Balcony Moments

What I have thus far failed to be brave enough to notice is that my concrete, crapped-out, gorgeous-in-all-its-patheticness balcony represents the space I often inhabit here in Armenia between cultures.  

So I sit here on my balcony, courageously enduring the stares, pondering this space that I’ve grown so fond of dwelling in this past year in Peace Corps Armenia.

On the outdoors side of the balcony, Armenians spit sunflower seeds, work on their cars, play in the street, shout to each other from their balconies, and release a cathartic “HELLO!” whenever they happen to see me.  

On the other side, a private American sanctuary sits, removed from it all:  a little slice of home decorated with pictures of my family and memories of what I’ve left behind.  Secluded, but free.  My own, but in someone else’s country. 

Reflection and a sudden fondness for this balcony-moment I’m having in the middle of this new world I’ve found myself in encourages me to press endlessly deeper into the in-between,  to really get to know the language, the idiocyncracies, the heart-issues, and the needs of the people surrounding me.  

Because what can happen in these unfamiliar, slightly awkward in-between spaces, or “balcony moments,” are interactions like the one I just recently had with two of my neighbors, who I’ll call Loud Kid #1 and Loud Kid #2:

Loud kid 1:  Hey! How long would it take to bike to... where is it  
again you are from? Russia?

Me: America.

LK 1: Yes. So how long would it take?

Me: Well, there’s an ocean you’d have to cross so maybe a plane 
might be better.

LK2: Yea, yea, but if we WERE to bike, how long would it take?

Me: Maybe a year... I dunno.

LK1:  Vshhh, that’s far.

Me: Yup.

And it’s moments like this that make turning “grapes into wine” and embracing the “balcony-moments” all worthwhile.

Weekly Grape:  Have I passed up a balcony moment recently?

Lost on a Horse in Armenia

When my sister Casey’s horse took off full-speed through a river, up a narrow road, and then completely out of view (leaving her phoneless, helmet-less, and blasting through a foreign Armenian village unable to speak the local language), I had only one thought:  If she dies, my parents will kill me.  

Do you know what the English halt command “Woahhhh” signifies to an Armenian horse?

Speed up.

And you can probably guess what my sister, an experienced equestrian in the States, shouted at the horse as it bolted through the village toward the mountains. 

Linguistic barriers can be really entertaining until your life is on the line. 

After sprinting a lap around the entire village in search of Casey, asking anyone along the way if they had seen an American on a horse and if they could please – gasp, heavy pant – help me find her, I climbed to the top of a mountain to search for her from a bird’s eye view.

Right when I got to the top, I finally got a phonecall from my host sister telling me to come home because they had found Casey casually walking the horse down the street saying it was the best ride of her life.  

If my sister is going to come visit me in Peace Corps Armenia, I guess the least we can do is provide the villagers with stories to tell their friends over “surch” (coffee).  

“Grapes into wine” is about pressing through fear and discomfort to experience the freedom that exists within that.  When Casey took off on that horse, she literally went into “fight or flight” mode for a while, deciding whether or not to jump off the horse.  Her decision to stay on the horse required a great amount of trust – trust that the horse wouldn’t buck her off, that she had enough skill to ride at a gallop, etc.  It also required courage.  

Casey later explained that after sprinting past all the village homes, the horse slowed down when they reached miles of wheat fields, apple orchards, and wildflowers in a gorgeous valley outside the village.  She said she had never felt more free on a horse in her life.  To Casey’s enormous relief, the horse then stopped and allowed her to dismount in the middle of this landscape.

“It was the best ride of my life,” she told me for the second time.

“Yeah yeah alright but you almost died.  And I almost did too. What was so great      

I know you can't see this because the picture quality is
terrible, but this is the only photo we managed to get
from the experience after it was all over. I look wraught with
concerned (right), and Casey is full of joy (left).

   about it?”

“It was just sooooo liberating.” 

I think that’s what happens when we press through discomfort.  It requires a great deal of courage and trust to do it, but then we are set free.  

Weekly Grape:  Do I fight or flee when things become really uncomfortable?

Buggin' Out

Today I wake up, start my routine, stare at my to-do list, get side-tracked, and re-dedicate myself to my list of tasks.

I get out my huge soup pot, because busy schedules mean bulk meals that I’ll eat for every meal of every day for a week straight.  Like soup.  

As I’m about to strip all the vegetables of their nutrients by boiling them into soup,  I look into the pot and see that it’s been stormed by an army of tiny, silver bugs.  

Silverfish.  

These bugs prefer dark, damp areas in the home and are especially attracted to old water in dingy places.  Like me, silverfish feed mostly on carbohydrates.  Unlike me, they can survive for several months without food! They are nocturnal and they wriggle like tiny, disgusting fish through my kitchen cabinet. 

So my first thought is to toss the pot immediately, but my second thought prevails because I remember that I’m too broke to buy another soup pot.  So I clean it out and spend the next hour cleaning out half my kitchen, where the rest of the silverfish have apparently infiltrated.  

Crisis averted.  Ready and soup-fueled to plow through my to-do list, I sit down to play with my puppy (because it’s not procrastination if it delights a puppy).  I pull out her favorite old sock and tantalize her by smothering her face with it.  Then I spot a tiny little black critter maneuvering its way blissfully through the fur of her hindleg.  To my horror, I find another one closeby.

Fleas. 

Raising pets involves many challenges, but flea investations may be one of the worst.  Once these peevish little A-holes invade your home, you’re doomed with them for up to two years.  Normally I can find consolation on the internet by googling remedies for these kinds of problems, but even cyber-space offers no words of encouragement when it comes to fleas.  

So as for THIS grape, I struggle to turn it into some sort of “sweet” wine, considering that I’ll be cleaning my entire apartment inside and out every day for the next few months.  But I think I can draw several parallels between this situation and some of the lessons that God has taught me though Peace Corps so far: 

1. Like many experiences in Peace Corps, fleas test my ability to practice long-term problem solving rather than relying on quick-fix solutions.
2. Fleas snap us into the present moment and make us focus ferociously on the task at hand (I have become utterly consumed by the flea mission).
3. Fleas require me to do all that I can do reduce the problem, but to accept the fact that many parts of the issue lie outside my immediate control.
4. A flea-invested home in Armenia means getting really creative while working with limited resources (can’t afford a vaccuum, have to use natural flea remedies, etc).
5. Fleas encourage me to be extra attentive to my animal, my home, and myself, and look closely into everything.

Suffice it to say, I was considerably “bugged” today by everything that happened.  But I’m going to make “flea hour” fun each day by creating a special flea playlist and singing obnoxiously while I attack my home with cleaning products.  

These bugs will not suck my blood, and they most certainly will not suck my joy.

Weekly Grape:  How the heck do I turn a flea problem into something good?

Loving Well Through the Storm

My running shoes are tired. The inside of each shoe has begun to peel away from the sole in retaliation against years of maltreatment and rancid odor.

The shoes have faithfully carried me through some of the most treacherous and disgusting terrain here in Armenia.  They’ve survived cow poop, muddy swamps, stones, and heavy rainfall.

But throughout all of it, they've remained fundamentally in tact. 

Today a friend and I did our usual track workout (on a giant gravel circle surrounding a field in our town).  We did our usual workout – but we did it in the pouring rain.  Normally for a runner, rain means you get the day off and don’t have to feel as guilty for staying inside. But today, we exposed ourselves to the elements and dashed bravely through the storm.  

Sometimes it is intensely liberating to lean in and press through something that would normally inhibit us.  I imagine a horse staring straight through a swarm of flies surrounding its head while maintaining focus on the hay that it wants to eat. He stares relentlessly into the face of chaos because he has a clear purpose in mind. Like the horse, I'm challenged to step out into my community, where there are often many challenges and irritations, and stay focused on loving well.  

Running deliberately through life’s rainstorms and surfacing unscathed helps me remember that my joy can never be tainted by circumstance because unlike the mud on my running shoes, something that comes from within can never be washed away.  

Weekly Grape:  Do I cower away from discomfort or lean into it with fearless abandon?

Awkwardly Amazed

Every time I hike with a friend of mine through the mountains of Armenia around my village I am completely overwhelmed by their beauty.

The rock formations, the rivers, the variety of plant and animal life – It all amazes me.

Often, however, when I try to take in the beauty of something like this I feel this awkward tension, like I'm scared I won't fully appreciate the moment and it'll pass before I can ever retain it.  I've experienced this my whole life, anytime I look at the stars, the ocean, or any other natural wonder.  I can't really explain this feeling without putting it into poetry:

Ocean, Stars, and God

Partially seeing, never grasping

Too great to consume

Leaving me empty

– Not quite empty –

Trust in acceptance

That what it is can not be mine

But belongs to all life

Because it is all life

Urge from the heart

To know it better, deeper

Ultimate connection, uninhibited intimacy

Stopped by fear

Caged freedom

Never knowing, having always known

Sink into it

Let it overcome

Sit inside the next moment

And be still. 

Because this uncanny tension arises from awe and wonder, I'll embrace it.  This process of turning something mysterious or difficult to understand into poetry mirrors the process of turning grapes into wine.  If we lean in and listen to what each challenge tries to teach us, we find meaning even in struggle.  This week I'm challenged to make poetry of every trial.

Weekly Grape:  Am I amazed by all that surrounds me?

No Confidence in the Flesh

It's been 3 seconds.  I demand
my sugar cracker.

When my puppy Mia pees outside, she expects a treat. She will not move until she gets one. The treat is the fuel that drives her back indoors to continue her business of tearing apart everything I own with her little puppy daggers. 

I know where her confidence lies. If, God forbid, I should forget to give her a treat immediately post-urination, for example, her confidence would be shaken and she would no longer remember who she is or how to get back inside. This kind of confidence is dangerous – it’s the confidence that we get from what the world has to offer. What happens, for example, if all the treats in the world were to disappear? 

Well Mia would just be a barking mess. 

Everytime I put my confidence in the world I am disappointed, because whatever we put our confidence in will eventually be taken away. An olympic gold medalist will always be beaten by another super-human athlete over time, just as Mia’s treats will eventually shift from slightly sugared crackers to plain old boring crackers. How can we put our confidence in something that lasts?

Lately I’ve struggled with some serious opposition at work. But Jesus reminds me that during his years of ministry, his life was certainly no care-free string of pleasant days interrupted by rare occurances of trial and suffering. No, Jesus was an island surrounded by a furious river of persecution, aggression, and resentment that even when flooded never altered its form. 

Yet his joy was complete.

In the Bible, Jesus urges us to “take heart” – to find comfort in and be encouraged by – the fact that he has overcome the world (John 16:33). Through Paul, one of His followers, He also beseeches us to “do everything without complaining or arguing (Phillipians 3:14), and to put no confidence in the flesh (Phil 3:2-3). 

Some days I can’t even get out of bed before violating that command. 

But in times of fierce opposition I need to position myself toward Christ and rejoice in trial because I have promised to join Him in his fellowship of suffering, not in his fellowship of taking the easy road out.

Maybe if Mia knew Jesus she’d be dissatisfied with her sugary treats and long for something more. Maybe she does know Jesus but still enjoys a tasty snack after defecating on my lawn. Who knows.

Weekly Grape: Where do I get my confidence from? 

Intensifying Concentration

During my Latin American dance lessons here in Sisian, Armenia (which are taught completely in Armenian), I really have to zero-in on each step and pay attention to both my foot placement and the translation of my teacher’s instructions before moving on to the next step.  If I were to try to hurry through the whole dance number and put all the steps together without really paying attention to what I’m doing, I’d fumble through the whole thing.  

I’d change the entire composition of the dance.    

If I could learn to incorporate the same fierce concentration and attentiveness to each step into my busy, hectic lifestyle, my life might resemble more of a dance and less of a prolonged spaz attack. 

Today pastor Dan Nold taught me that what I need to focus on at this point in my Peace Corps service is to “ruthlessly eliminate hurry in my life.”  When we fill our schedules with so many things that we don’t have enough time to reflect on the inherent value of the things we're filling our time with, we become passive observers of our own lives.  

In The Loupe’s Secret essay in Ecological Literacy, Kerry Ruef writes of the jeweler’s loupe (a magnification tool) and its ability to intensify looking, intensify wonder, and intensify concentration.  “Unlike a hand lens,” she writes, “it cuts out the rest of the world as you’re looking (no diluting, peripheral information to distract the eye/mind).”  I’m challenged this week to intensify my looking, my wonder, and my concentration.  

Instead of letting my life’s distractions eliminate me, I need to eliminate my distractions and fully engage in my life.  

Weekly Grape:  Do I hurry through life?