random budapest bits

1. My friend Aaron came to visit. We are proud graduates of Calvin College.



















2. I saw my first Hummer in Budapest a few days ago. I kicked its tire in anger.




3. And for a bit of contrast, the next day I saw a Trabant...















...with a huge spoiler. Beautiful!

fundamentalism

I had a scary moment a few days ago. On Monday nights I go to a Hungarian conversation group run by my church here in Budapest. It’s good language practice and good fun. I met a new member of the group this week, and after chatting a bit I realized I had set off this fellow American ex-pat’s fundamentalist warning bells. This was strange because I usually find myself on the liberal end of the spectrum of American Christianity, and I tend to interact with people who are more fundamentalist than me. I even try to eschew the term evangelical, though I know it probably describes me pretty accurately. For the first time in a while (about six months) I was meeting someone who was at the same place I am on this “spectrum,” if not farther left, and I was coming off as a dreaded “fundi.”

It got me thinking. Since we make these judgments so quickly, categorizing other Christians in a flash, they must be based on the language we use to talk about faith. Looking back over the short interaction I had with this person I realized I had used some evangelical buzzwords. Initially I was embarrassed for using them, but then I got upset that a certain group of Christians has commandeered some otherwise useful vocabulary. Take, for example, the words “born again.” I remember first hearing them in Sunday School when we heard the story of Jesus and Nicodemus. It was this kind of strange (but useful) analogy that Jesus makes between becoming a Christian and actually starting life again. I assumed that “born again” was synonymous with “Christian.” Later in life I learned that some use the phrase to describe only a certain type of Christian, not all of them. Language can, of course, be a bond that ties groups together or a barrier that keeps outsiders away (usually both), but does it determine my identity in the context of believers? Simply because I know these words does that mean I really am an evangelical? Or do I know these words because I’m an evangelical in denial?

in which I eat crow

I have a confession to make: last Sunday afternoon I went to the movies and I enjoyed myself. No, I’m not guilt-ridden because I went to the cinema, or even because I went on a Sunday (though I have no doubt my grandfather would not have been impressed). The problem is that I enjoyed the particular movie I saw: Pride and Prejudice. That’s right. I, an avowed Jane Austen hater, enjoyed the latest film version of one of her novels. Someone check the sky for flying swine.

Before we get too carried away, let me explain. I grew up with older sisters who read and loved all the typical older sister books: the Anne of Green Gables series, the Brontes, the random trashy romance, and, of course, Jane Austen (Zane Gray being the notable exception). Being a typical younger brother, I ridiculed them for reading such “girly” books at every opportunity. The summer before I entered eighth grade I was going after one of them (I think Jen) for reading Austen when she very reasonably asked me if I had ever read any. I was crestfallen because she was right. That day I dug up a copy of Pride and Prejudice and started. I was determined to finish it, and though it took me three years, I did. My general pattern was to read steadily for about two weeks, get so angry I would throw the book across my bedroom, go back to reading Horatio Hornblower for a few months, then return to Austen in my dogged determination to get the moral high ground on my sisters. I finally finished the stupid thing, and guess what showed up on the syllabus for my 12^th grade world lit class – that’s right. I’ve since raised my repertoire of Austen novels to two because I had to read Persuasion in college.

I don’t want to alienate the entire female gender, so let me elaborate on my frustration. I respect Austen, I just don’t like reading her novels. The whole cultural satire thing – brilliant. She investigates societal gender roles and their implications generations before those sorts of discussions became commonplace. Furthermore, she’s a good writer. Her dialogue is snappy and witty (or at least as snappy as Victorian English people can get), and she finds the right balance between exhaustive over-description and stark narrative. But here’s the problem: her characters drive me up the wall. I wanted to get all of them together in one room and make them talk to each other like normal, functional human beings. Why doesn’t Jane Bennet simply tell Mr. Bingly that she wants to marry him and have lots and lots of babies, and why doesn’t Mr. Bingly bother to simply ask Jane if she’s interested before running away to London? Is this too much to ask? (And I understand that in Victorian England it probably was too much.) For me, reading Austen is an exercise in controlling frustration and about as relaxing and enjoyable as a long distance run – after a short while I just don’t see the point.

And so back to Sunday, when SJ and I were going to meet to see The Constant Gardener. It wasn’t showing until late, so (God only knows why) I thought it might be ok to see Pride and Prejudice. I had heard good things and was interested in seeing if Keira Knightly is really an actress or just another pretty face, but ultimately my motivation was probably the same I had in reading the book years ago. However, the movie was great. However, the movie was great. Many of the same old frustrations surfaced, but in the relatively short time frame of a movie they’re more bearable. The supporting characters were extremely well acted, especially Donald Sutherland’s Mr. Bennet, Claudie Blakley’s Charlotte, Judi Dench’s Lady Catherine, Talulah Riley’s Mary, and Jena Malone’s deliciously horrible Lydia. If my memory serves, a great deal of the dialogue was taken directly from the book, and if not it was a good approximation.

Despite that, the film would have never worked for me if not for the way the two key figures, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, were portrayed. I’ve spent hours of my life arguing that they are two of the most overrated characters in all of literature, but for the first time, while watching this film, I sympathized with them. It all seemed somehow more believable. Knightly can indeed act, and her Elizabeth was introspective and thoughtful where the Elizabeth I remember was haughty and downright foolish (it helped that in the movie she didn’t fall nearly as hard for the pathetically transparent Mr. Wickham). Lest you think I’ve had a complete turn around I can assure you I’m not going to pick up the novel any time soon. However, I’ll conclude by saying the film was an enjoyable way to spend the afternoon, which is more than I ever thought I would be able to say about an Austen story.

visitors

I had houseguests this week. I like being hospitable, and this was a fun opportunity for me to do so. Three Americans who teach with my organization in the Czech Republic, Sarah, Kassidee, and Christy, spent most of the week staying with me at the Bazis. Then, my old Third Schultze college buddy, Aaron Griffith, was in town for the week too. I got to play the tour guide when I wasn't at school, and I think my extensive knowledge of Budapest cafes and coffeeshops may have been my most important skill. Between all of those stops and several quality home-cooked meals (including one by Sam), it was a good week for food (not so much for staying fit).

When I was growing up my family had a revolving door approach to hospitality. Whether for meals, some conversation, or just to use our wash machine, it seemed that as soon as somebody left somebody else would be arriving. It helped that we lived in a college town, and college students are some of the best guests you can find. I think all the practice I got while I was growing up prepared me to deal with some of the typical worries. For example, I've learned that your attitude about the cleanliness of your home is far more important than how clean it actually is.

The spiritual connection is twofold. We are called to be hospitable to other Christians, and that means more than just occasionally inviting them over for coffee and windmill cookies. That means making space for them in our Christian communities (and especially worship), ideologically, spiritually, and physically. If we are not considering the unique needs of others when we organize or lead a Christian event, we're not doing our job. The church is made of all types: singles and families, the widowed and divorced, the injured and disabled, the academic and simple, and everyone in between. Secondly, making space for God is a form of hospitality. When we take the time to practice spiritual disciplines like silent meditation and centering prayer, contemplative scripture reading, or others we open up ourselves to what God might be doing. So invite people over sometime - it's good for you.

what happened to January?

disclaimer: Christmas Card Blog post

I had one of those moments today when you just stare at the calendar because you can’t believe the date is actually right. We’re into February’s double digit days already! (By the way, I blame this on the glorious picture of Rose Cottage in Hemingford Grey, England that is my calendar photo for Jan/Feb – it always distracts me.) It got me thinking about what I’ve been doing for the last month, and it’s actually quite a lot. Let me fill you in on a few details.

I’ve traveled out of the country twice in the last month – first to the previously mentioned Hemingford Grey. I spent an amazing summer there in 2004 working as an intern at St. James, the parish church, and living with a fantastically kind and hospitable couple from the church. This January the Calvin College Orchestra (including several good friends of mine) toured England, and I made the trip to see them perform at St. James. It was doubly sweet since I was able to catch up with English friends as well as those from the ensemble. I came away excited, encouraged, loved, and just a little bit homesick.

The second trip was a ski weekend in Slovakia with about 20 American friends (and one Czech). While it was a blast to hang out with such a large a boisterous group, I’m woefully out of shape and I got pretty tired as the weekend went on. I couldn’t keep up with the most enthusiastic skiers, but I had a terrific time anyway. The scenery in the Low Tatras range was especially breathtaking.

I also took an overnight trip to Pecs and Villany, the heart of Hungary’s southern wine region. Five other teachers and I spoiled ourselves with an evening of good food and wine tasting and a night at the winery’s guest rooms. It was a small, family-owned winery, so the hospitality was incredible. It reminded me of my first visits to Hungary and the generosity of the families we stayed with in small towns like Szamosszeg, Sarospatak, Nagydobrony, Magyarlona, Szentivany, and Nagyenyed.

Despite all these wonderful travel opportunities I’ve done my best to keep up with my teaching responsibilities (and done a decent job of it when I haven’t been sick!). I started The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe with one of my classes, and it’s been a treat to dig into a good story with them. I’m constantly impressed with how much they pick up and the good discussions the reading has prompted. My favorite was a passionate thirty minutes spent trying to figure out why the wardrobe worked sometimes and not others. On Monday we’ll discuss the Pevensie children’s fateful meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver and the first mention of Aslan – I can’t wait!

presticogitation

I know that many of you faithful readers are products of the same educational community that I am, thus the gushing I’m about to do will be familiar and perhaps even boring. For the rest of you, I want to introduce you to a professor who, in just one class, dramatically changed my life plans. A Chicago Tribune article written by the heart of the ‘01-‘02 Campus Choir bass section, Nathan Bierma, prompted this post.

I stumbled into Professor James Vanden Bosch’s linguistics class in the fall of my junior year of college. I was an English and religion double major, and I needed some sort of “language” class to fulfill the English requirements (I think my options were linguistics, grammar, grammar for teachers of ESL, history of the English language, or sociolinguistics). I had heard Vanden Bosch was pretty good, and none of those courses sounded any better or worse than the others to me (except grammar gave me a few shivers of trepidation).

Before I knew it I had been swept off my feet by the fascinating world of language. It was an intro course, so we touched on all sorts of interesting topics such as how language should be defined, how we acquire language, how different groups of people use language differently (whether defined by region, gender, social class, or even race), how to best systemize language with grammar, and most important for this discussion, language’s dynamic and vibrant nature. As I go back over that list I realize that it may sound a bit dry, or even boring. I can only assure you that it wasn’t, and I left class every day with important and relevant questions bouncing around in my head – questions directly related to big issues like poverty, sexism, human development, education, relativism, and faith.

One of the most fascinating parts of the course was our extended discussion on how words become words, perhaps because it’s such a passion of Vanden Bosch’s. The idea that a word like “blog,” to use a pertinent example, can spring from oblivion into general usage in a matter of a few years is really stunning when you think about it. Of course specialized technical words frequently spring to life, but new words develop all the time and old ones change meanings just as fast. Vanden Bosch’s own contribution to this process is “presticogitation,” a word eloquently described in Nathan’s article. I’ve come to love this word because there is no other one that succinctly describes dizzying and befuddling intellect quite like it, and because it accurately portrays Vanden Bosch’s own rapier-like wit. If I used the word at Calvin and someone asked me what it meant I usually responded by asking if they knew Vanden Bosch, because he is its simplest definition.

Needless to say, the class hooked me and I went on to take Grammar for ESL Teachers, Phonetics, Sociolinguistics and Issues in Language Education, and History of the English Language. This turned into what can only be described as an obsession fed by my regular investigations of Inflections, Language Log, Word of the Day, Bethany's pet language project, Kent's once-lively linguistic investigation, and my own college's language links page. People ask me why I like this stuff so much, and I usually talk about the ubiquity of language. Its endless changes and permutations can teach us something about ourselves and the way we see the world. A famous linguistic theory (the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis) claims that all languages are unique and that the language we speak determines, to some extent, the way we view and think about the world. It’s not hard to then add that without understanding our language we can’t begin to understand ourselves.

So, as thanks for sending me down this fascinating path, I’m taking a page out Nathan’s book and telling as many people as I can about Professor Vanden Bosch’s word (though I don’t think I have quite as many readers as the Chicago Tribune). Presticogitation, “rapid mental processing that commands compliance because of its speed and beauty” according to Vanden Bosch himself (as quoted by Bierma), has no synonym. Spread the word, and help make it a part of vernacular English as it so richly deserves to be.

bad cookies

Yesterday I had the English Club over to my place to cook a truly American dish: chocolate chip cookies. I had high hopes for wonderful, moist, chewy cookies, a la John Cooper. Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out that way. First of all, our kitchen is so small that we had to do the cooking in shifts. Only four students could help at a time, and rotating them in and out meant nobody really got to do as much cooking as they wanted. Then, in a mishap that may or may not be my fault, twice as much brown sugar as was needed got added to the dough. It looked a little strange when we finished, but I decided to try it anyway. Big mistake. Our product was a sticky mass of cookie-like goo. Not to be defeated, we added a bunch of flour and tried again. This time we got something that could technically be called a cookie, but they were too sweet and super crunchy. Despite the mishap I had a wonderful time hanging out with the students who came. We played Scrabble while we waited for the cookies (me against 5 of them), and I showed them around my humble abode (the most exciting thing was my FC Barcelona soccer scarf which either disgusted or impressed them, depending on their allegiances). It was a little hard on my pride to turn out lousy cookies, but a little humility is almost always a good thing. I've been doing a lot of reading lately, so expect future posts on truth in memoir (thank you James Frey), and cross-cultural worship (Symposium time is here again). That's just a teaser to make sure you keep coming back to my blog! For now though, read what Lauren Winner has to say about Epiphany, or what the BBC has to say about my Dad!

my desk

I thought you might like a picture of where I spend a good deal of my time, and where I sit when I write many of these posts. Mine is the one on the left. Also, I changed up the sidebar links a little.

at the trip-c

When I started this blog thirteen months ago I told myself that I would only post when I had something to say that might matter to other people. My personal source of expertise on blogs is Bethany, who has developed her own classification system. My aforementioned goal is part of a desire for this to be a Commentary Blog ("similar to an editorial column or essay series"), but I often cross into Christmas Card Blog territory ("primarily [used] as a way to keep up with friends they might not correspond with personally very often"). Today, for example, I don't have a great deal to say, but I feel inclined to post something anyway. I'm not reading anything terribly blog-worthy at the moment (The Testament, by John Grisham, and I read The DaVinci Code on Wednesday), teaching has been very busy lately (a rash of illnesses among my co-workers has meant I've had to cover a lot of extra classes) but not too unusual or thought-provoking, and I haven't had much time to simply sit and think about things (often the source of blog posts).

For some reason, though, as I sit here in a Budapest coffee shop, I want to let the world know I'm alive and well by posting on my blog. I think that desire - wanting to say something, even if it's nothing - means I've slid into Christmas Card Blog world. Maybe I can surf the line a bit, but I think my prideful wish to be literary, intelligent, and somehow above mere Christmas Card Blogs has caught up with me. Frankly, it reminds me of the "Vanity, Thy Name is Human" episode from season one of Joan of Arcadia. Joan's friend/romantic interest Adam is the alternative artsy type who refuses to go for conventional high school activities like going to the mall or wearing the latest styles, but Joan calls him out for being just as conscious of his alternative image as everyone else is of their mainstream one. Lately I've been feeling a lot like Adam, and I could use a little Joan to keep me honest and humble. I hope that made sense to those of you who haven't seen the episode (which I would guess to be 92% or 11 out of 12), but it's ok if it didn't because this is just a Christmas Card Blog now!

why I waited until today to take my Christmas picture off my blog

Pop quiz: Yesterday was the 12th day of Christmas. That makes today _______.

If you said Epiphany, you’ve won… nothing. (The last time I offered a prize on this blog I unexpectedly had to actually deliver on my promise. I’m not making that mistake again, Neal.) Those of you who’ve hung around me in recent years know how much I’ve come to treasure the liturgical calendar. It’s the chronological depiction of God’s grace, annually taking us step-by-step through the dramatic story of God’s interaction with his world. Epiphany is one of the lost Christian holidays (a group which I fear will soon include all Christian holidays besides Christmas and Easter, and we can have a healthy discussion about how those two are celebrated). Indulge me for a moment, and allow me to give you three reasons why you should celebrate Epiphany this year (and every year).

First: the events of Epiphany are really cool. I know Christmas is pretty fun with the cute barnyard animals, the angel choir, and the miracle of the virgin birth, but when you get right down to it all that stuff’s pretty dirty and gross (I wouldn’t want anybody I know to give birth in a nasty manure-filled sheep cave). The “absurdity” of this incarnation (see Kent’s post) is put in harsh perspective by visits from the greatest minds of foreign countries and Simeon’s bold declaration of faith at Jesus’ circumcision. Imagine a refugee baby born in a disgusting stable visited by great heads of state, or intellectual giants – now that’s absurd! (For more on this look into the Berlioz oratorio “L’Enfance du Christ,” a great Christmas counterpoint to Handel’s “Messiah.”)

Second: Epiphany means “to show” or “to reveal,” as in this Jesus child being revealed for what he is, the Messiah, the King of Kings, the very Son of God. If Christmas is about the wonder of Christ becoming human, Epiphany is about the wonder of Christ becoming human. On this day the world-shaking reality of Jesus’ divinity is revealed to us, and it’s our privilege to reveal that divinity to others. Light is a big theme for Epiphany, and as carriers of Christ’s light we get to reveal it to the entire world. (For more take a good look at Isaiah 60 and 61, great Epiphany chapters.)

And third: Simeon, one of the most underrated Biblical characters. This old man’s been told by God that he’ll see the Messiah in his life. Of course, for a Jew of his day that means he’ll see a new David to usher in a time of peace, prosperity, and prominence for Israel. It’s back to the good ol’ days! Don’t you think he would want to hang around to see how this thing turns out? Don’t you think he would want to keep tabs on this Jesus kid? But these are Simeon’s words after seeing the baby Jesus in the temple:

“Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you now dismiss your servant in peace.
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel." (Luke 2:29-32 NIV)

Simply seeing the Christ child was enough. The revelation – the Epiphany – of this child’s true identity and nature was what gave Simeon shalom. This Epiphany join in his prayer (if you can sing it, all the better), and recognize this savior graciously revealed to us.

ugh

Disclaimer: This will likely be another whiny and maybe even gross blog post. Sorry.

You ever have one of those days that can best be described by that strange in between a groan and a grunt noise? I woke up this morning still feeling like somebody had a belt cinched around my chest, and groggy from the overdose of cold meds I took last night so I could get to sleep. I took a long shower that involved Tarzan-like beating of my chest in an effort to dislodge the phlegm coating my alveoli (brought back great memories of post-heart-surgery physical therapy - if only I had those rubber suction cup beating things they gave me). I take the time to have some eggs for breakfast (it was that or lentils - the only foods I have in the house) and still get to school plenty early enough to make the copies I need for today's classes. I grab my books and head down to the teacher's room and find the copier's broken. No copies = new lesson plans. Then I do my morning internet check (e-mail, blogs, news.bbc.co.uk, and of course ESPN.com) and find that Texas has just scored a touchdown to go up 41-38 on USC with something absurd like 19 seconds to play. Then I have to wait approximately 15 minutes before they refreshed their site with news that Texas did in fact hold on to win (I was so close to calling you to find out, Dad). You can imagine my state as I walked into class this morning. Of course, nothing can cheer you up like hearing a happy bouncy 14 year-old respond to your good morning with "You sound like frog death." Priceless.

incarnation realities

I have smart friends. Kent and Bethany, the two other original members of our little blogging cabal, made profound Christmas observations on their blogs. I advise you to take a look.

As for me, my first Christmas away from my family was equal parts bitter and sweet. Fellow ESI-er Danielle did a wonderful job of making it feel like Christmas by opening her home to a random collection of folks with no place to go. Our potluck Christmas dinner was wonderful, and we had a great time. The toughest moment came when I woke up at 6:30 Christmas morning to call my family in Seattle (where it was 9:30 PM Christmas Eve). For as long as I can remember our family has gathered around our Christmas tree after church on Christmas Eve and all shared a Christmas reading of some kind - poem, scripture, short story, song lyrics, devotional, or anything, really. I think my family would agree that I'm particularly enamored with this tradition (I put it down to being the English major of the family) so I was really happy to be able to use Danielle's internet phone to take part in this tradition intercontinentally. My reading this year was excerpts from a sermon by Fleming Rutledge on the massacre of the infants, commenting on the importance of that detail within the Christmas narrative. She observed that without a recognition of pain, evil, and suffering in the narrative itself it has no more importance than the Rudolf story, or Frosty the Snowman. I was once again reminded how easy it is to insulate ourselves from the pain of the world, and that as long as one of my brothers or sisters is in pain, I am too. My New Years resolution (as it was last year, and the year before): be an agent of God's shalom in this world of pain.

holiday greeting

Here's some Christmas cheer from the wonderful 9A1 class!

scatterbrained

I can't seem to pull together coherent ideas, so here's a list of what's bouncing around in my noggin:

• Today was the last day of school for me, and I'm remarkably happy about it. Spending the break here in Budapest should be very relaxing, if a bit lonely. My students, sweethearts that they are, even offered to put together an ice skating party over the break so I would have something to do. I'm looking forward to sleeping, writing, reading, cooking, and playing guitar.
• Budapest is one beautiful city, especially with all the Christmas lights and decorations! I don't know how anybody can work around downtown and not feel at least a little bit festive!
• Last night my school had it's annual talent show, Kossuth Est. I enjoyed the parts of it I could understand and faked my way through the parts I couldn't (just clap when everybody else claps...). It's good to know that most high school bands are the same worldwide: loud and bad.
• The highlight of Kossuth Est gets it's own bullet point! The first act was not a current Kossuth student, but one who graduated last year and went on to fame and fortune by placing second in the Hungarian equivalent of American Idol. He even has a record contract! It was quite a big deal that he came back (my left ear is still a bit deaf from the girl who sat behind me and her screaming!), and he has a very good voice - high and velvety, like Otis Redding.
• It's amazing how one chord on my guitar immediately silenced the class that I can NEVER get to shut up. They actually participated today in our Christmas carol sing-along without (much) extraneous talking. Talk about your Christmas miracles...
• I love good jazz bari sax! I also love listening to the Duke Ellington version of the Nutcracker Suite at this time of year, especially Dance of the Sugar Rum Cherry. Coincidence? I think not.
• As advent is the season of waiting, both for our celebration of Christ's first coming and for his second, themes of social justice have been prominent in my mind lately. Budapest is a city with lots of people begging for handouts, and I never know what to do. I've started trying to give a little to those who ask, not necessarily for them, but as a spiritual discipline for myself. I don't, though, know if I should do this because so many people have told me it doesn't really help anyone. It's not hurting me - I marvel at how much God has provided me with - but I'm still unsure about what is just.
• Finally, thanks to Sam, I'm craving grits of all things! I know, it's crazy for a yankee like me to want them, but I can't help it.

That's what's in my head this evening, ladies and gentlemen.

a gift

My students gave me a Christmas present today. In the middle of class they suddenly stood, sang a rousing (but sadly monotone) rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, and presented me with a small package wrapped in newspaper. I took this picture in my flat with my "gift" this afternoon.

One of my students commented, "We don't think you look bad. We just think you need to shave your beard." Thanks.

Side notes: Anybody want to take a guess at which mountain is just over my right shoulder? Kent? And speaking of Kent, it seems the Thorubos group blog may be primed for a re-birth of sorts. Stay tuned for further updates.

vent

[disclaimer: I'm about to vent in an annoyingly whiny sort of way. Sorry.]

I gave a major oral test to 36 of my students today, a test so major they get excused from their normal classes. The poor kids take turns entering a room to sit at a table and face their four English teachers (yes, they all have four hours of English class every day!). The test is the responsibility of their two native-English-speaking teachers, so we ask the questions and give the grades. I think I was as nervous as the kids were, but we were well-prepared and it was a fair test. We followed our rubric and the grades were about what I expected.

So, the problem? I'm told that some teachers are unhappy with the grades we gave. Let me assure you this was a fair test and the grades will not be changed, but this sort of passive gossip makes me particularly angry. I would love to talk to the other teachers about their concerns, after all I'm trying to learn how to be a teacher as quickly as I can - any suggestions/constructive criticism is always appreciated. Furthermore, at the conclusion of the test we asked the other teachers how they thought it went. We got the same response I get every day when I ask my students how they are: fine. (Mom: I'm sorry I used to answer that exact same word every day when I got home from school. Please forgive me!)

I feel like I'm stuck in some Jane Austen alternate reality where people don't communicate. I want a little open conflict. I want some discussion about this. Instead, it will probably just fade away and slowly fester until the next flare up. And to clarify, I don't think this sort of gossip is a particularly Hungarian problem. We all do it, of course, but that just makes it all the more annoying. I hate it when I see my own weaknesses demonstrated in other people - I don't even have enough moral high ground for some righteous indignation! I guess I'll just have to forgive them and try to prevent some of that festering.

risky busyness

I've been both looking forward to and dreading this week for some time. It's been (and will continue to be) filled with all sorts of fun activities, but I'm getting low on sleep. Let me fill you in on some of the details. Monday night I returned to my church's weekly coffee house event which is mainly run for refugees. It's wonderful to spend time with people from Nigeria, Iran, Ethiopia, and other very different cultures. It's funny that I can be living in what is a foreign country to me and still miss international culture. I'm exposed to my American values and the general Hungarian culture, but rarely do I interact with any other cultural groups. For that reason coffee house is a breath of fresh air. Tuesday I was fortunate to have my regional director here, all the way from LA. She observed one of my classes (I felt much better about it this time!), and we got to have lunch and hang out for most of the afternoon. Our visit to parliament to see St. Istvan's crown was a success, and it was a treat to have some good discussions with her about my teaching and the rest of my life. Last night I went out to celebrate my teammate's birthday and had one of the fanciest evenings I've ever had in my life. We dined in style. Went out for cocktails. I even wore my tie. For a brief moment I felt like part of a culture I've never known, but then it past. It's amazing how much money makes a difference in your approach to life. Tonight I'm off to see Madame Butterfly in the cheap seats at the Opera House. And then tomorrow I jump on the train right after school to go to Prague and some friends' school ball. And somewhere in this whole process I have to find time to grade the quizzes I gave this week (yes, I stupidly gave every single one of my students a quiz in the same week - what a fool!).

When I have weeks like this I wonder a little bit. As most of you know, I'm here to do a job. I have a strong sense of calling and commitment to this work, and that keeps me going. However, weeks like this I wonder if I'm allowed to have this much fun! Going to fancy restaurants, taking in the opera, and gallivanting around Eastern Europe is not why I came to Budapest, so the good ol' Calvinist work ethic/guilt complex fires up. I think I'm doing my best to live up to my calling, but the clouds of my own disapproval gather when I live "the good life." I think about other places I could have sent the money I paid for a nice bottle of wine last night. I think about the activities with my students I could organize this weekend instead of dashing off to Prague. Then a still, small voice in the back of my head pops up and says (in a voice that sounds surprisingly like Laura Smit), "Rest, and enjoy the beauty of creation." This, of course, is solid Calvinist doctrine. To quote the CRC contemporary testimony, Our World Belongs to God, "Rest and leisure are gifts of God to relax us and to set us free to discover and to explore. Believing that he provides for us we can rest more trustingly and entertain ourselves more simply." Maybe I could work on the simplicity part of that, but the idea that leisure sets me free from my own expectations of myself is wonderful. It reminds me that the work I do is not mine to do. I am God's instrument - his tool - and as such I'm not the one who has the final say in the success or failure of the work. What a relief! I think the only thing I can do in response is to go enjoy the opera.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Somewhere somebody once said you never appreciate things until they're gone. At least I think somebody said that, and if not I'm saying it. I'm feeling pretty mixed emotions about tomorrow, to be frank. It's my first Thanksgiving away from America, and I miss so many of the traditional holiday trappings (ask my family - they'll confirm I'm a tradition nut). I'm very glad I'll get to celebrate with my TeachOverseas colleagues tomorrow (I'm even skipping school!), but when I roll out of bed tomorrow morning I'll miss smelling Mom cooking the sausage for stuffing (and to you doubters, yes, my mom's stuffing has sausage in it, and it's the best stuffing in the world... so there). I have great memories of our "international-flavored" Thanksgivings back in State College, playing in the Thanksgiving Day football game with Uncle Dan in Holland, and the wonderful hospitality of the DeVries family in Grand Rapids (they even made me brussel sprouts!). There's so much to be thankful for, but I think it's good for me to step back from the tradition a bit. I've learned so much about my own culture in my short time here, and seeing things through the eyes of my students and my Hungarian colleagues helps me to understand myself. So tomorrow will be a different sort of celebration for me. Amidst the incredible blessedness I feel, I think I'll wonder about some of those things I've always been thankful for. Is my life really so much better because of the affluence, the things, and the luxuries I have? But don't worry - I won't let it get me too down. There's a lot of turkey and pumpkin pie to be eaten! Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

snow

In an effort to be more positive I will now list the five best things about snow in Budapest:

5) It covers up the trash left in the field I walk across on my way to school.
4) It is yet another reason to be thankful for the terrific public transit here - I never have to drive in it.
3) I'm not sure but I think mulled wine tastes better when it's snowing.
2) Ice skating in City Park by Heroes' Square is even more fun when Vajdahunyad Castle is dusted with snow.
And the number one reason: 1) It makes it feel like Grand Rapids!

Actually, that was a joke. The real number one reason is that a trip to the outdoor thermal baths in the snow is incredible. And here's something a friend sent me today that I loved. It's by Stanley Hauerwas (I think). "The beauty of a green leaf turning red, the brightness of a stranger's face, the joy of a cat at play, the sheer wonder coming from the generosity of friends--for all this and so much more we give you thanks, we praise you, gifting God. Help us remember, however, that you have made us, through Jesus Christ, your thanksgiving sacrifice for a world that refuses to acknowledge its giftedness. Let us rush again and again to your feast of the new age, where you provide the space and time for us to enjoy being your joy."

a few photos

Some favorite fall break photos...

"Mad" King Ludwig's Castle in Bavaria (and the model for Disneyland):

The Austrian Alps:

A favorite Munich activity: