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