of teaching and team.

Originally posted on October 21, 2011 by JaEDV

Friends, I am blessed. BLESSED.

Things are incredible here.

Why, you ask? Because of TEACHING. Because of MY TEAM.

Teaching…it’s awesome. If you know me, you know I feel pretty comfortable in front of people, but get me in a classroom, in front of students, and I thrive! I communicate well to my students, and I enjoy [nearly] every minute of it! My children are growing in creativity and critical thinking and even enthusiasm, my teenagers are growing in confidence and character and fluency and grammatical accuracy, my adult students are growing conversationally and their technical language knowledge is developing, allowing them to advance in their careers! I love watching my students develop linguistically. Today, my children performed a play that they’ve been writing together for two weeks. It was far from perfect, but it was incredibly precious and reflected a lot of teamwork and cooperation—skills that we’ve had to learn together! I was an unbelievably proud teacher of these little ones today. I have a job that I love, a job that I look forward to, a job that I enjoy preparing for, a job that stretches SO far beyond the walls of my classroom. But the icing on the preverbial teaching cake? By being a teacher, I’ll never stop learning. (see pictures of my precious students below.)

[look who got an A on her spelling test!]

[i love it when my students are hard at work!]

And my team…

Conventional, normal, Run of the Mill, usual—is not my team. We’re just three, and we live far, far away from any other teams in our company. Two guys and one girl. G, S, and me. The guys live in the flat directly below me, and since we’ve been here, I’ve realized how incredibly blessed I am to serve and be served by and serve along side of them. We are the same in this: we desire more than anything to see our King glorified in this place and in each other. They’re genuine, they’re hysterical, they’re just fun to be with. They’re protective, they’re team-minded, they’re following hard after the cross. This team is the real deal, friends—they will KNOW we are disciples of the Most High by our love. Those boys are a gift to me, a gift to this city, a gift to our school. I want to more effectively serve them, to keep them constantly lifted high before the throne, serve along side of them and confidently ask our Father to work through us. They rock, and I’m pretty darn thankful that they’re in my life. (see a few team pictures below…)

[in Georgia, discussing who-knows-what.]

[basically, i laugh all the time because of these two.]

Other news: tonight, G cooked a delicious meal, and I made my first cake (and frosting) completely from scratch! Total success. But seriously, it was the first one—while cooking, my google searches included “how to make buttermilk” and “how to cream butter” and “does imitation vanilla equal real vanilla” and oh-so-many-more. Booyah! Take that, domestification!

LANGUAGE LAUGHS:

So, usually I post funny little language slip-ups from my students. This story, however, finds the tables turned. The other day, we were playing Ticket to Ride over here with some friends—one whose nickname is “Emish.” Sometimes, I like to make nicknames out of nicknames. So, one time her turn came around and she wasn’t quite paying attention, and I said,

“Memish! Your turn!”

Surprised, she turned to me and she said,

“Juli, in my language, you have just called me ‘boobs’. You should not call me ‘Memish.’”

LOTS of laughing ensued.

CULTURE LAUGHS:

This country is a country of many, many superstitions. Today, I was typing my kids’ play on my laptop, and one of my coworkers comes up and tells me that if I look at my computer screen for

too much longer, I will probably lose my eyelashes and eyebrows. He then went on to blame American male baldness on computer use. Anyway, I laughed a little on the inside while I donned a furrowed brow and promptly closed my laptop on the outside. Never a dull moment, friends. Never.

BE BLESSED this weekend, friends!

Also, shameless plug for the little baby in purple, my beautiful neice, Abby: I miss you so much it makes my heart hurt. I love you, precious girl!

loin-girding and all things un-wet.

loin-girding and all things un-wet.

Originally posted on September 20, 2011 by JaEDV

Anyone who’s ever lived in another culture for any length of time has an idea of what culture shock is. It’s a sneaky little beast, let me tell you. It finds its roots in something unpleasant but maybe not entirely bad, and then grows and festers and swells and cultivates and wha-BAM! Attacks like a creature in the night.

All of the sudden, you’re blindsided by emotion: overwhelmed and annoyed and distressed by how radically different everything about the culture surrounding you is. You get sucked into a vicious cycle of comparison between cultures. It’s not an easy thing to fix, and grows quickly unrecognized into something that, while not unconquerable, feels insurmountable. Guys, you may not understand this, but it feels like PMS. All the time. It rears its ugly little head most violently when you’re trapped in buzzing little hives of culture, like on the metro, or as passenger 987 in a bus that was built to hold 14.

I know what you’re thinking: You’ve been living in that culture for TWO years! Aren’t you used to it? Well, here’s the thing: It’s not about being “used to it.” I lived in American culture for 23 years before this—I grew to know (and love, even) orderly lines at restaurants and garbage in garbage cans and traffic laws and electricity and personal space. But anyway, that’s probably just me.

But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that it all starts somewhere. So here’s me, tracing it back to it’s roots.

Alright.

Could it be… WATER? And the fact that I have none?

In a few hours, I’ll take a warm shower. A WARM SHOWER! It will be my first one in a week. Why, you ask? Because I’m not at home. I have no water at home. When I turn on the faucet, nothing happens. I never even realized how many things need water. But WHOA. Lots.

At first, it feels like camping:

You pee in the toilet. You push the flusher, but nothing happens. So you pull on your shoes and run down to the market with dirty pee hands and buy a 5 liter bottle of water. You get back upstairs, figure out how to remove the back of the toilet (plumbing is not my main area of giftedness), dump the five liters of bottled water into the tank, and then flush. Adios to your pee. You step over to the sink to wash your hands, like you do every time you pee. You turn on the faucet, and…nothing. How could you not have set aside a tiny bit of those five liters to wash your hands with?! Desperate, you actually peek into the back of the toilet to see if the toilet sucked down ALL of that fresh water you just fed it. It did—no salvageable hand-washing water in that tank. Back down you go for another five liters. Then, back to the sink—dump a little, scrub-a-dub-dub for 20 seconds, dump a little more, and dry. You decide to use the rest to clean your dishes, which due to days of no water, have piled up a little. You didn’t realize exactly HOW much water it actually takes to rinse dishes! Back down for another 5 liters. This time, thinking ahead, you grab some baby wipes. You finish your dishes and clean the rest of your kitchen with Pampers Sensative Skin baby wipes. You dump the remaining 2 liters into your mop bucket, add some wood cleaner, and give the floors a once-over since you have guests coming to your waterless flat tonight. 15 liters of water and several hours later, you’ve got a freshly flushed toilet, a clean and lovely smelling house, and one little American, culture shocked and frustrated beyond belief. So, you do what any culture-shock-suffering American would do—you reach into your cabinet for a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese. You grab your milk and butter and make sure you have enough. Then you stick that pot under the faucet and turn it on.

CRAP.

I ate yogurt and cucumbers pouted and played Scrabble by myself.

Moral of the story:

Keep 67 liters of water in your flat at all times.

And, if it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down.

And, BUCK UP and stop being so stinkin’ American already.

And thus, the source of my current bout with culture shock.

So, I’m girding my loins, bucking up, and asking for a little extra grace. I’m taking my eyes off myself and realizing that I’m not fighting for physical comfort over here. Oh no, friends, I’m fighting for so much more. I’m fighting for

SO

MANY

LIVES.

After all, I have been blessed beyond measure. I have the water of life—I will never thirst again.

lufthansa tangling.

lufthansa tangling.

Originally posted on September 13, 2011 by JaEDV

It’s 2:30 am on my third day here. Darn jet lag. It’s AMAZING to be back in a place that I already know and already love! My team arrived yesterday, and we spent evening playing Ticket to Ride and Pandemic! with our national friends R and Z. Anyway, nothing of note has happened so far, but I wanted to share a quick story from my flight over. If nothing else, it’s good for a few laughs

My flight over the ocean was the only full flight of the three I took. While I was waiting in line to board, I noticed this young German couple kissing and touching and giggling and feeding each other a very melty caramel sundae from McDonalds. And it’s not like they were standing away privately in some dark airport corner. Quite the opposite actually—they were RIGHT in the middle of the crowd waiting to board.

I, I like every passenger waiting around me, could neither stop myself from blushing nor take my eyes off the uncomfortable and zealous and outlandishly public displays of affection coming from these people. And I, like every other passenger waiting around me, sent up a silent plea to not be seated in even remote proximity these conjoined lovers. I felt some assurance in looking at my ticket—28B…either an aisle or between two people. Perfect.

They boarded (still attached at more than one body part) in boarding group B while I exchanged that-was-awkward, I-understand-why-you’re-blushing, glad-they’re-finally-out-of-my-sight looks with the other waiting Lufthansa gawkers.

Finally, boarding group D was announced and gate C18 emptied, single-file, onto the waiting jet.

I made my way to my seat.

And guess what, folks. (Surprise!) I had unknowingly drawn the grossly uncoveted seating short stick.

The German couple was in my ROW. And no, that’s not the worst of it. Not only were they in my ROW, but buckled into 28A was the young German man, and buckled into 28C, the young German woman. And stretching across 28B was two knotted legs (one from the A occupant and the other from C—how they managed such corporeal tangles I’ll never know) and one arm (belonging to 28A, sensually caressing the face of occupant 28C). My seat was buried beneath pure, unbridled desire.

My eyes darted frantically around the economy cabin, searching for another open seat—ANY other open seat. I realized I was the envy of not a single person on that packed jet, save perhaps the man three rows back, in seat 3 of a five-wide row, who had directly behind him a 4-year-old whose leg control was non-existent and whose mother was sound asleep with earplugs and an eye mask. But even his eyes looked at me apologetically.

I leaned down and said ‘excuse me’, first in English, then in Russian, then with my index finger on C’s shoulder. ‘Hi… I’m in 28B,’ I said, trying desperately to hide the pink in my cheeks from the awkwardness of my interrupting their intertwining limb loving. 28A removed his caressing hand and looked up at me—‘would you mind taking the aisle? We’re together.’

Umm, really? I would have never guessed.

Of course, I agreed, my heart dancing with elation.

So, German girl unbuckled and scooched over to 28B and swung both of her legs up onto German boy’s lap. And they stayed like that, still tangling and caressing and who even knows what else, until:

‘Excuse me, Ma’am. Personal belongings on the floor and under the seat in front of you. This includes your feet.’

Bless you, flight attendant. Hero. Love inhibitor.

Hallelujahs sent up from MeIn28C for the halfhearted detangling finally happening beside me. Instantly, the temperature in my row dropped like 74 degrees.

And off we went to the ends of the earth.

dear abby, love aunt jillann.

Abby girl, God was showing off when he made you. That much is clear. You aren’t ordinary, little one. Not at all.

Baby Girl, your auntie has been a lot of places and done a lot of things and loved on a lot of precious children, but I can truly, truly say that I have never in my life seen something more beautiful than you. Never. You are the most incredible thing I have ever seen. It says in the Bible, in Job, that the beauty we see in this world is just the very outer fringes of God’s work. To look at you and know that the unbelievable beauty I see in you is but the outer fringes of the beauty of our God? WOW.

The day you were born, I saw my big brother, with an enormous smile on his face and a camera around his neck and tears in his eyes, become your daddy. I saw your daddy realize the impossible love he has for you.I saw your daddy realize the love that your grandparents have for him—I think that’s a love a person can only realize by having someone as precious as you. You have deepened my understanding of love, sweet girl—never before had I realized the depths to which a person could love—the depths to which I could love. You have deepened me.

News of your impending arrival, seven weeks early, drove me to my knees, and I tearfully asked your Maker to keep his hands gently around you and bring you safely into the world. I asked Him to keep your tiny body cradled protectively in his hands, I asked him to quickly fill your lungs with air, I asked him to keep your mommy safe and healthy, I asked him for the miracle that I witnessed firsthand when I got my first glimpse of your feisty little personality, just 3 hours after you were born. Baby, Jesus is your protector.

Abby, I hope you learn from an early age the love that your Maker and Creator has for you, his precious child. You’ll get a tiny glimpse of the love that your heavenly father has for you through experiencing the love that your daddy on earth has for you! The love of a father is a powerful thing, Baby—unmatchable, unconditional, the purest of pure. There’s absolutely nothing like it in the world. For the rest of my life, sweet girl, it will be my constant and earnest prayer that you will soon know and then quickly grow in and follow hard after the love of the one who gave his life for you. It’s amazing for me, your auntie, to realize that the overflowing love I have for you doesn’t compare to the love your daddy has for you, and his love doesn’t even begin to compare to the love your Father and Creator has for you! What a tremendous responsibility and huge honor it is for us—your family—to point you and direct you and lead you and walk with you toward Christ, the creator of your tiny body and the savior of the world.

Welcome to the family, little one! May the miracle of your birth be merely the beginning—just the very outer fringes—of an extraordinary testimony of his faithfulness to you!

I love you, Abigail, with a love that’s so much more than these words express.

I love you infinity.