Listen. To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know.
- Orellana Price, The Poisonwood Bible
When I read this quote in The Poisonwood Bible a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but look up and around at the people on the metro, longing for someone to share it with. I am being marked by everything experience I have. I am being changed. I am acquiring the words of a story. But a story isn't stagnant; there are definite ups and downs, as well as periods of uncertainty about which direction is up.
Thankfully, the celebration is continual, coming from the deeper sense of joy that I experience as a child of God, participating in His greater story. Here are a few recent chapters that are being recorded in my edition.
The audience.
I can't even begin to explain how wonderful it feels to be dancing again. Outside of the Hope College Dance department, my spirit returns to the late night jazz classes at One Broadway when I was a freshman and just beginning to come into my own. For a brief time I threw my body around, not quite sure what I was doing but feeling quite pleased with the results. I danced without thinking of my turn-out or whether or not I was as good as those around me... I had been so surprised to have landed in the advanced jazz class that I just gave all of myself to every movement, never knowing what would come of it.
My jazz class here is a return to abandoned movement. I perform for a forgiving audience, an audience that is inside. The audience applauds me when I do well, but also slaps me on the back in encouragement when I fall out of a turn. They do not care if I have perfect first position; they only care that I stretch my muscles to their limit and smile at the end of class. I like this audience. They are oblivious to the Spanish chatter about concentrating on a plie and are quite out of the loop on the professional dance world.
So when last week my jazz teacher moved another girl out of the front row so I could have a spot, I did not suffer from stage fright. I swooped and turned and stretched with the same energy and fluidity that I did when I was surrounded on all sides in the corner of a room that is so narrow you are practically in both corners at once. After all, my audience has a front row view at all times and they are content with any day's work as long as I enjoyed it.
The apology.
Darn thirteen year olds. I spend hours a week preparing lessons, hoping to prepare them for the city-wide Model UN conference in
February. And do they do their homework? No. Do they listen to
their peers in class? No. As they say in Spain, "Están en la edad del
pavo." This, literally translated, means "They are in the age of the
turkey." Aka they are at the age when instead of being focused on the lesson, they are focused on the modern art they are drawing on their desks or the cute girl/boy sitting a row ahead.
Last
week, after a particularly difficult class with 3°ESO (the darn 13 year
olds), my 1°ESO English class experienced a particularly chatty class.
My patience wore thin as I taught them a new phrase, "chatty Kathys",
and asked them repeatedly to be quiet. But by the next day, all was
forgotten. A good night of sleep and new groups of students can do
wonders.
But today when I entered the 1° ESO class, I
was taken aback by the two sweet girls who came up to me before class to
apologize. Confused, I thought maybe they had forgotten their homework.
But after a moment, their explanation and concerned faces made me
realize that they were genuinely upset that the class had been rowdy the
week before. I never thought I would love 7th graders as much as I did
today.
¿Qué tal?
How many times in a day do we ask "How are you?" How many times have we not answered, "Good" or "Fine"? After a challenging sermon, I have fallen into a group of people who take "How are you?"seriously. Really seriously.
They are the kind of people to whom you can say "Good" but then they ask again because they don't believe you. It was almost annoying on Sunday morning after church when I got asked "How are you?" two times in a row just because someone didn't like my brush off answer. I had no real desire to tell anyone that I was feeling homesick because of the mother and daughter I saw laughing and hugging in the metro station.
But I was pushed to share anyway, share something that I didn't really want to admit for fear of seeming weak or not adapting well. Right there, in amidst of the mingling, I was tearing up about my nephew who I haven't met, my family who was about to be in the middle of Frankenstorm, and my MI parents who took on the role of family and are now as missed as the rest.
As Natalie Dache told me once, "I think the whole world-getting-smaller phenomenon is both a blessing and a curse. It's so cool to be able to see different places, experience different cultures, meet different places. But it's hard to decide when and where to settle, who to live with, how often to visit, how long to let your heart bleed before you open it up to yet another new person for just one more round of small talk...."
Because if you are really living honest relationships, small talk doesn't stay small talk. Small talk turns into lengthy conversations, heated discussions, and heart-to-hearts. Then those people get added to the list. The list of people who change your life because they checked in on you, they took the time to listen, they asked "How are you?" and meant it.
The sheep and the goats
31 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. 32 All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. 33 He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
34 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For
I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you
gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
40 “The
King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the
least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
41 “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42 For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I
was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you
did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after
me.’
44 “They
also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a
stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
45 “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
46 “Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”
You want to think that you will be a sheep. But when I walk past the woman sitting outside the church on her blanket with a small cup for money every day, am I telling Jesus that my muffin and coffee at school are more important than Him? When the old man in the navy vest opens the door for me outside the grocery store, am I a goat ignoring the needy? The poor have always been kept at an arms length from me. But now, when I look them in the eye on a daily basis and choose to ignore their needs, the reality of my selfishness hits hard.
Considerations of taking them out to lunch or dropping off a bag of groceries are appealing, but I resist, fearing they will become dependent on me. I don't want them to just get by; I want them to get out of the rut of poverty. And then I rationalize doing nothing, claiming that as a newbie to this city I can offer no resources that will change their situation.
So for this month, I am going to keep track of every hungry, needy person that I see. I will acknowledge each of them by keeping a running tally. And then, at the end of the month, I will donate 50 centímos to an organization (tbd), that provides for the poor in la comunidad de Madrid. I may not be giving directly into the palms of those whose hands are outstretched to me, but I want to provide for those who have found themselves without a job in this country that has an unemployment rate of 25.1%. I want to honor them as people and eventually be greeted with the words, "Come, you who are blessed by my father..."
Let me be clear though. I am not writing this because I think it is the perfect thing to do. But after a month of wrestling, this is the only approach that has brought my heart peace. And so I write this as a request for accountability. Accountability to maintain the conviction that the well being of others is worth a dent in my budget.
To live is to be marked. I can't just brush off these lessons like they were written in dust.
Much love,
Amber
