Cultural Differences: Episode 2

I was out for a walk this afternoon to clear my head (I’ve been working on a final exam this week) and I noticed that traffic had backed up on the main road going into a roundabout, creating a long line of cars. Nothing unusual, except for one thing: there was a girl on a moped waiting in the traffic line, and I thought to myself, “Huh, that’s odd. Why doesn’t she just zip right past them?” Which led my train of thought to once again consider the cultural differences between Swedes, Spaniards and Americans:

The Swede’s attitude toward mopeds in traffic: Of course I should wait in line just like every other vehicle on the road. To do otherwise would be dangerous - and it would violate traffic laws.

The Spaniard’s attitude toward mopeds in traffic: I own the road, hombre! To wait in line just like every other vehicle on the road would be inconceivable, and who cares about traffic laws?

The American’s attitude toward mopeds in traffic: What kind of loser drives a moped? Gimme a friggin’ Escalade! 

The new (unplanned) diet

Much of Tuesday night and Wednesday morning of this week was spent in the ER trying to figure out the cause for the tremendous abdominal pain I’d been experiencing since Monday night. After much poking and prodding and waiting, I was told that I have an inflammation in my large intestine, a condition that is highly uncommon for a woman my age (I’m much too young). It’s even more perplexing since the most common cause (according to google) is a diet low in fiber and high in stress, something that does not describe my situation at all. In short, I am stumped.

But I am relieved to know that I’m not dying and that I don’t need to be operated on (because there was talk at first of it being early stages of appendicitis). The doctor told me go on a liquid diet for seven days, eat fiber packets for at least four weeks and then come in for a colonoscopy in six to eight weeks. Easy (albeit slightly uncomfortable) plan.

So. Yesterday afternoon found me browsing the grocery aisles for soup, juice and yogurt. Shouldn’t have been hard, right? But the trick was to find these items sans chunks. As in no soups with vegetable and/or other chunks. No juices with pulp. No yogurts with bits of fruit. Still findable, but the choices became really limited. And boring.

Now I’m on day two of this unplanned liquid fast, and I am hungry. I’m feeling much better, but now instead of being distracted by pain, I’m distracted by my grumbling tummy. I feel like I’ve lost the joy of living. If I can’t look forward to the next good meal, WHAT ELSE is there to look forward to in this life???? (Obviously I’m being dramatic.) But it’s making me realize how much I take the joy of eating for granted.

Eating is not something we do just to survive. Eating is something we do together, in relationship, because it’s FUN. Sure, for us single people who live alone, eating is often done in silence and solitude. But those times we do get to share a meal with a group of people, there is so much more involved than just eating. It’s fellowship, it’s community, it’s a celebration. When you are not allowed to partake in this ritual for whatever reason, it’s kind of depressing. Colors turn to gray scale. All you want to do is heave a sigh and mutter “Bah! Humbug!” (at least I do). 

Unexpectedly, I feel that I am developing a greater empathy for those who suffer from food allergies or other conditions that prohibit them from experiencing the full enjoyable spectrum of food. I know several people with such allergies and I’ve not dedicated the issue more thought beyond the occasional “sucks to be them.” My diet will only last a week. Theirs may last a lifetime.

So, on behalf of all my previous insensitivity, I apologize and I empathize with you. I never thought of how isolated it could make you feel. Kudos to you for putting up with people like me.

A contemplation on death, but mostly life

Jenna, the daughter of some dear family friends just died a few hours ago after battling stomach cancer for some time. She was 23.

I’m sitting here crying but I don’t know for exactly what reason. It’s tragic that a young woman with such a promising future should have it taken from her for no apparent reason. And I can only imagine what her family is going through at this moment. The loss, the grief, the questions. I would be a mess if it were my brother or one of my parents. A complete mess. But that’s not why I’m crying.

I suppose it’s natural when something like this hits close to home to spend more time than usual thinking about death, eternity, and the true reason for life on Earth. Hollywood has freely speculated on the concept of death and life after it, my favorite one being the film “Meet Joe Black.” I don’t consider its take on the concept to be realistic, but it comes close to asking the important questions.

So what are the important questions? I don’t have a definitive answer, but I have decided on what the two most important questions for me are: 1) Where does life begin and end? and 2) Is God really good all the time?

If you are unfamiliar with authentic Christianity, it may be hard to wrap your brain around what I’m about to say. But hear me out.

I don’t spend enough time thinking about Heaven. I know I’m going there when I die, I know it’s fantastic, and I know I’ll spend way more time there than I ever will here (on Earth). Still, I don’t think about it a ton. Why? I have no respectable answer to that question. Clearly I’m too focused on natural rather than spiritual reality.

I do however spend quite a bit of time thinking about my own death. It’s disconcerting for me to not know how or when I’m going to die. My dramatic mind thinks up a number of horrific ways I could go. I don’t want to die one of these violent deaths, but at the same time I can’t truly visualize myself dying a peaceful death at a ripe old age. I don’t know if it’s a legitimate premonition or just my own morbidness, but I’ve always thought I’d never make it past 50. You’d think that with this prospect I’d be one of those carpe diem people. But life is something I take for granted. All the time.

Please don’t feel depressed. I’m getting to the good stuff.

Life, eternal life, starts the moment you give your life to Jesus. And it never stops. It just keeps going. Death is merely a door. And Jesus has always been the point.

Also, God is good. All the time. I struggle with the fact that I don’t see powerful miracles happening. The Bible is full of documented healings and demonstrations of power, and since I absolutely believe that God is the same today, we should reasonably still be seeing the same class of miracles. (Note: There are miracles happening today, just not nearly as many in the Western world, the reason for which is a whole other issue and not one I will expound upon here).

But my point is that I, and Christian believers in general, often think about God in a completely erred light. To take the example of the miracle of resurrection, what if it wasn’t a matter of Jesus deciding to not allow this miracle to happen, no matter how much we prayed for it to? What if He gave the person standing at Heaven’s door the choice between returning to Earth with a restored physical body and staying in Heaven with Him? After tasting the splendor and majesty of Heaven, who wouldn’t choose the latter?

So really, when Jesus is the ultimate destination, you can’t not win. There were two options for Jenna: either the Lord would do a miracle and restore her completely from her sickness, or He would take her to be with Him for eternity. Either way, she’d win.

And I think that is why I’m crying. Because in the midst of the sadness, I am overwhelmed by and in awe of the goodness of Jesus. None of the events make sense in light of natural thinking.  None of them. But when I gaze upon who Jesus is and think about the true nature and purpose of life, the life that HE gave us, it’s impossible not to feel joy.

Today, Jenna won.

Woes of a grad student, part 2: When your inadequacy glares you in the face.

I’m generally a secure, self-confident person, not unusually prone to performance anxiety or people pleasing. But sometimes things happen that serve as uncomfortable reminders that it is so easy for me to base my self worth on how others gauge my abilities. I’m generally good at the things I do, and the things I’m not good at, I avoid. I don’t like looking like a fool and I take negative feedback personally. I do not have thick skin. And this bothers me. How can I expect to survive in the world of international politics when I don’t have thick skin?

                         

I’m in a Master’s program that combines the realms of political science, economics and global studies. I am absolutely in the right place at the right time; this is what I’ve been wanting to do since I had an epiphany in 2006. However, unlike my classmates, I don’t have any formal background in any of these areas. Which puts me in the slow lane as far as I’m concerned. I’m not a fan of being in the slow lane, but I’ve kept my head high about it.

Until I got my first failing grade on a paper. Granted, I knew full well that this particular essay was not my best work. In contrast to the first paper (which I aced, by the way), I wasn’t feeling inspired, I wasn’t finding an angle to attack it from, so I just wrote a mediocre essay, handed it in and hoped for the best.

Well, my prof was not having it. She gave me a “no pass,” told me my analysis was severely lacking, and now I have to rewrite it. Which is a good thing, really. I’m grateful for the second chance. I’m just feeling slightly discouraged and inadequate.

But actually, here’s what’s really going on: This particular professor is exposing my weaknesses, and I resent her for it. That’s not fair to her, because there are things I need to learn. This is why I went back to school - to learn what I do not already know. Unfortunately for me, this involves a great deal of pride swallowing. In this season of my life, I need to allow the limits of what my mind is capable of to be tested, and it is very uncomfortable to feel those limits in the flesh. 

Incidentally, this same morning I listened to a convicting podcast sermon about humility. I even had a nice little time with the Lord about it, asking Him to uproot any prideful attitude, to strip away my self-reliance, to help me embrace humility, etc etc. What perfect timing, as I was certainly made to embrace humility. But I can yield because I am loved by God. There is nothing I can do on my own and in my own strength that is going to impress anyone. I know the plans He has for me are epic. I know that I will someday hold a position of influence on an international scale. I’ve sensed this for years, but I do not for the life of me know how or what or when. I have nothing that qualifies me for such a destiny. Only the fact that God chose to plant a dream in my heart and bestow favor. 

So I am going to reject the temptation to grumble and I am going to rewrite this blasted paper, and it is going to be analytically brilliant.