Pride and Joy

It’s kinda rare, but when you feel it you want to bottle it and save it for a rainy, grumpy day. 

As I watch my students during English club, I feel overwhelmed with maternal pride, warmth, and affection for these kids who have made such an impact on my life.  

Several Armenian teenagers sit happily clicking away on their new Rosetta Stone programs that were generously donated by a friend of mine and finally installed after much hard work.  They are so focused on the task at hand that they barely notice that I’m in the room.  

“The woman,” one of them says to the computer. 

“The WOOH-man,” The girl ardently repeats, hoping her voice will register this time.

“THE WOOOOOH-MAN!” She cries, and the soul-affirming Rosetta “woosh” sounds its beautiful tone as the screen lights up green.  The girl beams with self-satisfaction and proceeds to the next activity. 

It’s so simple, but Rosetta Stone excites these kids and significantly alters the way they learn languages.  They engage with the material, track their progress, and satiate their natural curiosity while gaining technological skills as well.   I watch them become responsible for their own learning and see them laugh while doing it.  

On days like this, the burden of teaching is light and the yoke so very easy. 

Carpe Diem in the 12th Grade

One day in my twelfth grade English class I decided to try something completely different.

The twelfth graders in our school have absolutely no interest in learning anything at all.  They concern themselves with typical teenage drama, and that’s about it.  Up until a few years ago, twelfth grade didn’t even exist – the school only went to tenth.  So basically, they try to fight the system by rejecting the twetfth grade altogether.

Needlesless to say, these students are particularly hard to reach.  But one day, instead of trying to teach them English (which many of them feel no need to learn because they will never use it), I decided to talk with them about fear.  

“Do you fear what other people think of you?” I asked them in Armenian, thinking they would probably just ignore the question and secretly text on their phones. 

Instead, I was answered by a chorus of “no’s,” followed by some passionate assertions like “I used to, but I don’t anymore,” etc, etc. 

At that point it became clear to me that the most important thing in the world to them was also the thing that they fought most to pretend that they didn’t care about: They would go to any length to prove that they didn’t care what other people think of them because they care so deeply about what other people think of them.

So I invited them, one by one, to come to the front of the class and do something absurd in front of everyone to prove that they didn’t care what others thought of them.

One kid had to close one eye and shout the word “tree” (in English – there had to be some English component), close one eye, and spin in a circle hopping on one leg.  Another had to tell us his deepest secret. Another had to close his eyes and tell us, without thinking, what he wanted most in the world.  And finally, someone just had to dance.  They all did it.

Then it was my turn (I couldn’t get out of doing something if I was about to preach about fearlessness), so I told them they could command me to do anything they’d like and I’d do it.

The class asked me to do an Armenian dance for them, so I did it.  They loved it – they laughed, clapped along with the moves, and one of the boys came up and started dancing with me. 

After that we had a real conversation about where fear comes from and why it is such a big part of our lives.

Their homework was to think of something that they had always been afraid of doing, and then do it.  They could write about it and tell no one, or they could tell the class when they come back. 

Some of them conquered their fears, and some did not.  But all of us learned something that day.  And for the first time, I felt a real connection with these students who put up all sorts of walls when it comes to learning and authority figures.  

Now, when we see each other in the halls, we say “Carpe Diem,” because I told them it means “Seize the day” and that every day we should remind each other to live without fear. 

 They liked that, and so do I. 

Wine Moment: Fully Seen

I can go anywhere and be stared at without feeling irritated.

Being stared at all the time comes in handy when
teaching, however, because you never have to worry
about the kids not paying attention. Except that one kid.

While that may not seem like much of a success, it is.  Up until recently I was always, on some level, bothered by the way that people shamelessly watch me as if my pants are on fire while I walk down the street.  Armenians in this community rarely see foreigners, so when they do, they feast their eyes upon a glorious new treat.  People actually stop their cars and open their doors to steal a better glance at me.

But the discomfort I had to press through to get to this feeling of acceptance had nothing to do with their stares.  It had everything to do with exploring the reason it made me uncomfortable in the first place. 

Why would I ever feel physical tension build and want to run and hide when someone just looks at me, however intensely, for several minutes?

The innocuous spectators are not the problem –  I am.  My discomfort arose from a fear of being truly seen, or feeling truly known.  And unwanted attention, because it falls outside our control, causes us to scramble for some feeble attempt to regain control by physically or emotionally guarding ourselves from the perpetrator.  

But never more.  Ever since the moment I realized the true source of my tension, I’ve been able to work on surrendering it and dwelling in the acceptance of who I am.  What do I care if a person sees who I really am (often gross, sloppy, covered in dog hair)? God sees who I really am, and he tells me there’s no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus. 

That’s good enough for me.

Wine Moment: Integrated.

I'm walking down the streets of Sisian, Armenia, admiring the beautiful fall foliage, with my dog's leash in one hand and four grocery bags in the other.  

A man suddenly looks at me and asks, in Armenian, "Do you know where the nearest bank is?"

A bit startled, I tell him that it's right around the corner in hurried, colloquial Armenian.  

In this simple moment of grocery bags, dog-walking, and giving directions to a total stranger, this place seems more like home than ever.

Wine Moment: It Takes 4 Languages to Buy Some Eggs

Anyone who has been fluent in one language and then tried to learn a third will understand my dismay:  One of the results of learning Armenian to function well in my new community was a gradual deterioration of my Spanish. But this year, I've decided to re-dedicate myself to Spanish and use it as much as possible.  I live in a predominantly Armenian-speaking community, but all the Armenians in my community are also fluent in Russian.  So I figure I may as well immerse in the Russian language community as well.  Cue the online Russian lessons. 

So the wine of pressing through the challenge of learning three languages reveals itself when I go to buy eggs from the store that is 100 yds away from my house.  There are three women in the store including my usual storelady.  I greet them in Armenian, but they ask me if it would be alright if I speak English so that they could learn a few words. 

“Ok, very good,” I say, searching their expressions for comprehension.  When understanding had been ascertained, I proceeded to ask for “bread, butter, and eggs,” in English, much to their delight.  

I then hear the storekeep translate the words into Russian, which I can actually understand! I say yes, those words were correctly translated.  Observing that I had begun to learn Russian, my storelady tosses a few phrases my way.  She then asks what other languages I know, to which I happily reply, "español."  She happens to want to learn Spanish, so I tell her I'll trade her some Spanish words for some Russian ones every time I come to the store.

As I'm leaving, she asks me what languages my dog speaks.  Smiling, I tell her that Mia is bilingual and understands commands both in English and Armenian.

The storelady, smiling back, says, “Molodetz.” (Good for you, in Russian).

Love and Peace Սեր, խաղաղությունAmor y paz Любовь и мир

Shifting the Purpose of This Blog

One of the greatest things about pressing through discomfort is the fruit that it yields.   The journey iteslf, enduring adversity, is one which cultivates great strength, growth, and maturity.  But besides all of that, we also get to experience moments of sheer delight as a result of working hard and pressing through the discomfort of daily life.  From now on, until the end of my service, I'd like to focus on those moments here on this page.

If I spent much of the first year in Peace Corps Armenia pressing through various challenges like adjustment, isolation, and being part of a minority here, I’d like to spend much of my second year enjoying the wine of these grapes, or the results of this hard work.  Sure, the work continues, and sure, most of the time it still isn’t easy, but I’d like to highlight the "wine" moments for awhile because I think great encouragement and hope can be drawn from them and so they might be worth sharing.