A Stick, a Scooter, and Bronwen

           

I walked to the door with a façade of confidence. In my heart I was fearful of what lay in the room I was about to enter, but I had blindly committed. The community leaders of Lamberts Bai had heard about my work with special needs children, and asked if I would assist the special education class at the local primary. I of course agreed, but had no idea what to expect. As I proceeded through the threshold and saw my future students, I knew my life would be changed forever.

            For years Ms. Johnson had been running the class by herself. Though she looked aged in her face, her eyes showed youth. My first impression of both her and the class was a portrait of her washing our students. Most of the kids were poorly taken care of, thus Ms. Johnson was forced to bathe them with a wet towel, brush their teeth, and fix their hair in the mornings. As I walked into my new classroom, she looked up with a smile, and greeted me with hope. I knew instantly I liked her, and as the children swarmed around me, I knew I loved them.

            In all my dealings with special needs children here in the States, I have found loving families supporting and growing them. It was different here. School wasn’t used as a way to better my new students; rather it was a way for their families to be free of them briefly. None of them were diagnosed leaving me to figure out what special condition each had. The class was oversized for only having one teacher, and the tools at our disposal were marginal in comparison to what I was used to. I was overwhelmed from the beginning. I feared that I was not educated sufficiently, and that the task lay before me was impossible.

            Still I forged ahead. Of course, I could merely help Ms. Johnson with the day to day activities, but I wanted to do more. I wanted to grow my students, her, and myself. In many ways I will qualify I wasn’t prepared, but as time elapsed something beautiful was illuminated. It became apparent that I had been training for this situation for years. My work with special needs gymnastics, horseback riding lessons, and other classes melted together to create real change. Ms. Johnson and I created a new daily curriculum. Some of my students had different muscular and mechanical issues. We worked out rehab time to help build muscles and mobility. When dealing with anger issues and responsibility, I created stress ball companions. Each student decorated a face on their stress ball, had to keep their friend on the corner of their desk unless upset, and had to tote it to and fro school. We played games that enhanced their vocabulary, this too benefited my Afrikaans, and over the weeks I saw great improvement.

            Still my heart was broken. My children were happy at school, but life outside was difficult. In other outreaches I participated in, I saw even the smartest, toughest, “normal” kids struggle in this neighborhood. This made some of my students very aggressive with one another due to having to fight and be tough. The toughest thing for the youth in the neighborhood was what destroyed me though, especially in regards to my kids. A select few of my students were abused at home, and they dealt with great emotional issues. This abuse could have come in many forms. Sexual abuse was rampant though, and that’s what terrified me. I will never forget one child in particular who dealt with this, and inadvertently he changed my life.

            Bronwen was a tall, lanky, quiet boy. I never had any sort of trouble with Bronwen. The only time we would find ourselves at an impasse, would be because of another classmate. If I gave Bronwen a task, a toy, or a book he would be completely content. Other children would provoke him though; steal his toys, poke at him, or destroy his block creations. Bronwen would get upset, but unlike the other children he wouldn’t start a fight. He may cry, scream, or duck in a corner, but that was the extent of it. I loved Bronwen, and as I spent day after day at his side I began to connect dots. Bronwen would arrive every morning with a suppressed rage and hurt. He would arrive at school and melt into his desk face down, elbows tucked, and sometimes tears streaming. Some days there would be bruises. Some days there would only be a broken heart. I would proceed to his desk and begin to offer words of encouragement. Although we spoke two separate languages, it always seemed like we could understand one another. After a few minutes, minutes that always felt like hours, he would turn and hug me. He would hold onto me, burry his face in my chest, and rock. Eventually he would release me, and we could begin our day. It wasn’t hard for me to figure out he was abused in some kind of capacity. After our morning sessions though, he would be better, but it wasn’t until recess that all would be completely fine.

            There was a playground at the primary, but our students only played in the courtyard. This was to protect them from the other kids. I would wheel out a box of toys and watch my students play with balls, jump ropes, and puzzles in the most unconventional of ways. However, there was one toy that only Bronwen played with. A piece of plywood was cut into a square, equipped with wheels, and married with a stick capped with a rubber ball. Bronwen would sit knees up on his scooter, start at one end of the courtyard, and then proceed to row to the other side. Back and forth he would go, and I would begin to see a change in him. With each push I could see him letting go.

            I think Bronwen had extreme autism. He seemed to comprehend more than the other children, and yet to many, I’m sure he just appeared ignorant. As I watched him I knew he was having a deep conversation with himself. His morning started horribly at home, and I’m sure he was aware it would be just as bad when he got home, but he focused on the present. For a brief time he knew he was safe. He could sit and let go of the morning, ignore the fears of the future, and be completely wrapped up in each fleeting second. As I said, he would do better after our morning hug, but it wasn’t until his time of reflection that all would be well. As I watched him each day, I realized that he was teaching me more than I could dream of teaching him.

            I consider myself a thinker. I philosophize about the past, worry about the future, and fear about the cause and effects of life. To this day I hold onto grudges and injustices I’ve seen or been dealt. I hold hatred in my heart, and loves long past. I struggle to be utterly present. Washing away yesterday and ignoring the fears of tomorrow is a desperately hard, daily task. Bronwen on the other hand had much more on his plate, but I watched him let it go every afternoon. Now whenever I get stressed, worried, or feel pains from yesterday I think of him. I think of a little boy that endured more than I can imagine, and I pray to be more like him. I struggle still, and probably always will. It is most definitely one of my greatest flaws. However, in retrospect, I think about some of the events over the course of my return home. I don’t think I would have gotten through it, or began to get over it, without meeting that little boy.

            The other day I thought about my kids. I got inexpressibly upset. Part of me would begin to cry, and then it would be countered by a laugh forced by a fond memory. I worried about their safety, health, and happiness. Did I do enough to help them be better? Are they still growing? Do they remember me like I remember them? I was being torn apart, until my fondest memory of all came into mind: A stick, a scooter, and Bronwen. As if he was saying it to me himself, I felt words of advice engulf me.

            “Live in the present. Forget yesterday. Don’t think about tomorrow. You just might miss the beauty of riding on a scooter in the sea breeze of the South African coast.”            

That's Not Part of My Job Description

           Roughly a year and a half ago, I walked into a restroom in Allen. In this restroom a young man was standing at the sink with soap and paper towels in his hand. I was confused, but proceeded to accomplish my mission, and then walked to the sink he appeared to be guarding. As if in a mad dash, he jumped in front of me, turned the water on, and tried to pour soap in my hands. I told him quickly, sternly, and with the best intentions that I could handle it. I hit the soap dispenser on the wall, and washed my hands. When I was done, again he jumped in front of me, turned off the water, and adamantly pushed a paper towel at me. I laughed and refused, then turned and grabbed a towel from the wall hanger. I asked him where he was from; I noticed he had a strange accent. He responded he was from the Cote D’Ivore, and smiled at me. I told him I appreciated what he was trying to do, but I wasn’t going to make him do what I was more than capable of doing.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized how badly I insulted him. I’ve worked many years in retail, gymnastics, at a horse barn, and now coming up on a year in waiting tables. I’ve done a little bit of everything, and one thing never seems to change. Ignorant people always ask me to do things beyond what I considered my job description. When I was cleaning up a mess I didn’t make, finding random things, giving information, basically catering to needs I thought customers could handle themselves, I would become infuriated. Didn’t they know I had enough other work to do? Didn’t they know they could do it themselves? Am I really so beneath you that you’re going to make me do this?

When I went to Africa, this mindset immediately ceased. We have constantly been complaining about the unemployment rate in the states. Right now we’re sitting on a little over 7%. Let me take a step back and say that’s still not good enough. I have family, friends, and strangers I’ve met out of work and deserving of a job. When I went to South Africa and Mozambique however, unemployment took on a whole different meaning. South Africa’s unemployment rate is almost 25%. Mozambique’s unemployment rate is sitting around 17%. That 17% is actually substantially higher though. Most people in the country don’t record their unemployment. What I’m aiming to imply is that it’s significantly higher than here at home. The result was me seeing a very different work ethic across the ocean. People who worked as grounds keepers, gas pumpers, door openers all worked harder at these simple tasks than most of us would dare to. I was shocked, and would get very upset, to see people ask these workers to do things that I would consider out of their job description. Then I noticed something: these workers were not angry like I would be. They did these tasks faithfully, with smiles, with joy even. They made tasks I would consider beneath me look like they were running a fortune 500 company. Why is simple. They were just thankful for a job.

When I wouldn’t ask for these workers to do things for me, things I didn’t think they should have to do, it was interpreted completely different than we would take it. To them it was an insult. The fact that I would try and do something for myself was inadvertently saying that they were BENEATH me. They took it as if I thought them unworthy of their job, hence the insult to my African friend at the restroom earlier that year. I had to set aside an American guilt, and ask to be catered to. For a long time I struggled with this, and then I realized that we have it all wrong, not them. These people were so excited to have a job, but more than that, it brought them worth. The result was that they were all faithful servants.

I think we get so wrapped up in the American dream that we forget the importance of little tasks. We have been made to believe that in anything we are worth more. Our arrogance of what we think we’re worth, is always keeping us from having a joyous heart in menial jobs. To a college kid like me, I know my degree is coming soon. With this degree I will be able to work a job I like more, make more money, and have the ability to advance. With this foresight in mind, waiting tables feels insulting to my intelligence. I’m almost ready to move into a better position; therefore what I’m doing right now is just to help me scrape by. I belittle my occupation because I believe I deserve better. For some who start a new corporate job at the bottom of the ladder, they sometimes think they deserve more than starting at the ground floor. Someone who has lost a good job might have to work retail again. This often hurts their pride, and maybe their ego to some extent. I think the reason behind this is that we have been taught from a young age that we could be anything. If you want to be a CEO, Astronaut, President, Lawyer, Doctor you can if you work hard enough. In fact I remember a common saying in high school was: work hard so you don’t have to flip burgers. I get disgusted at this now. I think our mindset needs to be geared in a different direction. Work hard to work hard. Work hard to advance is of course a good incentive, we should strive to better ourselves, but we should work hard too because it’s biblical, it’s humble, and we should do all things to their fullest. I consider myself no greater than the burger flipper by word, and yet I would be ashamed of myself to work their job? Not to mention, I love eating the burgers they flip.

Last night I served a table of many children and rambunctious adults. By the time they left, they had spilt a drink and didn’t tell me, their children tore up their menus into thousands of pieces, and somehow their food missed their plates and fell all over the table. The sweet couple stationed next to them kept apologizing to me for their rudeness. They were shocked that these people would leave me such a mess. It made me feel good to have someone show sympathy for me. Then I thought about Africa and the man working in the bathroom. I looked at them as I cleaned, smiled, and said “It’s okay, it’s part of my job description.”              

  

                       

New Year Resolution

            As a new year approaches, like many people I have been searching for a resolution to incorporate into my life. Also like many people, I struggle in finding a resolution that I find attainable, rational, and realistic. While there are many things in my life that I could do better at, fix, and integrate into my day to day experiences, one I have chosen to implement is writing in a blog again. For multiple reasons it’s a tedious experience. It really takes some endurance to make myself sit down, write, edit, post, and repeat week after week. Also, sharing my thoughts can be a little frightening. In the back of my mind, when I do something like this, I immediately upon hitting “post” worry about how others will take what I just published. Even more so, I worry is anyone interested in the first place? These thoughts lead into our first post…

            I can count on one hand the amount of people I know who have set out on a New Year resolution, and followed through. This leads me to the question of why so many failures? I can only derive answers from my own personal shortcomings, and they follow as such.

I think the first issue is that we immediately synonymize New Year with an immediate rebirth. This reminds me of my childhood video gaming. No matter what game I played, one thing was for certain. When failing drastically on a certain level, having no health in my health bar, and wasting a thousand helpful items, I was never concerned. Of course I was always really mad, but never concerned. This was because I knew I would get a restart, that I would start the level a second time the same way I had started it the first time. Call me crazy, but I don’t think January 1^st is a reset button. It is a good threshold to make an effort to make changes, but the truth is you aren’t starting the New Year the same way you started the last. Life has happened, pain has happened, addiction, love, family, work things have definitely occurred over the course of the last year. I know for me I like to leave out the variables and call for clean slate, but when I’m honest with myself, I know it doesn’t work that way. New Year doesn’t mean the bad things just went away. Plan accordingly. You can accomplish anything, but don’t expect to do it cold turkey and easily, because you didn’t get a “reset.”

Short comings and failures… I remember after every sporting event I ever played, I could count on one thing. My father, unless out of town, would pick me up in his red Tahoe. This was never just because I needed a ride; I of course had a mother more than capable of completing such a minor task. The reason was simple, there was always need for a dissection of my performance. Many nights I would hop in the truck on fire. I scored this many touchdowns, I ran this time on my hundred-yard-dash, or I scored x-amount of baskets. On nights like this, my dad fuelled my fire and praised me, but like anyone, not all of my games were perfect. Some nights I would hop into that same truck, there would be an awkward pause, and I would get a “Well Josh. Not your best game.” From there he would first point out what I did right, and then proceed with a list of tweaks for the next game. Some nights it would be hard to swallow, but it was necessary for future successes. Just like being an athlete some days you’re going to knock your resolution out of the park, and other days you’ll fail. Take the good with the bad, and dissect it. If A and B aren’t adding up, make a tweak for tomorrow. These tweaks are all for the greater good of accomplishing your goal. Don’t forget to fuel your fire though either. When you did a good job, let yourself know you did a good job. Positive reinforcement is important too. Even if I scored three touchdowns, I might have fumbled the ball in the same game. There’s no such thing as perfection, and always room for improvement.

Speaking of my Tahoe rides, accountability is crucial. Without any form of accountability, reaching our goals is beyond difficult. As humans we have perfected the art of reasoning ourselves to failure. I know given enough time to analyze doing something I don’t want to, I can talk myself out of it EASILY. When debating whether I’m going to complete a difficult task, I can always make myself get out of it by “rationalizing.” Sometimes I tell myself its ok not to follow through because I have so much to do, I’m not feeling well, I’m tired, etc. This is where it’s crucial to have an accountability partner. Sometimes we need a loving hand to spur us forward. Sometimes we need a cattle prod. Find someone who knows you and can push you accordingly. It’s also important for you to, again, have someone to dissect your progress. You’re going through a hard enough experience as is. You’ll need to have a loving hand some days, and others a swift kick.

If not most important is the spiritual aspect. Philippians 4:13 states that “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” Sounds awesome right? It totally is, but sinful nature prevents us from putting trust in / investing in this verse. For me it’s not that I don’t believe this, rather it’s that I want to ignore it. While I know with God’s assistance I can accomplish anything, my sinful desire is to not complete what I lie about wanting to complete. This prevents me from leaning on Him who gives me strength wholly. In order to apply God in our resolution, we have to first accept humility and reflect on a hard fact. A lot of the reason we’re struggling at fulfilling our resolution, is that in our hearts we don’t really want to accomplish it. We don’t want to work out more, eat right, set our phones down, or spend more time with family. As brothers and sisters in Christ, we have to own up to the truth behind why it’s so mentally, physically, and spiritually taxing: we love our vices! I know this year, with grand plans to do so much to better myself, I will have to TRULY lean on God. Not just say it, but do it. Obviously easier said than done, but again Philippians 4:13.     

So here’s to 2014! Best of luck to you all, and hopefully you found this remotely helpful. #yolo2014