Getting into Gear

  
   After a wonderful trip to Budapest, I feel like my summer has officially ended and my season of preparation for South Sudan has officially begun.  I am no longer editing my support letter-- I am sending it out to people.  I am no longer meeting with my church's mission team-- I am actually going out and talking to people.  I am making presentations about what is going on in South Sudan, what I will be doing, and how the church can be involved.  It feels good to be taking steps towards this goal.  I am trying my hardest not to view support raising from a secular perspective.  That would be easy to do, given my past experiences with fundraising.  It is easy to view every relationship and potential conversation as a convenient way to accomplish my goals.  "And why shouldn't I?" I ask myself.  This is something that I am extremely passionate about; teaching in South Sudan is a dream come true for me, and I would like for everyone I know to be a part of the realization of that dream.

But when does it become too much of a focus?  
I know preparing for Mundri should be a focus, and it does require work on my part.  However, with my obsessive tendencies, it can become the only thing on mind.  I don't want to start praying that a hoard of teachers will come down with the flu, but I am in serious need of some part time substitute teaching work.  I need to get into a daily routine of work, so my work with World Harvest Mission involves more daily action, instead of daily obsessions and waiting around.

On the up side, I listened to a lecture from Rose Marie Miller this morning.  Her husband founded WHM, and the two have spent their lives traveling all over the world and housing people in need.  She gave her testimony, spanning decades of her life, and she mentioned how quickly she can forget gospel truths that she had once held so dear.  That was encouraging to hear; I thought I was the only forgetful person who does not take to heart what she hears.  It is good to know that I'm not the only person who needs to be taught the same lessons and reread the same passages over and over again.    

Buda... and Pest!

     In a couple days I will embark on a mini vaycay to Budapest to visit the boyfriend.  We chose to meet in this city almost haphazardly, typing in random cities on expedia and seeing which airfare ended up being the cheapest.  Of course, a trip to Europe is anything but cheap; however, we weren't going to drain our bank accounts by meeting in London or Spain, just because they are more familiar.  Besides, we strive to get away from familiarity when visiting another country.  Budapest will certainly be a new cultural experience for me.  Hungary, Budapest in particular, is a bit of a mutt, taking from Roman, Ottoman, Austrian, Romanian, and Russian culture.  The Hungarian language is a complicated mix of Turkish, Mongolian, and Siberian languages.  To me, it sounds a lot like Turkish.  At the beginning of the twentieth century, Budapest was the center of Bohemia.  Hungarian literature thrived and the new Parliament building was the largest in the world.  It was the first European city to have underground rail systems.  Progress slowed during the middle of the century, due to war and Communist rule.  However, in recent years, Pest has been making a comeback, as more and more art museums and theatres are popping up.  Many abandoned buildings in the predominantly Jewish District VII have been converted into trendy "ruin pubs."  I am excited to see Szimpla Kert, one of the first ruin pubs in Budapest.  I have attached a couple of pictures of the things I am most excited about seeing in the towns of Buda and Pest. 

  

An Education

  
     It is an odd feeling to be sitting in a coffee shop typing at my leisure, while the first day of the school year is currently happening.  I woke up around 6:30, just to use the bathroom, and realized if I had been teaching I would be anxiously waiting in my classroom at that moment.  All of my decorating and lesson planning and encouraging self-talk would be thrown out the window, as it comes down to how I choose to love and interact with my students.  It all comes down to what my expectations are for my students and if I am willing to put up a fight for that standard.  It is a difficult fight-- one that teachers must battle with parents, systems, culture, their students, and even themselves.  To teach, you have to have thick skin-- not necessarily to manage poorly behaved students (which is still my biggest concern) but to keep persisting for your students to achieve and learn the most that you think they are capable of, against all odds.  It is a matter of how much fight you have in you.  Unfortunately, many of us chose this career path unaware of the aggressive undertone in education.  We chose teaching for the subject matter, for the learning, for the romanticized notion of attentive (and only sometimes naughty) children sitting on wooden benches in the town school house who would leave at the bell and go home to have taught facts and mores reiterated by their parents.  Clearly, this isn't the case.
     It is easy to become discouraged by all of the striving and the sense that education is still backsliding.  However, I still have hope that as long as human beings have that curious nature in them, there will be learning and there will be progression.  God has given us minds that need to be stimulated.  This jumped out at me when I was watching The Miracle Worker.  When Helen suddenly makes the connection that the particular movement of her fingers is a symbol for a specific thing, she goes wild.  She runs around touching everything she can get her hands on, eager to know the "name" for everything.  This movie is so good.  It is quite the tear-jerker, and I recommend it to pretty much everyone, from young kids, to adults.
    I'm not going to expect such dramatic results when I teach over in South Sudan.  God will work through me however He pleases to.  However, I am looking forward to doing my part in continuing this fight for learning amidst a broken world.
Scene from The Miracle Worker