The room was about 6x8 with two couches and a desk. I sat, sandwiched between my american roommate and the other woman from this country. At the other couch sat a friend, a man that we had along to do the negotiating, next to my other roommate who is a foreigner from a country that has a lot of refugees in the neighborhood. In addition to “my team” of people were 4 men. One sat behind the desk and the others sat in chairs in the half opened doorway. Everyone was yelling out of order and over eachother. As I tried my ear in following the conversation, I quickly gave up due to the slightly different dialect from the one I had been learning and because 90% of the time, the men were just saying things into the open air so they knew that they had said something.
All of a sudden, as quickly as this conversation had began, everyone stood up, signed a paper and walked out. I sat, exhausted from the week of searching and talking and negotiating in a language I don’t really know. My national roommate softly tapped me and invited me outside. We walked outside and just waited. Finally I had to ask just what had happened.
“Oh yes! We got the house, don’t worry. Everything is in order. Don’t be so sad,” my friend said as he relayed a lot of the conversation to me.
I realized in that conversation that one of the hardest parts in living here is feeling like I am in the dark with my hands tied. I love taking initiative and getting things done. Like a good American, I pride myself in being highly independent. Moving into a communal culture where women aren’t regarded as responsible really challenges how I am and have been raised. My parents did an incredible job of empowering me and encouraging me to move and take that extra step to get things done (mix that with my impatience and you have me). But now I am living in such a learning posture that I am constantly humbled. While I am being empowered through the slow grind of language learning, I also am not regarded as anyone with authority. In fact the first question I get when people meet me is, “Are you married?” followed by, “Oh but you live with your father right?”
In my posture of humbleness, I have made friends that I have been forced to rely on. I have taken hours of people’s time with my childlike language knowledge and I have sat exhausted and speechless on many people’s couches. Often I have creeping thoughts of being burdensome. Then I remember the joy in the conversations with my silly basic jokes, and the hours of time I have spent with those friends, they care and patience they give me as I try to understand or explain and how many couches there are in the neighborhood that I feel comfortable relaxing on. As I ponder that, I am instantly encouraged. Learning to lean on my neighbors and the people that I am trying to “shine” to is my biggest ministry and my biggest building blocks for friendship right now. People here don’t need my American individualism or to watch me build everything up perfectly, just the way I want it; they need people that cheer them on and ask them to build it for themselves. They need suggestions and brainstorming, not answers. And sometimes, they need to do stuff for you as you humble yourself and move into their culture and lives and find truth and beauty within that.
**The picture is from a retreat center I stayed at for 2 days last month.