terrorism, there could be an endless succession of disasters. Are you concerned about the future?
We should never fall victim to pessimism. Patience, optimistic faith and enthusiasm are essential in life, and we must always strive to cultivate these qualities and keep them alive in our hearts. In many ways, people are becoming more and more aware of the need for a spiritual way of living. Spirituality is the very essence of all religions and, in its essence, it is the path of love and compassion.

If there is a one-word solution for all the problems in today’s world, it is compassion. Only love and compassion can solve the problem of terrorism and bloodshed.

Most people today are blinded by ego. There are two types of ego. One is the ego of power and money, but the second type is more destructive. That is the ego that says, “My religion and viewpoint alone are correct. All others are wrong. I will not tolerate anything else.” This is like saying, “My mother is good; yours is a whore!” Unless we eradicate these two types of ego, it will be difficult to bring about peace in the world.
The willingness to listen to others, the ability to understand them and the broad-mindedness to accept even those who disagree with us—these are the signs of true spiritual culture. Unfortunately, these qualities are exactly what are missing from the world today.

The greatest enemy the world faces is poverty. Prostitution, terrorism and much of the other violence are, to a great extent, caused by poverty. There are two types of poverty: the lack of food, clothing and shelter, and the lack of love and compassion. If we can eliminate the later, the former will automatically be taken care of. For when people have love and compassion in their hearts, they will spontaneously and wholeheartedly reach out to help those without food, clothing and shelter.

Taken from: http://wholelifetimes.com/2006/06/amma0606.html

Imagine if this was your purpose in life. The reason you were created was to hug people. A gesture that seems so simple yet one people can throw around carelessly. The simple, the precious – hug…..could there be a more beautiful calling?

The Everyday...

I cannot take credit for this one, as it was written by one of our new JV’s Ellen and some of her thoughts on the everyday here on Weno…

One month has flown by. One year has flown by. Here we sit, the seven of us in Chuuk, Micronesia and look at the island paradise around us and realize that there are aspects of life here that are not so idyllic. There are moments of greatness, top of the hill moments, where we sit back and prop open a book only to be distracted by the dozens of different shades of blue in the lagoon waters that peek out from behind the book cover. AJ, Chris, and Jackie have been here a full year; they've survived teaching at Xavier High School, numerous jolty boat rides, humid weather, learning the local language, and living in a culture so different from Connecticut, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania, respectively. Colleen, Ellen, Lincoln, and Marcos arrived about a month ago. Despite a six inch wide, 2 inch deep "scratch", sixty mosquito bites, infected poison ivy, and lack of tortillas, respectively, the new JVs have managed to stay grounded in soaking in all Chuuk has to offer.

Although Lincoln and Marcos live a few miles away and teach at a different high school, we all get together on Wednesday evenings for some JV bonding. Recently, we decided to check in with each other in the form of a roses/thorns question. In other words, what's been going well and not so well. The following with give you a little rundown of how we're all doing.

AJ is the moderator for the Student Senate at Xavier. There are about thirty members and there were twelve boys who were removed from their positions due to a disciplinary violation at the end of last school year. AJ was responsible for telling them that they were fired. This was his recent "thorn" because he was not sure how they would react- or what the upcoming years' Senate was going to do to replace these young gentlemen. However, his "rose" was that after relaying this news, the boys handled it very well and maturely. They were aware that they had chosen to break the rules, and recognized that they should be punished accordingly. A teacher's best happy: a lessoned learned.

Chris's "thorn" was having lots of time to get work prepared for the past few weeks and no deadlines to actually force him to get that work completed. A few hours of meetings a day, reading a bit about upcoming courses, going swimming, repairing guitars, and cleaning his office have not made him focus on the beginning of school. However, his "rose" was realizing that his relationship with AJ was more brother-like now. They laugh, they fight, they joke around, but still remain family.

Colleen's "thorn" was that a Jesuit priest who had spent his retreat at Xavier for a week had just left to return to Pohnpei. He was a great man who livened up any conversation. Her "rose" was that after feeling overwhelmed by creating syllabi and lesson plans and being here in general, she read a bible quote that made her feel at peace. In essence it said that the battles are not ours, but God's. With that, she had a great night sleep the night before.

Ellen's "thorn" was struggling to find a place within the Xavier community- amongst a staff of twenty or so. The familiarities of home are no longer around; the ways to relax are different; the stress level is different. She described it as a daily struggle to handle the rush of everything unfamiliar. The "rose" was bonding with people over silly things- like hanging out in the kitchen with the ladies who cook our meals and pretending to toss cocoa puffs into their mouths.

Jackie's "thorn" was leaving her pillow out on the balcony to air out- but hours later it was soaked by the island torrential rains. The "happy" was getting excited that the students were arriving back on campus. It is different this year to actually know most of them as they move back into the dormitory and into the homes' of their host families. Additionally, Jackie was happy about the general optimism amongst the staff and general willingness to foster the greater staff community.

Lincoln's "thorn" was having trouble in the Spirituality class that he teaches. He has discovered over the past three weeks that Spirituality is one of the most (if not, THE most) broad words in the English language. He is trying to find topics that would interest the students. On the upside of teaching though, his "rose" was that no one fell asleep in his class that day.

Marcos's "thorn" also had to do with teaching. He is trying to find material for the Theology class that he teaches and is dealing with the general drain of teaching many classes and coaching basketball at the same time. However, his "rose" had to do with the Music class that he teaches. He continues to be amazed by the natural talent these students have- they have no formal training but they can pick up a song quickly and sound incredible.

Although this only gives you a glimpse of what's been going on in Chuuk, it may show you that although we are all here immersed in one culture, our experiences are vastly different. Xavier started school today so things are certainly picking up speed. We are in two high schools, in three houses, in different staff communities but still united by the fact that we're JVs.

Lost in Translation

*What you are about to read is dreadfully long, and while there is not many things in life I will say this about, there is no shame in not finishing!!


When discerning my post-college plans, I was lured to JVI by the intrigue of what a new culture had to offer – food, landscape, dress, language. It sounds beautiful….a whole new world to explore….a romantic ideal that is anything but idyllic. When I set out for Chuuk, I was determined to learn the language and I think a year ago, if I knew what lay ahead of me, I might have just thrown in the towel at the start. After hours worth of flashcards, tape recorders, memorization, word lists, dictionaries, bible translations, questions galore, tutors, Chuukese class with Freshman, listening and unnatural conversation my language skills are still abysmal and reveal very little of how much I really do care, how hard I have worked just to be able to say the little that I do know, how much I want to be able to know them, how much I want them to know me for who I am, and not just the next white person passing through, how much I love them and how grateful I truly am for their acceptance.

Perhaps it’s not even so much knowing the language itself, as it is the principle of the matter…the fact that I can survive in Chuuk for a year, and JV’s have survived in Chuuk for countless years without ever learning to speak the language, means that someone – and by someone I mean nearly an entire state of people have gone out of their way to learn our language. Out of respect, sensitivity and gratitude, I feel as though I owe it to them to learn theirs… I feel as though in doing so, I can only hope to show them that I genuinely want to be a part of their lives as much as they have become a part of mine.

As hard as the struggle is, perhaps the (I’m going to steal a quote from the beautiful Murphdawg for this one) “Yay God!” in all of this is that I have not given up finding joy and value in the struggle…Even though I was frustrated to tears in Saipan, even though I make a complete fool out of myself multiple times a day, even though I often times want to put my head through a wall in hopes that the hole left by the impact might expedite the flow of information into my head, even though so many times I just want to stop where I am because it’s easier…. I know that this is the Lord’s way of pushing me and if this is the heaviest of my burdens during my two years out here, then I should not complain because I got off easy. Finding beauty in the process has allowed me to appreciate the baby steps and the tiny accomplishments of the day that to anyone else would be imperceptible, instead of measuring success by palpable satisfaction. It has been an even greater reminder of the beauty of the human spirit, who in spite of arrogance, cultural differences, assumptions and naivety continues to love unconditionally. The desultory journey has led me down perhaps what has been the most humbling road I’ve ever traversed, ultimately blurring the line between privileged and poor such that I am in no position to look upon anyone with condescension. In fact, I almost expect them to look at ME disdainfully as I make a mockery of the language in my weak attempts to fumble through a few sentences…..And the “Yay God!” in that, is that they don’t. In spite of my mistakes, my disgrace and my inadequacy they don’t. My frustration and disappointment in myself more often than not comes from within and is compounded by the need to repay their generosity, patience and love in the only way I know how. Unfortunately, it is a gift that I cannot requite with the grace and abundance with which it is bestowed.

Untitled

After being counseled by several people who convinced me that staying at Xavier was not the way to learn Chuukese – that I had to spend time with people in an environment where I was forced to listen and speak, I heeded their advice and opted to venture beyond these cozy walls. Antonia, our secretary, my tutor, and perhaps one of the most patient ladies I know arranged so that I could stay with one of her relatives for two weeks on the island of Uman – about a 45 min boat ride from the main island Weno. Antonia, three of her daughters, and a few of us who have been staying here at Xavier for the summer went out and stayed for the weekend. Mama Lucy and Papa Alex put all of us up in their ocean front home located literally on the water such that you look down out of the back windows and there is the Pacific ocean beneath you. As my English speaking lifelines sailed away that Sunday afternoon, I looked down and felt like the land had been swept out from under me and I was just trying to stay afloat.

Day 1 - Sunday

I look around and there is just (I apologize for the profanity, but there is really no other alternative, more appropriate word) shit everywhere. The ocean is just a public disposal service that doesn’t charge tax and as I watched the boat dissolve into a speck and disappear behind the surrounding islands, I am beginning to feel the reality of my decision set in – intrusive thoughts that if I would have given credence to before I left might have been compelling enough to dissuade me from coming. I have to be Chuukese. While I realize the paradox in that statement - that I can never actually be Chuukese - for this week, I don’t have a choice – and in the midst of this daunting challenge is where I find my “metaphorical (again I apologize) shit” everywhere – those things that jade my outlook for the next two weeks.

I’m already harboring a heated battle within my conscience between the voice that says “You’re almost there don’t give up now” and “DAMNIT Trunce you are never going to get this.” I’m going to be perfectly honest – it sucks…it is so hard and I know the next 2 weeks are going to require breathing in and breathing out numerous times a day… However, I’m beginning to realize that what I thought would be the greatest challenge – language – seems minute. When I put it all in perspective, I have a personal, spunky 12-year-old tutor (Nanar – Antonia’s daughter stayed behind with me) who is at the perfect age where she’s not afraid to correct me, but smart enough to know she needs to speak slow and repeat. There are children dangling from every tree in the village who really need no standard language for communication, and there are babies who can silently, mindlessly grip your pinkie finger with such passion while grown adults can barely muster enough strength to offer a firm handshake – communication seems to be the least of my problems….

I can’t decide if it’s frustration or gaining a new appreciation for patience. It is one of THE hardest things for me to do – just be. Just sit around. Even for me sitting around is not just sitting around because I’m either listening, speaking or thinking in Chuukese. But for those who already know Chuukese, which is everyone – sitting around seems to be the favorite pastime here and while it in some respects is beautiful, it is absolutely impossible for me– accepting the fact that there is truly nothing else that I need to be doing right now. I don’t know if I can ever say I had a moment like that never mind a lifetime of moments.

The Chuukese lifestyle – simple – different – that is a little harder to adopt – a lifestyle where water is a precious commodity, never mind running water. Refrigerator? Don’t have. Trashcan? Just toss it in the ocean, instead of diapers, babies just pee on the floor, barefoot is the preferred means of transportation – Cars? Don’t have. Hot dogs for breakfast, fingerprints in the breadfruit, outdoor showerhouse – bucket shower, washing dishes with laundry detergent. Soap? Don’t have. Lice cleanings are a family event. Expectorating, flatulating and whatever euphemism there is for nose-picking are not socially taboo. Brush you teeth? I’m embarrassed I have toothpaste – the teeth are rotting out of these kids mouths. Electricity? Don’t have – except for the generator. But really what do you need it for except the daily evening viewing of pirated Jet Li films? First bell for 9:00 mass rings at 9:28 and mass proceeds to start at 10:45…but really what else do you have to do today – the taro will grow itself and the porch will clean itself if it rains.

Comfortable? The comfort in all that is that this is one of the nicest places on Uman. Furthermore, this is not about comfort, but solidarity and this by far is the most “solidified” (I think I just made that word up for the context it is intended to be used) I have ever been. Even with that in mind, this morning when my mind first entered into the consciousness of where I was, I couldn’t help but beg the Lord for just another 5 minutes – I was not ready to get out there and face the day yet. I was not ready to speak Chuukese, be stared at, and pretend I know how to assimilate. In my search for joy in the struggle, I’ve clearly stumbled upon an insolence in myself that I’m not too pleased with….to be bothered by such things so much that I care to complain about them…..

Day 2 of the Helen Keller Experiment - Monday

Not to make a mockery of such a legendary figure – but perhaps more to make a mockery of myself – being cut off from all previous ways of life as a sole means of learning. ….After a night of restless sleep due to cockroaches, heat and mosquitoes who I swear know that buzzing right in my hear is perhaps my greatest pet peeve, I woke up with Nanar to prepare breakfast to find that the larvae that had been multiplying in the pig slop bucket on the counter had escaped and were not mobilizing forces throughout the kitchen. I was relieved when Nanar was also grossed out, though it took her much longer to make the discovery. We ate breakfast together and by the time we were finished, cleaned up and took care of the chores it was time to start preparing lunch. It is amazing how much of the day is consumed by cooking and eating.

We ate lunch with Mama Lucy, who allowed me into a corner of her soul when she began to break down as she related her fondest memories of her mother…and how when growing up with ten siblings there was not always enough resources to go around….which was especially surprising to hear that in a place where nobody goes hungry, often times there was no food on the table. She told of how even though she has plenty now – food for the table and a beautiful house – she always remembers how hard her mother and father worked for her…

Trying to fend off tears myself – I felt horrible for feeling so sorry for myself….wondering how I was going to make it through 2 weeks living in a place that she took so much pride in. Even though I would never express my frustrations, the fact that I had even entertained such thoughts is an embarrassment to my character.

After a candlelit dinner of salt fish, canned fish and rice, I never though I could have so much fun with three little girls, hanging our feet off the deck, singing in Chuukese and admiring the small specks of night sky that poked through the blanket of stars. Peksina and Kipsina are two of the most darling little girls who live next-door, about two steps from Mama Lucy and their precious voices are still ringing in my ears. It bodes well for me that most of my days center around children no older than 12. Not only am I a little kid trapped inside a 23 year old body, I think it’s perhaps the most effective way of learning Chuukese, because they don’t know any other way. They talk at me in Chuukese – sometimes I understand, sometimes I don’t but somehow we still understand each other. If I wasn’t around these kids all day – I don’t think I would learn a blessed thing! Well, I would but it would be like pulling teeth!! They are always talking, always laughing and sometimes they really don’t even need “you” to have a conversation – they just talk talk talk till they’re blue in the face. I often feel like I take the easy way out by playing with them instead of attempting to engage in adult conversation!

While I went to sleep feeling like I knew so much more at the end of the day than I did at the beginning, I still think of myself as quite blind, even more deaf and very dumb…blind in the sense that I had no idea what was before me when I agreed to this two week immersion. I knew that if I ever wanted to learn I needed to be physically removed from my routine, though I was quite oblivious to anything else – maybe a blessing in disguise. Deaf in the sense that even after a whole day of “progress” learning the language, my prayers still end in “Please, please, please help me help me help me help me,” and dumb in the sense that it is still so uncomfortable and I don’t feel at home at all. In spite of everyone’s more than generous hospitality I feel as though I’m overly concerned with the border between accepting hospitality as a gracious guest and taking on responsibilities as an honorary member of the family…I am perfectly independent enough to cook for myself, but Chuukese don’t’ eat spaghetti – they eat ramen. And chores that seem easy such as dish washing become a process when someone needs to show me how to fetch water from the catchment, fill the wash bins and rinse dishes in the proper order. Six year old girls are showing me how to do chores – I’m helplessly pathetic.