A Home and Some Work

The first thing we did after finding Taybeh was fine Maria Khoury's house. It is right next to the Taybeh Beer brewery. There we found a scraggly, white puppy that they call doggie. He bit at my skirt. When Maria found us (she wasn't at home) she hugged me warmly and took us to the brewery. Taybeh Beer is not just any brewery. The beer is of teh finest quality and sold in Israel, Japan, and Germany. It represents the fight in Palestine for freedom because it supports Palestinian commerce as it is an all Palestinian product. It also displays Palestinian ability and ingenuity--one argument against Palestinians is that they could not sustain a government/society if given the opportunity because they are disorganized and incapable.
Beer in the Middle East is also a very Christian thing. Muslims, by the Quran, cannot drink at all. When consumed in moderation, this drink represents the beauty of Christian freedom from the law.
A postcard designed by Maria's son says "Taste the Revolution... Drink Palestinian."
Following this, Bishara, Katie, and Mono went back to Jerusalem. Maria drove me to Beit Afram, the elderly home where I stay and serve. It is a beautiful place on the outskirts of Taybeh. The building is 3 stories tall and made of white stone (as all the buildings are made) with bright blue window frames. From the windows and terraces the sight is glorious—especially at night. In one direction the lights of Amman, Jordan sparkle, in another Jerusalem shines. On a clear evening the dead sea is also visible, it's waters stretching across the front of a range of mountains dividing Palestine and Jordan. The mountains fill the land all the way to the horizon in every direction and the weather determines how far the eye can see.
As Maria showed me all that surrounded my new home, she couldn't ignore the encroaching Israeli settlements that are also in view. From any orientation a cluster of pretty, white, geometric buildings with red roofs takes up a portion of the view. Settlements are yet another encroachment of Israel into the Palestinian homeland—they are the most blatant message of Israeli domination. The settlements are houses built for Israelis only. They are built on confiscated Palestinian land. Sometimes the land already had Palestinians living on it, but in those cases the people are forced out and the homes demolished. In fact, the three settlements surrounding Taybeh right now are built on the community's land—including some of Maria Khoury's own. The settlements expand year after year.
My room is simple. There are no adornments: three beds (one for me with a pillow), a table, a bedside table, and a simple bathroom with a shower head, but no designated shower aread (the showers here are often just a corner of the bathroom). Since I'm on the ground level I found a lot of bugs in my room. I captured three beetles and I carried the outside. I killed three spiders in the first day. The ants wont seem to leave me alone, either. Good thing I don't get the creeps too easily!
My favorite part of my room, however, is that there are two huge windows on either outside wall. I like to open the shades before I go to sleep so that when I wake before seven in the morning the dawn light has already flooded my room like noonday. It gets bright early and stays light lat here. I'll be switching rooms now, though, because there are three boy volunteers coming to live in Beit Afram. The new room is still in the basement of the home. It's smaller and smells like rubber, but it'll be fine. It still has a window.

After Maria left me in Beit Afram, the manager, Ramon, took me to the Latin Church (here they call the Roman Catholic, "Latin," because there's also Greek Catholic) where I work at the kids' camp. I met with the two seminary students who are here for the month for the camp. They told me I would be teaching English to 80-150 students, 40 minutes classes, ages 6-15. I about passed out. 150 kids! And I don't even like kids en masse! I thought. I love kids in small numbers, but I lose most confidence in myself when I'm around lots of kids because they are so uncontrollable—they get riled up and there's no way to communicate anymore. The teaching task terrified me.
The first class I taught was iffy—the girl translating for me said "No comment" which didn't encourage me at all. The second class was terrible. I began to teach, but my lesson was too advanced for them.
"They're just babies," the other helpers said. And it is true—I had 6 year olds in that class and I was clueless.
At one point I thought the class was over so I sent them away. The kids stampeded out of the room. Feeling relieved, I thought about how glad I was that the 40 minutes flew by. Unfortunately, after I looked at the schedule again, I realized I read the wrong time slot—class was barely halfway over! Embarrassed and regretting my consentment to teach, I ran after the leaders to bring the kids back.
Instead of the plans I had been thinking about for days, for the last 20 minutes we sang the alphabet over and over, said the numbers over and over, and I drew some animals on the board and we said those over and over. . . it was miserable until we sang. I taught them "I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart! Where?"
After class really ended, the feeling I felt was far from relief this time. Not only did the kids refuse to listen to me, but the other leaders were not happy—they probably thought me a fool.
The second day God encouraged me in the morning. I prayed quietly in the church while the other leaders had Mass in Arabic. God reminded me that my purpse is not, in fact, to teach English. My purpose—at the summer camp, at Beit Afram, in Taybeh—is to love. With this word of life, I set out to teach in love. The first class, grades 4-6, enjoyed the game we played because they got to cheer at each point. They also giggled and sang along with the motions of "I've Got the Joy."
The second class, grades 7-9, was squirrelly beyond my patience. Eventually, I stopped and said (or rather, half-yelled), "Okay, this isn't working is it? Let's sing a song. You see, I'm not Catholic, and a way I've learned to worship God is through non-liturgical songs. Let me teach you one of them." I proceeded to sing the chorus of "How Great is Our God." The kids got a kick out of it. One of the boys recorded my voice on his MP3 player. Eventually they sang with me.
So, songs for teaching it is!
I had asked the North Park prayer team to pray for humbleness in my life. The asked me if I was sure I wanted that... it's risky and scary to ask God for humbleness. The lesson is never fun. I believed coming to Taybeh was going to orchestrate one of these lessons somehow. I thought that humbleness would consist of menial, behind the scenes work that would keep me quiet and out of the way. Instead, God gave me the task of teaching (something I don't like doing) a bunch of children (people I'm uncomfortable with) English from a foundation of Arabic (an exceedingly difficult language that I can barely speak). And so, the humbling experience has been through needing to trust in God for strength and peace, rather than just trust in myself for ability. The lessons are not fun, but it is good.