Voter Registration

We tend to get isolated in our own little world here at Xavier. It is up on a hill in the rural “countryside” of the island. Thus, we often find ourselves disconnected with the rest of society. Fortunately Lincoln (a Canadian who hails from the New England state of Vermont) and Marcos, (born and bred on the outskirts of LA but identifies more with his strong Mexican roots) the two JV teachers who work at Saraamen Chuuk Academy, (the other Catholic High School downtown) serve as liaisons between our sheltered existences and the life that we never knew existed beyond it…

This past week, while we were revolving in the cyclic routine that keeps us sane, the rest of Chuuk was steeped in voters’ ballots and campaign signs. Throughout the FSM (Federated States of Micronesia), this year marks the quadrennial election for district and national leaders. Now, I don’t claim to be a political scientist, but I do know that a democratic government is intended to provide its citizens the opportunity to offer their input in choosing a qualified leader. Candidates are supposed to campaign on platforms that promise of a brighter future, and voters either align with those whose promises sound most convincing, or those who best reflect their own political views. That’s how it works, right? It’s a political structure whose longevity has been substantiated by its effectiveness in placating the masses of people longing for a say in how the country is governed. Unfortunately, the comparative newness and ineffectualness of the Chuukese democracy is evident in the failure of the system to thrive in this familial oriented society.

Again, my naivety and philistinism leaves me with no room to draft and disseminate my own political theories, however a degree is not required to be able to recognize the inherent problems specific to the Chuukese branch of government. While the value Chuukese place on the family is the essence of what makes their culture so beautiful, it seems to contradict the intended purpose of a democracy. Thus, platforms that might offer ideas on concentrating efforts to improve the public school system, or conserving fuel consumption and finding alternative power sources are inutile because officials are not elected based on their qualifications so much as their familial affiliations. Election time breeds violent tension between families who are torn between two candidates, whose marriage relations oblige loyalty to one, but whose village demands loyalty to another…and the corruption cascades from there…Aside from the inevitable nepotism that occurs to reward dedicated supporters, there are no checks or balances to question the point at which someone might think depositing half of a 2 million dollar donation into a personal account and actually getting away with it was a good idea, or nothing to ensure family members pay for their electricity bills so that the power company can operate on anything other than 4 hour interval schedules, or nothing to protect funds allocated for paving projects from being used for extravagant inaugural celebrations.

What is frustrating for both locals and outsiders is that a glimpse of this ideal (only in the sense that it is marginally effective) form of government is not elusive. While no state puts on a flawless show, the states Palau, Yap, Pohnpei and Kosrae at least appear to have their acts together and don’t experience a fraction of the economic instability from which my home state, Chuuk, continues to suffer.

With any election comes a hope, however minute, that things will change for the better and in the past few months I have been privileged enough to witness baby steps in what seems to be a positive direction. The Chinese government just donated the money and man power to refurbish the once passé island airport so that it not only looks beautiful, but complies with international regulations. Surveyors have begun assessing what we like to call “roads,” and for the first time in about 5 years Chuuk has come as close to 24 hours of power as is possible without actually having it, thanks to the donation of two new fuel efficient generators.

I don’t have solutions, only complaints, which I realize is an equally large part of the problem here, but thanks to Marcos, who can represent our community of JVI’s (Jesuit Volunteers International) here, I feel that in some way, I have done something proactive. One of the Chuukese teachers took him along to the “voting precinct” for what was supposed to be an experience in observing how elections work here in Chuuk. It’s not that Marcos could easily be confused for a Micronesian, and it’s not that he went with the intent of trying to outsmart the system, but when he was handed a ballot, what else was he supposed to do? Aside from long history of corruption, there has already been controversy over the number of people not voting and the failure of absentee ballots to be counted, “but,” as A.J. so eloquently puts it, “at least they let the Mexican vote!”

Haikus

(Courtesy of recent community nights and both freshman and sophomore literature classes studying poetry!)

Wandering settler

Calmly looking for a home.

Boys cheer, clouds beckon.

Heads down, hands write fast.

Faces of contemplation.

Growth is visible.

Unrest is hopeful.

Light is not the absence of dark.

Believe in what stirs.

Begin to prepare

A sacred space, focused heart.

Cleansing needed.

Hips lead matching steps

Passionate Latin dancing

Sensual rhythm.

Long John skin tight pants.

Who confuses shirt and slacks?

That’s Michael Patrick.

Kosapw akurang. (Don’t make noise)

En kopwe chok aussening. (Just listen)

Use tongeni. (I cannot)

Valentine's Day Reflection

Homily

“And they came to Bethsaida. And some people brought to him a blind man and begged him to touch him. And he took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the village, and when he had spit on his eyes and laid his hands on him, he asked him, "Do you see anything?" And he looked up and said, "I see men, but they look like trees, walking." Then Jesus laid his hands on his eyes again; and he opened his eyes, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. And he sent him to his home, saying, "Do not even enter the village." (Mark 8:22-26)

So I was sitting in my office yesterday trying to think of what the Lord might want me to say in this reflection here today…when Vincia walked in….I didn’t doubt that it was the Lord’s way of inspiring me as she sat down and asked what I was doing… I had the Bible open and I told her I was trying to think up something for this morning…Something to do with Noah, the blind man and perhaps St. Valentine

She asked me….”who is this St. Valentine guy anyway??” and I was like “??? Maybe that would be a good place to start…”

So I go and look it up expecting to find this great, heart-warming story about this guy who really loved a lot of people…..and I search and search and search and find……nothing…..

There is literally NOTHING known about St. Valentine…..all that they can tell us is that he was an ancient Christian Martyr…and that “men respected his name but only God knew his actions.” They don’t know his birthdate, when he died or what he did to become canonized a Saint…..in fact the Church officially removed the feast day of St. Valentine from the calendar in 1969 because he was celebrated more as a legendary figure than an actual religious icon…..

So then how do we come to arrive at this world renowned holiday?? Interestingly enough – LITERATURE – and I’m not just saying that... cause I teach Lit – but legend has it that in the late 1300’s, Geoffrey Chaucer, in one of his writings made this SLIGHT mention of birds coupling off on the feast day of St. Valentine and from there it evolved into the way it is celebrated today….. It’s amazing right?? How Valentine’s day literally evolved from nothing ….it sounds ridiculous – but I think that Valentine’s day is the manifestation of this human need within us to make love tangible….to make love something we can see and touch…..to give love a color……..purple, pink, red…..to give love words – cards, poems, songs…..to give love an object we can hold on to – candy, teddy bears, flowers, valentine cards….

And I think that it was the same for the Blind man in this Gospel….It said that he reached out and touched Jesus – he needed to feel him standing before him …. And he needed to see – He needed his sight…..

What is so hard to understand - is that love is simply NOT something that can ever be seen – you can’t describe it, define it or hold it………..but you just know it’s there – you can feel it………and it’s the same with our faith…….you can’t see it or touch it – but it’s there – and you believe it…..

But God also knows that we’re human – he knows that it is not so easy to believe without seeing….and so that’s why He gives us days like this…….. to celebrate the tangibility of love………and that’s why he gives us Gospel readings like this – where Jesus physically takes mud and touches the man’s eyes……..puts his hands on Him and performs this miracle…………and that’s why God gave us Jesus – to be this living, real – see able, touchable embodiment of love.

Happy Valentine’s Day!! :)

Naked Hope

“What continues to fascinate me is that those whose whole mind and heart were directed to God, had the greatest impact on other people, while those who tried very hard to be influential were quickly forgotten.”

Perhaps I am too stagnant to find my own original muse, but the words of Henri Nouwen find a way to continually inspire new thought patterns in my ever so narrow-minded perspectives. I know what you must be thinking – that even so much as pondering the above quote must have required some form of prior reading. Whether I should be ashamed or proud that I am actually reading an adult-reading level book with real words, no pictures and over 100 pages - I’m not sure, but a friend was generous enough to allow me into some of the personal reflections of Nouwen which touched him so deeply. I am grateful that my aversion to reading was not strong enough to deter me from finding beauty in the steps of his journey, which consequently, has profoundly affected mine.

As I feel the foundation beneath me preparing for yet another momentous shift, I find myself at a loss for feeling, passion, words and growth…Looking back in retrospect, I cannot recall the exact point where I slipped into spiritual oblivion, but I glance down now at my outstretched hands motioning the nonverbal frustration of unanswered questions… “Where is my center? Who is my center…do I have a center? Have I spent the last 18 months imprudently seeking influential status in the lives of those with whom I have come to live? Have I nourished a narcissistic desire to assimilate into the Chuukese community not for their benefit, but for mine? Have I secretly harbored an egocentric aspiration to be some sort of prominent teacher? Have I puerilely and selfishly wanted to make an impact beyond the realm of my comfort?”

Each shameful question pulling me farther and farther away from what should have been my center….a raw, genuine desire to follow the Lord.

***

In a recent reflection given by a few of Xavier’s most gifted seniors, one of the girls eloquently encapsulated and then flipped upside down the Genesis story by claiming that Adam and Eve did not fall from perfection because they ate the fruit…The fruit really had nothing to do with it. The Lord could have told them they could do anything they wanted in the garden with the exception of dancing the Macarena. But the serpent turns up the bass, they’re feeling the beat and before they know it they’re hands are behind their head and they’re shaking their hips – does the world still fall from grace? There were no magical powers in that fruit. Quite honestly, I doubt there exists an earthly repository of omniscient knowledge. What mattered was the fact that it was forbidden. God tested His trust in them. He put His faith in them and they let Him down.

Jesus trusted me with this calling. It wouldn’t have mattered where he sent me, or what He sent me to do, but He trusted me to always keep Him at the center of my life, my day, my actions, my motivations – to lead a life of blind, faithful service. He trusted me to live with His passion. I’m left with nothing more than the naked hope that He loves me and is proud of me in spite of my frequent inability to do so. “After all, everyone shares the handicap of mortality…It is in the confession of our brokenness that the real strength of new and everlasting life can be affirmed and made visible.”

The Daily Grind

It is a routine…I look forward to the first two hours to get me through my day of bell. class. lecture. disinterest. bell. class. activity. lightbulbs. bell. class. inquisitiveness. bell. class. challenge. bell. lunch. bell. grade. bell. lesson plan. bell. track practice. bell. dinner. bell. incessant questions. bell. power. bed. breathe. 6:00am the alarm beckons the sun up and I roll over to catch the fading remnants of the sunrise that perfectly complement any tree-house view. Time only allows for a quick five miler, but it’s just enough to get the blood flowing. Stretch. Cold Shower in record time before the 1^st…2^nd bells ring for daily mass…

* * *

Sometimes I don’t know why I do it…to be able to run, I have to be in bed early, I have to wake up early, it’s the same out and back route every day, some days I’m just dragging and sometimes it is just monotonous…stumbling down the hill trying to keep my sleepy eyes open. “Nesor Annim” to everyone who lines the village roads. Laughing with kids who run alongside - mocking you because they think it’s funny that you do this every day….get to the turnaround and do it all again….But I need it…and God exists in that. He exists in whatever desire it is that possesses me to get up every day. “The only way I become aware of His presence is that remarkable desire to return without any real satisfaction.” ~Nouwen. Is there abundant fulfillment to be found each day somewhere between the turnaround and the Xavier Rec House? Not necessarily. And that is the beauty of it.

* * *

7:30am – give or take a minute due to human error and a manually tolled bell…mass begins…Again I prod myself for answers as to why I go. Is each day a new, exciting, spiritually enriching high? Is the pope Catholic? Wait wrong joke. (and such is the classic example of the naturally disjointed progression of my fleeting thoughts) Absolutely not….it’s the farthest thing from it. But my subconscious desire leads me there, religiously, everyday. I don’t think I have missed a day this school year. The very thought of not having it as part of the morning routine puts me on edge. Sometimes…no…often times my mind drifts from St. Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians or the Gospel of Matthew or even the body Jesus Christ being broken on the altar……to assignments to grade, lessons to plan, feelings, stray thoughts craving attention, distractions…but for some reason, they are not as random and extraneous if I am able to acknowledge them in the presence of the Lord… Perhaps it is a cop-out for my all-too frequent and irreverent state of mind, but I have come to find a very deep mindfulness to be found in mindlessness. To go to mass everyday not necessarily for the powerfully moving experience it provides, but to sit quietly in a prayerful peace alongside students and co-workers and not have to talk, or teach, but to simply be with Him in whatever state my heart is in... that is the beauty of it.

Nominee Question Form

Gates Millenium Scholarship Program Application.

21. Briefly describe a situation in which you felt that you or others were treated unfairly or were not given an opportunity you felt you deserved. Why do you think this happened? How did you respond? Did the situation improve as a result of your response?

A situation in which I believe two people were treated unfairly took place during a basketball tournament. Two of our best players were not allowed to take part in the play-offs as a punishment for their crime. Our whole basketball team was aware that they had broken the rules, but we still insisted that our coach change the punishment. We all greatly desired to secure our slot in the championship games. Unfortunately, our coach did not alter the punishment because she was told not to do so by a superior, the director of our high school. Every one of the players on my team was infuriated by the final decision because we knew we would not be able to make it to the championship games without our two players. Complaints and more complaints were all that the coach received from us. What we did not realize was that our coach had no choice and that it was really our two players that owed the team an apology. Our two players were not ignorant of the rules and punishment. It was their responsibility as members of the team to make sure they did not do anything to jeopardize our chances of winning.

During the actual game, all of us were upset with the coach and some of us even spoke unfairly to her. Half the members of our team refused to play during the game and our coach had to ask people to play. I felt awful every time one of the players said, in a very audible tone, that it was our coach’s fault we were losing. After a terrible loss to our rival school, I decided to talk to the girls as their friend and as captain of our team because I would feel guilty if I didn’t’. To ease my guilt, I spoke with the girls and explained to them that our coach had no fault in this. I told them to put themselves in her shoes and realize that she had no choice because the director of our high school had made it very clear to them not to break school rules. After a few minutes of silence, a couple of them said that they thought that I was right and that they knew very well that our coach wanted us to win just as much as we did. One after another, the team began to communicate and share thoughts and feelings. Finally, just as I had predicted, the whole team realized that we had treated our coach unfairly because we had all forgotten the real purpose of the games. As a result of my response, our coaches received the apologies they deserved and the team learned never to forget that we should always just play for the fun of the game.

~#2 Senior Captain

The Caroline Voyager

~December 18^th, 2006
“Hey, we heard the boat was coming tomorrow and leaving tomorrow.”

“WHAT? What the filth foul filth foul! Are you kidding? We have a day left of finals. The students haven’t studied. The teacher’s haven’t graded….We’re not going to be able to go if it comes tomorrow.”

“It’s just a rumor, but we wanted to let you know.”

~December 19^th, 2006 8:00am
“Hey, there’s no boat here yet, so don’t worry. It’s still leaving on schedule – December 20^th in the morning.”

~December 19^th, 2006 1:00pm
“Hey, the boat is leaving at 4:00pm today – be ready to go.”

~December 19^th, 2006 2:30pm
“Hey, the boat is now leaving at 6pm - be ready to go.”

~December 19^th, 2006 5:30 pm
“Hey, the boat isn’t leaving until tomorrow morning. Be there at 10:00am.”

~December 20^th, 2006 10:00am
Arrive. Wait.

~December 20^th, 2006 12:00pm
Wait.

~December 20^th, 2006 2:00pm
Wait.

~December 20^th, 2006 4:00pm
Wait.

~December 20^th, 2006 5:00pm
Board.

~December 20^th, 2006 6:00pm
Depart.

We sailed off into the sunset as we began our journey towards Pohnpei – the state neighboring Chuuk on the eastern side. The scene was so picturesque that it makes any descriptive attempts sound cliché. A fairly large ocean liner (at least compared to your typical fiberglass motorboat) optimistically sailing towards the horizon, escorted by shades of rose, violet, fire and about a million and two stars competing for attention. Having a jejune understanding of transportation via the sea, the Xavier and the Saraamen Chuuk squads naively secured front row seats on the open deck of the bow of the boat. With childish anticipation we leaned over the railing to watch the docile waters carry Weno farther and farther away and we giddily awaited our chance to break through the threshold of the over-protective outer reef which tends to cradle our innocence inside the halcyon lagoon.

But there is a reason why you don’t go from rolling over to walking without first learning to crawl, you don’t go from diapers to toilets without training pants, you don’t go from breast milk to bbq chicken without baby food and there’s a reason roller coaster rides aren’t 3 days long. No sooner did we cross the barrier than the once imperturbable ocean grew incensed and left us at its mercy – lifting the bow until it vertically touched the sky and then nonchalantly releasing it to plunge back into the thrashing waters. For the 2 minutes that roller coasters are fun -that’s how long this was fun. It was even kind of fun when the entire front of the ship was soaked by what seemed to me at the time to be a massive tidal wave…. Yes, a lot of fun until I realized that any hope for changing into a dry pair of clothes was stowed away below the deck. With the color green washing over our faces, we knew it was going to be a long night.


Even after sledding, building snow forts and making snow angels until my extremities were numb, I really cannot recall a time that I have ever been colder. It was not the same type of icy chill brought on by the fury of winter, but rather the chill of being soaked to the bone for about 16 hours with no refuge from the constant ocean wind and occasional sea spray that re-saturated my clothes at regular intervals. As I laid down on my soaking wet orange towel, next to a stranger whose empathy made us instant friends, I prayed that it would not rain, I prayed that my shivering fits of frigid convulsion would not further agonize my new best friend, I prayed I would fall asleep to make the time go faster and I prayed I would not vomit over the side. It was truly an act of mind over body to stay focused enough keep my stomach settled and to keep my eyes closed so I wouldn’t notice the spinning sky above me. During one lapse of consciousness, I dreamt that we had arrived in Pohnpei. I had slept through the worst of it and we had made it safely. Even though I opened my eyes to the reality of the tantalizing illusion, I did notice the day beginning to break, meaning we had made it through the night.


From afar, we got to see the Mortlocks, four separate lagoons that compose the outer islands of Chuuk. Hoards of motor boats and outrigger canoes met the boat, which was anchored in the middle of the lagoon, (the shallow reef makes it impossible for boats that big to dock) in order to pick up or drop off passengers, food, coconuts, rebar and pool tables. After a day and a half of stop after stop after stop, we pulled up the anchor for the last time – not to be dropped again until the Pohnpei port. By now, since only few passengers were continuing on, as most had disembarked in the outer islands, and being the experienced and savvy navigators that we now were, we had claimed a prime spot under the green tarp on the deck. For the next 30 hours my butt did not move… because the very thought of getting up to stagger around a swaying boat made me sick. 30 hours of laying down, sleeping, or just staring into green nothingness. I got tired of sleeping, but it passed the time and made the turbulence easier to bear. 30 hours on hard wooden planks. My back ached from lying down. My hips hurt from lying on my sides. My arms were sore from using them as pillows. At night, bodies were just strewn across each other. In the middle of the night, I rolled over to find Riantho sharing half of my 1 square foot pillow, and I was about to get irritated until I looked down and saw my legs stretched across Dwyer’s stomach and resting comfortably on Jun’s head.

Though the experience of traversing the open seas by boat was absolutely amazing and equally gorgeous, never had we been so happy to spot land. Whether Pohnpeian or not, the faint outline of the landmark Sokehs Rock which welcomed us to the island was a glorious sight. It took all of us a few hours for the world to stop spinning once on solid ground, and it consequently took both teams the first few games of the tournament to get their land legs back…..

Team

Being part of a team has by far been among the most character building experiences of my entire life – the thrill of having a group of people sweating to achieve the same goal, living for the same passion, breathing the same sport, fighting together, rising together, falling together….It is an experience I wish for everyone to have but is perhaps an experience that is not for everyone…

Basketball here in the islands is different. Much more laid back. Your best is more often what it is, and not always what it could be. It is a difficult balance to find between having enough fun, but still being competitive…It was easy to do in Chuuk. The bar is not set very high. But playing to the level they play at in Pohnpei was a tough adjustment for the girls. There were all star teams who practice everyday, who work to perfect their game and who are committed to their team. After barely clinching the Chuuk High School Championship, the girls took a physical and mental break for about 2 ½ weeks to complacently celebrate, to study for finals and to finish the semester. Even so, I was hopeful that the excitement of going on a real travel trip, playing on a hardwood court with real scoreboards and real shot clocks would provide enough adrenaline to carry them through.

As part of me feared however, when they stepped out onto the court for their first game against Pohnpei Public High School (PICS), they were shell-shocked. It was like they forgot how to play. They were scared. They were nervous and perhaps still queasy from the boat, but when all was said and done, they got their butts kicked. People who had heard rumors of the indomitable Lady Navigators were left disappointed and did not hesitate to question, “What happened to your team?”

We sat down, regrouped and made a few adjustments. Maybe it was having Christmas day to relax or maybe they began to believe in themselves and their team, but Tuesday it was like a whole new team showed up to play. They went out and fought and battled and even though they were playing against the All-star team, they made a run for it and they played up to the Pohnpeian level of play instead of playing down to the level to which they had become accustomed. Game 2 of the day against Seventh Day Adventist School (SDA) was another battle that yielded more fruitful results – a little more positive reinforcement for their perseverance, ability to play under pressure and teamwork. For me, I got a glimpse of REAL coaching – depending on 5 starters, subbing, strategy, encouragement and most positively reinforcing for me was to see the measurable level of growth taking place.

Wednesday Night – Team meeting. I know I’ve mentioned it in earlier blogs, but substance abuse is a big problem out here, particularly in the form of what is called betel nut. Xavier strictly prohibits chewing betel nut and at this tournament, Fr. Arthur had made it very clear that if the athletes were wearing Xavier uniforms, they would abide by Xavier rules. Unfortunately a few athletes chose not to follow the rules and we found the evidence in the girls’ room.

My suspicions proved correct as I was not surprised when #3 came up to me and accepted responsibility for the spit-can found in her room. She was very apologetic, perhaps hoping that honesty would be enough to save her from her inevitable fate. She knew that she only had 1 more chance to screw up before she would be asked to leave and she had just used it up.

Looking back, her tongue and cheek apology was without remorse, as #3 and #1 (also skating on ice as thin as her cohort’s) were both caught sneaking around in the middle of the night with snuff when they thought everyone else was asleep and thus were too tired to make it to 7:30 practice the next morning… I was livid and I had a whole day to sit and brew. Unfortunately #1 and #3 were 2 of our strongest starting 5. At full strength we could definitely defeat SDA again, and with a little fire we could no doubt upset PICS to send us into the championship. The decision had been clear all along, but my question was whether or not I was strong enough to make it.

I tossed and turned all Friday morning and finally just got up and went for a run to clear my head. The last thing I wanted to do was go and play this next game. I didn’t know that my 40 most difficult minutes of my 2 years here would come in 4 - 10 minute quarters. I knew I was voluntarily standing before a firing squad and then being the one to give the lethal command….yet there was nothing I could do to avoid it.

The girls had heard rumors that #3 was not playing but I don’t think they believed I would do that to them…But out of tactical psychology or desperation, I didn’t tell them #1 wasn’t playing either….in fear that they would mentally check out before the game even started, or even worse, they would refuse to play at all.

I pulled the 2 girls into the locker room before the game and told them that I wanted to find any excuse that would make it morally right for them to compete, but I couldn’t come up with one. I told them that they owed their teammates a huge apology for letting them down though that suggestion was met with looks of confusion. In their minds – this wasn’t’ their fault, it was mine. I told them to suit up because they better cheer their faces off to make up for their absence on the court.

As only 10 players took the floor for warm-ups, they began looking around to find out why their lay-up lines were looking a little thinner. The referee’s whistle sent us into the opening huddle and the 2 girls apathetically wandered onto the bench, bringing looks of relief to their teammates – which quickly changed upon hearing the 5 starters. I heard the whispers. I heard the confused questions and I felt the team drag during the first few minutes. It was worse than the first game – way worse – like someone sucked the life out of them. Though we desperately needed a time out to regroup, I hesitated to call one because I didn’t want to face the girls. By the end of the first quarter, the questions had become more direct and the comments more obnoxiously rude. I explained that their teammates would not be playing not by my choice, but because of decisions that they made prior to the game. That explanation wasn’t satisfactory for any of them and I found myself in the middle of a near walk-out. 10 girls simply refused to play. Forget 2^nd string, plays, having a point guard to bring down the ball, or a forward to rebound – I had to ask girls to play. I had to ask them to put 5 bodies on the court and I had to wait patiently until 5 reluctant hands went up. There was no coaching involved at all, as they were too indignant to care what I had to say. The best I could do was support them and encourage them for whatever it was worth.

When they did straggle back to the bench, I couldn’t even look at their faces. They were filled with pure unadulterated hatred – as if the devil incarnate was asking for their soul….and I guess in a way I was – asking for some courage and passion in the face of adversity…but it was too far gone to be asking for such a favor. “1….thank you……2…thank you……3…..thank you…..I need two more…..I need two more……I NEED TWO MORE before I walk over to that table and tell them we don’t have enough girls to play.” There came a point in the 3^rd quarter where I thought I was going to have to go up to the scorers table and tell them that we couldn’t finish the game and would have to forfeit. Honestly, it would have been easier that way…but with a glare of death in their eyes two more girls raised their hands and took the floor. I had to thank them for volunteering to play.

With a little spark, more out of frustrated animosity towards me, they made a run in the 4^th quarter but ultimately lost 39-30. I wanted to find God in those 40 minutes and I know he was there challenging me, but I couldn’t see Him – or I didn’t want to see Him. He was there though – keeping me composed – preventing me from absolutely losing it or from breaking down. After the game, the coordinator of the tournament, Heinrich Palik, approached me as I was walking out and sort of caught me off guard. Heinrich is a diehard basketball fan and legend in Micronesia who has worked fervently to give the youth in Pohnpei a chance to excel in basketball. He coaches the boys and girls BCOPS teams (Basketball Club Of Pohnpei Stars) both of which dominated the tournament despite being stacked with 8^th grade rising stars. Heinrich is also one of the most competitive people you will meet, slaughtering teams by 50+ with the starters in a full court press. But off the court, he is the most gentle, generous man. He pulled me over, took my hand, looked me in the eye and said, “I heard what you did – disciplining your players…and I know it was so hard to swallow that loss…but I admire you for what you did.” His words were so simple but so poignant, and as I looked into his eyes and saw the eyes of Christ passionately staring back at me, my composure dissolved, I thanked him and excused myself.

It was a rough 2 days waiting for the closing ceremonies and the moment Dwyer and I could finally disperse and be relieved of our parental responsibilities. One girl out of the 12 apologized – the senior – who had maybe a few more months of maturity. Some still won’t speak to me and if they do, it’s with a look of icy contempt which I guess if you think about it is better than indifference, but it still cuts right through you. Some are civil. Some won’t even make eye contact – or maybe that’s just me deliberately avoiding their glance so as not give them the satisfaction of tearing me apart. Normally I hate endings and goodbyes, but this one was sweeter than Chuukese style coffee. Both Dwyer and myself were all smiles, and beyond ready to reclaim our freedom.

Though I’m well aware that the battle is far from over, the next week until school resumes will be spent in peaceful bliss until the imminent onslaught. I know I’m going to have to deal with the whole Junior Class again – the backlash of having 2 more of their classmates expelled. I’m not certain Lu-A will ever speak to me again – which hurts the most…..gossip spreads fast and students stick together and so if I’ve pissed off 1 student, it’s likely that I’ve pissed off the whole student body. I know the next 6 months are going to be difficult, but I also know in good conscience there was no other alternative. I’m certain that there is nothing I could have done worse, but frustrated not knowing what I could have done better. And so the best I can do is sit and pray that my heart can withstand the following weeks and months and that someday it will make sense to them. It will make sense that when you’re on a team, your actions affect more than just yourself and that a dream is not possible unless all 12 girls believe in it and sacrifice themselves for it. It will makes sense that as a team, you rise together and fall together and if you’re passionate enough , the harder you fall might also equate to the higher you will someday rise.

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