The End

First, some songs (to which you are by no means obligated to listen)...

Andrew Peterson - Carry the Fire

Audrey Assad - Show Me

Gungor - This Is Not The End

...then, some pictures...

...and now, final words:

Thank you.

For reading, for caring, and for telling me that you do. Lord knows there were days when my spirit was resurrected through a simple e-mail. Your prayers and words of encouragement have sustained me throughout this year. Praise be to God, who brought you all on this journey with me!

Just so you know, here are the logistics of my travel and transition back to the States. Tomorrow, I’ll be in Amman with my fellow MCC volunteer Kristy. We’ll probably just sit around, look at pictures, and cry together. Then, at 11:00 PM, we’ll head to the airport, and in the middle of the night, we’ll fly to Frankfurt. After a lovely German breakfast of sausage and beer, we’ll fly to Philly, where we’ll spend the next four or five days recuperating alongside the other 50 or so MCC one-year volunteers. 

Then I’ll fly back to home base in Texas, which is where I’ll stay (excepting a couple of short road trips) for the following five weeks or so. In the beginning of September, I’ll head out to Princeton Seminary and begin pursuing a Master of Divinity degree.

During this time of transition, it would be my privilege to continue sharing, however I can, about my experiences this year. And of course, I want to get caught up on your lives as well. So, don’t hesitate to reach out. 

I also want to mention that my family will be hosting a welcome home party. We’ll talk together, eat dessert, and watch the adorable “Deaf News Jordan” video that the school made this year (assuming I can get my hands on a projector and some plug-in thingies). My mom is sending out invitations, but perhaps some people who’ve been following the blog and who would enjoy being a part of the conversation won’t be on her list, so feel free to contact me, and I’ll fill you in on the details.

 That's all for the logistics.

...But how to end?

To Us Little Prophets

None have seen

what you've seen,

or heard what you've heard,

or felt what you've felt.

Every life's journey is utterly unique.

None have experienced God like you have.

So take a deep breath and open wide.

We will illuminate

angels and demons

within the demons and angels they've made.

Problems will become persons,

strangers will become saints,

they will become us,

and we will become them.

But take care:

these weapons build up and tear down

what the strongest of armies never will.

Always listen first

and last.

But take risks:

in the end, we cannot lose.

Go

tell it

on the nearest mound.

Keep going.

Perhaps we won't change the world,

but we can change

ours. 

 

Left Unsaid

Carrying thirty other boys up the stairs a hundred times

Five more Hazem nightmares — one of which Jesus miraculously ended through the mere touch of a 72-year-old woman

Becoming friends with a man I randomly met in the bakery down the street

That time I tasted tear gas (for reasons totally unrelated to political protests)

Hosting a week-long sleep-over with a Deaf student and a deafblind student

My typical morning routine of NesCafe and Jordan’s national anthem

Reflections that followed forgetting my country’s presidential election day

Attending the bachelor party of a Deaf co-worker

What life is like for the one hearing student at our school

A miracle that preceded the death of a 4-year-old boy with cancer in Salt

The taxi ride during which I experienced my one successful argument in Arabic

Unfortunate moments when the behavior of certain Deaf boys caused me to compromise my peace ethic 

What it’s like to hear the inimitably beautiful sound of a Deaf child’s laugh, free from all 

self-consciousness and inhibition

That night I had to hitchhike back to the school

The shockingly good fried chicken restaurant down the hill

GENDER IN THE ARAB WORLD!!!!

Personal opinions about the Islamic faith

Gratefulness for my home away from home (...away from home) with my dear friend Isaac Rank and his family

The things that I’m ashamed of doing and the things that I’m proud not to have done

Feeble yet earnest attempts to describe the Trinity and the Incarnation in Sign language

An informal inter-faith dialogue that would have been discouraging if it weren’t for the hugs afterwards

My periodic indignation at what I have perceived to be the bastardization of the Gospel in this community

The conflicting feelings of hope and hopelessness that defined my relationship with my dearest Hazem

----------

Each of these deserves at least a few paragraphs, and the list could go on and on. It seems that no matter how much I write on this blog, I simply cannot comprehensively share this year’s experiences with you. And it seems that no matter how descriptive and illuminating my words are, you simply cannot understand those experiences to an extent that fully satisfies me. And this leaves me feeling alone. 

But of course, this is not unique to me and my year in Jordan. 

Sobering words of wisdom from Henri Nouwen... 

“We speak about our ideas and feelings as if everyone were interested in them, but how often do we really feel understood?” (The Way of the Heart). 

“All human beings are alone. No other person will completely feel like we do, think like we do, act like we do” (Bread for the Journey). 

“It is this most basic human loneliness that threatens us and is so hard to face” (Reaching Out). 

“We ignore what we already know with a deep-seated, intuitive knowledge — that no love or friendship, no intimate embrace or tender kiss, no community, commune or collective, no man or woman, will ever be able to satisfy our desire to be released from our lonely condition” (The Wounded Healer). 

“In every embrace, there is loneliness. In every friendship, distance. And in all forms of light, there is knowledge of surrounding darkness” (Out of Solitude). 

In her hauntingly beautiful speech entitled “Solitude of Self,” addressed to the U.S. Senate Committee on Women’s Suffrage in 1892, Elizabeth Cady Stanton stated, “In that solemn solitude of self, that links us with the immeasurable and the eternal, each soul lives alone forever. ... Our inner being, which we call our self, no eye, nor touch of man, nor angel has ever pierced. ... Only omniscience is permitted to enter.”

Even so.

At the end of the day, as I look back on the last eleven months, I’m just grateful that I was able to share all that I’ve shared, in spite of the inevitable shortcomings. 

And all of us can strive to be grateful for any and every moment and shade of intimacy in our lives. 

One more post planned. Grace and peace, friends. 

Discipleship

Funny how we can give so much and still be withholding. 

Funny how we pick and choose which of the least of these we’ll love as Jesus did. 

----------

A few years ago, I accompanied a high school youth group on a mission trip to the Dominican Republic. For several days during our trip, we hosted Vacation Bible School in a rural village. Each day, we walked down a long dirt road that led into the village, and each day, we were escorted by dozens of skipping, screaming children. The commotion caused by our entrance made it much easier to ignore her.  

Sitting in a small wooden chair on the edge of the road. Rocking back and forth as she hugged a teddy bear that looked like a dog's chew toy. Her face was slightly disfigured. Her permanently crossed eyes followed us as we walked past. She made no sound. She expressed no emotion. 

As our group walked down that road on our first day, I happened to make eye contact with her. Immediately, I looked away. Irrational fear. 

For the next few days, I conveniently looked in other directions every time we entered and exited the village. 

It wasn't until we were walking to Vacation Bible School on our last day that it hit me: God is grieved by my disregard of his daughter. 

As we passed her seat, I looked at her and waved. 

She did not respond.

But on our way back at the end of the day, while we were still some twenty yards off, she began waving frantically, beaming from ear to ear, making unintelligible noises whose meanings were perfectly clear. 

She was far more happy than any of the kids at Vacation Bible School. 

----------

I hadn’t heard of Usher’s Syndrome before coming to the HLID. You’re born deaf, and over the course of your life, you gradually become blind as well. Teenagers only miss out on the peripheral. 30-year-olds are pretty close to being blind.

Amjad is a former HLID student who helps out in the office and lives at the school. He has Usher’s Syndrome, and he is 31 years old.

You would think that his situation would arouse compassion in me. And it did, at first. But over the course of the year, my good intentions were slowly drained by his general intrusiveness and cluelessness. And then there’s his voice. No use in attempting to describe the noises that accompany every single sign he makes. You’ll just have to ask for an impression when you see me in person.

The other volunteers and I are very privileged to have our own living space, which includes a kitchenette. If I ever want to get away for an hour or so, I can skip out on the cafeteria meal and cook something in our flat. For a while, I went through a phase of wanting to be alone and eat Italian on Sunday afternoons. One particular Sunday afternoon, as I was waiting for the cheese on my pasta to melt before taking the small pan off of the gas stove, I looked through the window and saw Amjad, maybe ten yards away, walking towards the front door of our flat.

He has a knack for these things. It seems that every time the other volunteers and I bake something together, Amjad walks in and ends up eating more than his fair share, meanwhile smacking like his life depended on it and asking, “Did you hear about _______? [insert topic that everyone stopped talking about last week]”

I hesitated for a second. In reality, the amount of food in my pan would have been adequate for two people. But all I could see was a very large, well-earned meal for myself.

I took the pan off the stove, hurried to my bedroom, and shut the door. 

Funny how I’ll go half-way across the world to love the least of these and then refuse to give one of them a few bites of my pasta.

----------

“‘I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they will answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?’ Then he will answer them, saying, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did not do to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’”

Each and every day, Jesus the Christ presents himself to us in the poor, the foreigner, the ill, the incarcerated. 

...Good thing he didn’t say anything about people who make involuntary noises as aggravating as hell.

----------

It would have been nice if our call to follow Jesus included a precise description of what exactly God was going to require of each of us: the big things, the little things, the little things that for some reason will seem quite big in the moment. It would have been nice to know what we were getting ourselves into. 

But all we got is this vague, rather unappealing invitation: "Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me." 

No details. Nothing concrete. Just an allusion to a tortuous death. 

----------

I recall the words of scholar and martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who reflects on the ministry of the prophet Jeremiah (and perhaps intuits his own imminent death): 

“He is a prisoner and he must follow. His path is prescribed. It is the path of the man whom God will not let go, who will never be rid of God.” 

----------

Occasionally, I have wondered why some crosses seem lighter than others.

But then I remind myself that this is God's business, not ours. I have a cross, you have a cross, and the truth is that neither of us knows why yours is yours and mine is mine. 

----------

There are times 

when I wonder 

if I’m just playing a game, 

performing the role that I was given 

and that I’ve convinced myself I chose. 

There are times 

when I wonder if, 

despite what I say and pray, 

all I really want is to be seen and heard 

above the rest.

But at the end of the day, 

I don’t want to be wondering. 

I want to be moving. Forward. 

I want to follow. Something. 

Sisters and brothers, 

we must trust 

as much of God 

and God’s commitment to us 

as we now can. 

Bear William

My name here is not William. Or Willy or Will or Wills or Woobers.

Hold up your ring finger, middle finger, and pointer finger, as if you were counting to three (or, in this case, making a W). Tap your pointer finger on your temple a few times.

This is what I am called here. This too is my name.

Hazem knows it.

After working with him for a month or two, I could tell that his mind had made a connection between my face and my name sign. Another month or two later, and I could tell that his mind had made a connection between my face, my name sign, and memories of our time together.

His smile upon feeling my face when we met told me so.

Every time we met, all year long, Hazem first felt my face and then performed my name sign (perhaps with a little help). And every time we parted, all year long, I signed William finished and then prompted him to do the same.

A few days ago, I signed William finished for the last time.

The night before, I went to the store and bought a stuffed animal: a bright green frog, about a foot and a half long, with very soft skin (fur?) and disproportionately large limbs, which are perfect for swinging and dangling. (This is the sort of thing you think about when you work with a deafblind child.)

I gave it to him halfway through our last day together. Since he refers to all stuffed animals with the sign for bear, I took his hands in mine and signed Bear William, then prompted him to do the same.

The bear-frog remained with us for another hour or so, during which I repeatedly told him the new stuffed animal’s name, hoping that it would stick. …Ultimately, hoping that I would stick.  

Honestly, though, it probably didn’t work.

I fear that my last-minute Bear William effort won’t keep those happy memories alive for very long. I fear that they’ll either slip away or, even worse, engender only sad confusion. 

But it was an effort. I did my best to say “good-bye” well. And that’s all I can do.

...And that’s been my year. 

Through sorrow and joy, through anger and peace, through exhaustion and thrill, through loneliness and togetherness. As I enter a phase of reflection, I can confidently say that, through it all, I did my best.

Or close to it.

And praise be to God, grace makes up the rest. 

The Fourth of July

Many Americans who have lived in the Developing World return to their home country with a host of complaints. 

I, on the other hand, was quite comfortable complaining about my home country long before I ever left it.

But today, I will not complain.

Today, it is fitting to practice gratefulness.



I am grateful to live in a country where the population can take for granted the peaceful transition of political offices;

where anyone of any faith can legally share that faith with anyone else;

where women are relatively liberated and empowered;

where questioning authority is actually encouraged and blind obedience is rarely considered virtuous;

where people with disabilities are not so widely seen as a curse and a shame;

where loved ones can be happily close, but also happily distant;

where young men and young women are unproblematically close friends;

where conversations about sexuality don't have to be whispered;

where communities of theological study abound and are thriving;

where certain tasty foods are not considered unclean;

where jogging is a socially acceptable leisure activity;

where littering is generally frowned upon;

where a closed door is not an invitation;

and, most importantly,

where the grocery store down the street has good ice cream!