Everywhere I Go I See 555

Everywhere I go I see 555. I see it on addresses. It was part of my neighbor's address. I see it in on bills. Yes, the taxes on my possible (cross my fingers) new-used car will come out to be $555. (I wondered when I looked at the bill if the government was laughing at me.) I see 555 and I think of Thailand. It's a little inside joke that makes me smile whenever I stumble across it. It's good to laugh and remember.


*5-5-5 is ha-ha-ha in Thai.
PS Props to Deanna for introducing me to 555.

The Human Heart

I woke up last night around 3 am to the sound of a man and a woman fighting. I could not make out their words but I could hear their voices: loud than louder, growing quiet and than growing loud again. I laid there incapable of sleep thinking of the human heart. I thought of this couple (I assumed they were a couple) and how much they must need each other's love (who else would fight with such passion?). I thought about how we humans struggle to love each other. There is so much that comes between us and the people we want to love (our clumsiness, our selfishness, our brokenness).

I got up from my bed and sat near the window. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and prayed. I prayed that God would give the couple the love they needed. I prayed that God would calm them down (I did want sleep!). I prayed that they would be given the gift of unselfishness (this is what God's saves us from--our selfishness) and given the power to love.

Their voices died out around 4 am. I had crawled back in bed by then and I drifted back to sleep. It was a peaceful sleep. I slept thinking not of anger but of love and a God who was bigger than two people fighting.

The Boy

I remember how small he was when I held him in 1992. I remember that he grabbed my shirt and cried when I tried to set him back down in his crib. Haitian boy, it has been seventeen years since I sat in a rocker in an orphanage in Port-Au-Prince and you fell asleep in my arms. Are you still alive today?

Musings

Last night I sat in a Thai restaurant waiting for some friends to join me and realized that I had already forgotten how to order food in Thai. The little Thai that I speak is slipping so fast. My main use of Thai now is for remembering things. Somehow repeating to myself that I parked my car on ha level makes me remember it better than if I just told myself that I'd parked on level five (believe me after a long day of work it really helps to remember what floor your car is on!)

People in Orlando ask me where I've moved from and I tell them California since I have lived in California for the last six months. But I regret saying that because every time I say that I've just moved from California, it feels like Thailand gets erased a little more.

Last week was my first week of teaching at my new school. My students are great. I like them. I respect them. I even enjoy certain aspects of teaching better here than in Thailand (i.e., the American propensity to talk in class) and yet I can't imagine that these students will be as special as the MC students were to me. It's just a different school culture. We have 2,700 students and yet only a handful dorm. There's not a real campus life or a sense of belonging to each other (for better or for worse) that we had at MC.

I know that this is simply a different season in my life. I know that I needed a change from MC and yet I cannot help but miss the things that I loved so much about the place.

Gnashing of Teeth

Bank: We can't give you an auto loan until you have a Florida address. Bring in your Florida license and we'll change your address.

Florida DMV: You now must have two ways to prove that you live in Florida. Bring in a lease and a statement from a bank with your address on it or bring in a bill that has your address on it.

Me: Gnashing of teeth.

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I'm currently up the red tape creek (too mix madly my metaphors!) because I can't be "officially" in Florida until I get a bill which might not happen until well much later this month. Oh, I could also show them a Florida voter registration card but oh wait...you can't get a registration card until (well) you have a Florida license.
I suppose red tape is inherently circular in logic.

First Days Here #1

I remember moving to a new home and how when we put our cat down he would have to explore the whole house. I felt like that cat last night. I kept walking between my bedroom and the living room. I opened draws and cabinents. I looked under the sink and turned the lights off and on. "So this is my new place?" I mused to myself.

Last night was my first night in my new apartment. As I walked around unpacking my stuff, I prayed. I prayed that my little place will be a sanctuary of God's love both for myself and for anyone who comes to visit. I prayed for blessings on my new life here in Florida.

Around 9:50 I decided to call it a night. My stuff was still scattered around the house, but I needed sleep. I unrolled my sleeping bag in the living room and found some sheets. (I'm furnitureless for awhile.) I sat in the middle of the room and felt scared to turn off the lights. Funny, I can travel alone in Ho Chi Minh and Delhi but I'm suddenly shy of turning off the lights in Orlando?