That Question

"At what point do we stop believing that it's a 'rough patch' and start believing that it's God telling us to do something different?"

This was the question that plowed into my mind at the end of this morning's class. It's been two weeks and I had looked forward to the students behaving better, having gotten used to my teaching style and expectations. The morning was a complete wreck - at least that's what it felt like. I had decided to split my class into two groups to be able to teach more one on one and also to teach more advanced concepts to the group with a higher English level. What resulted was not an engaging learning session, filled with the laughter and smiles of successful children. They ran on the tables. Ran. On the tables. And little Glorio and I just sat there staring at each other, both incapable of correcting the situation at all.

Ok, some of you probably have your ideas about what I should do to fix this problem. Make it more fun! Have more structure! Have variety! Involve the children! So let me give you a run-through of what I have tried so far.

Games: They run around screaming.

Songs: They yell and hit each other as actions.

Pictures: They either don't pay attention or they try to rip the pictures out of my hands.

Toys: They break and attempt to eat anything and everything.

Books: They talk over me.

Chalkboard: They ignore me and then try to write on the board themselves.

Worksheets: Best success so far - not at learning, but at being quiet. 

Short Subject Periods: Transitions take half the period.

Long Subject Periods: They stop paying attention ten minutes in.

Full Class with Aid: We both are yelling to sit down.

Half Class without Aid: I'm yelling to sit down.

Yes, yelling. I know! I don't want to teach that way. I've never taught anything to anyone this way, but the noise level is a constant high. They just mumble and bang their hands and stomp their feet and the concrete classroom echoes it all back and forth. To be heard, I have to yell.

Oh - and I got bit the other day.

It is with tears in my eyes that I truthfully say I hate teaching kindergarten. I got on the airplane in Calgary with so much hope and so many plans for the wonderful ways in which I would open the minds of my students. I love teaching new things to people because I love learning and I want to share that experience with others; but I wake up every morning here dreading the day. I have a timer set on my watch, counting down the minutes until they leave. "Be positive!" you say? Well, try physically chasing a six year old around, to take him to the principal's office because he threw a chair at you. All this time, you are asking your other students to sit down, but they are wrestling with each other, eating food out of a random kid's backpack and climbing onto the window sill. When you finally get back, you get an apple juice box poured into your lap. And then do that every day for two weeks. The hope has gone out of me. 

What am I supposed to do? I am not teaching the children, I am only barely keeping them from dying at the hands of their peers. My teacher's aid was the main teacher for the two months before I came and she accomplished much more in those two months than I would have ever imagined. They can count, they know the alphabet, colors, shapes, sizes... they know songs and they can line up by table groups. She would give the children a better education than I ever could. I am not helping, I am hindering with my incompetence. I've never felt this way before - I have never failed so fast or so completely.

I want to give up more than anything - I want to come home. I am no help here and I can think of a million things I could do to help others back home. The soup kitchen and the prison ministries, the Pathfinder club and the Sabbath School classes. I could be a spokesperson for ADRA and organize fundraisers for the missionaries in the field who are making a difference. I could venture out into my own neighborhood and get to know the people right next door, who probably need Jesus and I could definitely tell them all about Him. I could pick up litter by the highway and rescue the starving cats and dogs from the shelters... Please, anything but another day, another headache, another teary lunch eaten alone in my apartment.

I want to give up and go home. Should I? It's only been two weeks and that seems like so little time, but when I can count on my fingers the number of times I've been truly happy since coming here, two weeks is a lifetime. And the great question has been building in the back of my mind from the moment I walked into the staff lounge and knew I was the outsider: "At what point do we stop believing it's a 'rough patch' and start believing that it's God telling us to do something different?" It's said that when we live against God's Will for us, life is made difficult so that we turn to Him and follow His guidance. But it's also said that following God isn't always easy and when life gets difficult we just have to buckle down and forge on. How do you tell the difference?! I've stepped out in faith, trying to do what I thought God wanted, but maybe I heard wrong. How do I know that it's just a trial to test my courage and faith and not an obstacle that God is putting in the way to try to redirect me? Is there a time limit? Is there an elimination process? Is there anything other than more faith, which is just redundant.... ?

I've thrown myself into life in Majuro, teaching kindergarten in the morning, tutoring in the afternoon, running an after school drama club, coaching the girl's volleyball team, running around looking for ministries to be a part of on Saturday, working the garden in Laura every Sunday and starting a small group for the other SM's here. I clean the house and my classroom and cook for my roommate and I. With my spare time, I journal and sketch and take pictures and try to absorb this 'amazing opportunity' everyone told me this would be. I give to others and I'm giving to myself. I eat healthy and I work out and I drink water and, and, and... and I'm just lonely, tired and so disappointed.

And I ask that question.

One More Time

STAND UP!

SIT DOWN!

STAND UP!

SIT DOWN!

CRAMP UP!

FALL DOWN!

CRAMP UP!

FALL DOWN!

I have stood up and sat down so many times with my Kindergarten class that my calves are recreating themselves into Gordian knots and I feel as though the only option might be to cut them off. On the other hand, my darlings know how to stand up and sit down, so maybe I'll just put my feet up and drink more water next time.

Kindergarten with Miss Cheyanne began on Monday and the children's eyes were wide when they walked into the classroom: no more chairs, no more tables, new posters, new name tags. The teacher's desk was moved and all the toys were on high shelves behind the desk. This was my space, my class, and they had just walked into a year of learning through games and pictures and songs, not worksheets and homework. We began by joining K1 for worship and then proceeded to English class, during which commenced the vigorous teaching of the basic command to "Stand up" and "Sit down". The rest of the day was filled with learning about Canada and the word flag, making piles and lines out of rocks and shouting "ROCK!" as loud as possible (their idea, not mine), eating snacks, playing outside, counting numbers and singing songs. They left at the end of the morning with smiles on their faces and new words in their heads.

Today, we learned the difference between big and little and started with some phonics. The sound that A, B, and C make and how to spell the word CAB. We talked about being thankful and how to say please and thank-you and then drew pictures of our families to put on our Thankfulness board.

I also tutor three students in higher grades who can't read - one in grade five and two in grade eight. I'm immensely looking forward to working with them. Because they are older and speak English, I'm hoping that it will be easy to teach them how to read English. I'll start with them the way I teach my kindergartners, ABC, but at an accelerated pace.

Two days. Only two days. Exhaustion, tempered with pride because I already know half of my students' names, runs through my body. It's hot, it's late and I want to sleep. I know that I can get through this week, but I'm already starting to doubt if I can get through a whole month and eventually a whole school year. When I took the call, I'm not sure what I was imagining in my mind, but I think I pictured students who would be smart, quiet and attentive. That's not what I have to work with and although we've learned a few things together, I'm not sure how far I can get with them before I fall apart. 

But here's the great thing that I keep reminding myself of: I don't have to supply my own strength, my own energy and my own passion and drive. I only have to ask and all of that can come from God. The minute I feel like I can't sit down or stand up or yell "ROCK!" again, all I have to do is ask for the strength to continue. When I feel tired, I just push on through and say, "God, give me strength!" Somehow, I make it through another half hour, another subject, another day. The curious thing is, I'm so stubborn that I'm never quite sure if it's my stubbornness or God's strength that gets me through the day. Perhaps they're the same thing - perhaps my strength from God comes in the form of my stubbornness, my unwillingness to quit the job that He's given me, my determination to just keep going, keep teaching, smiling, singing and laughing. With this determination, I can and will do everything that He needs me to do while I'm here, even if that means sitting down and standing up one more time.

"For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength." Philippians 4:13

Not Even Myself

Today I showered about six times. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit, but I was sweating so much every minute that there was a salty streak down my spine at the end of the day. Your clothing, hair style, activity level - none of it matters. Here in Majuro, you would sweat if you shaved your head and laid in a freezer in a bikini. I always though I was tolerant of the heat (you know, because I lived in Egypt and traveled and bla bla bla...) but our scorching Alberta days are the winter slums for this island. The wind and rain are so welcome by me at this point that I almost made my kindergarten class just tough it out at recess today.

Oh ya - I'm teaching kindergarten and none of them speak English. On top of it all, I'm absolutely convinced that every single one of the twenty-two maniacs is either ADD, ADHD or just insane. They spent all morning throwing chairs, punching each other and screaming Marshallese words at me. The substitute teacher's aid was yelling back with equal vigour and speed walking around the classroom, grabbing children and separating fights. They learned my name - kind of. And we learned the letter Z - kind of. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to die - kind of. I was handed a binder and told to make lesson plans, due Monday morning, but when Miss Sylvia, my permanent aid, gave me the instructions, I just stared at the translucent green sheet covers with absolutely no thoughts in my mind. For the first time in my life, I thought about nothing. Nothing at all. It's a terrifying feeling. What am I supposed to do with these kids?! Another of the SM's, Gunnar (who - shock of my life - went to high school with me) said he's taught K2 PE a couple times and they just rip the foam balls into pieces and start eating them. What.

One boy, Damian, just walks around the classroom in circles, singing songs to himself and bobbing his head. From the signs, I'd say high-functioning autism, because he listens when I try to teach him something and speaks quite easily, but he always whispers. For an hour today he walked between the playground and the compound wall, back and forth, pausing every now and then to stare at the sky and then jump back to a walk. The precious kid's autistic, without a doubt. So, how do I teach him and twenty-one other kids when his needs are so different from Paul's (who constantly makes up the most random stories) and Benjamin (who just wants to sit and stare at you)? I know that one on one time is important, but how do I give him that? I've got to come up with some ideas.

On a slightly less distressing topic, I've moved into my apartment - alone. And it's so lonely. But, I got the whole thing set up like I want it, which isn't saying much, seeing as it's a kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. Although spacious, it's bare. Nothing is on the walls and everything is white. The kitchenette isn't too bad on first inspection, but the hot water is non-existent, only two stove-top burners are currently functioning and the oven only heats to 200 degrees. The bathroom is cleaner and better made than I was expecting, and although there's no hot water for showers, the cold water is delightful. The bedroom is simple, with two beds and two dressers and a shelving unit/closet rod. There's only one window, which makes the nights a little hotter than I would like, but I just lay on top of the sheets and ensure that nothing touches me.

Not to fear, however, because my roommate comes tomorrow. Mysterious Victoria will arrive sometime and move in sometime and I'm not sure how it will all work out, but having someone in that big, empty, sweltering space is so much better than just me and my geckos, Fred and Frieda. Sometimes, I just talk to myself and expect the toaster to respond. Being homesick and lonely while surrounded by people is not a completely new feeling to me, but the next eight months are stretching before me like the Marianas Trench and I've got a snorkel.

There were three things that kept me from crying this afternoon: a nap, the school's dogs and that hyper-cliche-but-still-so-meaningful verse in Romans 8. Knowing that nothing can separate me from God's love is something I have to be reminded of all the time. Yes, I was sent out as a missionary to spread God's love and help people, but remembering that God's love and help is for me too is a lesson I learn every day. I'm way too good at convincing myself and everyone else around me that I've got everything under control. I will look you in the eye, nod my head confidently and say, "yes, of course". That really means nothing. Sooner or later I have an actual mental breakdown and when my friends and family say it's ok, I know that it's not. Because I spend all day asking God to be beside me but to keep His distance. I ask Him to walk with me and hold my hand, but if I start to trip up, don't help, because I've got this. But I don't, at all, ever. And as this goes on, I forget that God's love is for me.

"And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow - not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below - indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39

Nothing in all creation. Not an ocean. Not an impossible kindergarten class. Not even myself.

Need to Pray

I've been working on packing up all my clothing, school supplies, toiletries, books and everything else I might possibly need for this year. It's been hours. The weight balance between all of my bags is as delicate as a game of Jenga. My big bags can't be more than fifty pounds and my little bags can't be more than thirty pounds. To be honest, one hundred sixty pounds seems like way too much stuff, but when you consider that I have to bring along enough shampoo, conditioner and disposable contact lenses for eight months, the task seems daunting. At this point, I have a giant Mexican hammock crammed into a gallon Ziploc freezer bag and shoved into my backpack, along with the most random things: stuffed animals, a flashlight, charcoal, a hair clip... if I worked for TSA, I would have a heyday creating stories to explain the contents of people's suitcases.

There's only a few things spread on the floor that still need to fit into either my other backpack or my grey tote box. Most of the school supplies have already been packed up, although I still need to get wax crayons and skipping ropes and some posters with letters and numbers on them. Mom and I are doing some last minute shopping tomorrow and then visiting Grandma before I leave! I've got her birthday present and her Christmas present all pre-wrapped and waiting for her. I don't get to see her very often, so this will be a treat.

I had a small goodbye gathering yesterday and more people than I expected came. It felt so great to see the house full of people who care about me. A couple of my friends drove in from Calgary and one of my best girl friends drove four hours to see me before I leave. Two of the journals I'm taking with me were out for people to write messages in; as I'm recording my experience, there will be surprise letters from home scattered in the pages. I love receiving and sending letters, so this was my way of getting everyone to write to me at least once. I think a few of the messages are going to make me laugh. People like Audrey and Jordan gave me interesting smiles when they handed the books back to me.

I'm feeling quite physically prepared for this coming adventure, but there is one source of stress that is slowly building on me. I still don't have my work visa. We were told that we had submitted all the right paperwork and that we would have the visa via mail within a week. So we bought the plane ticket for this Tuesday and have been waiting for that envelope. It hasn't come yet and I fly out in two days. If I don't get the visa in time, then I have two options: stay in Canada and wait for the visa, or fly as far as Hawaii and wait for the visa. If I stay in Canada, I miss my flight and loose almost three thousand dollars. If I fly to Hawaii, I have to find somewhere to stay and food to eat until the visa comes and depending on how long that takes, it could cost me hundreds or even a thousand. I'm sick to my stomach thinking about this. Because the mail doesn't come in until after my flight leaves, I either get the visa on Monday or I make a costly decision.

I need to pray. You need to pray.