Magyarmecske Tanulda

The flowers are budding, the grass is sprouting up green, and the kids are all but too eager to get out onto the soccer field...it can mean only one thing: Spring has arrived!!

And with it, for your viewing pleasure, are some pictures!

One of the activities that takes place at the tanulda* where I spend my afternoons, is foreign language learning! In the picture above, an array of third graders are working on their English homework (some, perhaps more enthused about it than others :)

Along with the scheduled English lessons and homework sessions at the tanulda, I'll often find myself pulled into this side room, where a wall-to-wall chalk board resides, and many a little girl wants to draw animals, or play school, or 'hang-man'...all of which turn out to be great opportunities for teaching the kids, while also having fun and playing :)

Stay tuned for more pictures from Magyarmecske!

*Just as a reminder, in case you're wondering what in the world a 'tanulda' is, here in Magyarmecske, a tanulda is something like an after-school community house/center, where mostly kids (though at times, people of all ages from the community can be found there) come, to learn, work on homework, play, use the computer, and sometimes, just hang out, in a safe environment.

What's in a Man?

A few weeks ago, while listening to a Focus on the Family radio broadcast, I was struck by something one of the men spoke into my little ear buds. He claimed this idea: “real masculinity doesn’t conquer and dominate, it protects and defends.” Masculine power, what it means to “be a man”, has been one of those subtle, yet ever nagging things that I’ve been wrestling with throughout my time here in Hungary. Never was this idea of real masculinity, and how it can either help to build a woman up, or tear her down, so brought to my attention, as it was today.

I walked down the hallway, surrounded by 7 little second graders, heading with them, and the English teacher, to go through the indoor quad area, and up to the library where we would have our lesson. As I chatted lightheartedly with one little girl about the furry tiger slippers she was wearing (the kids all have indoor and outdoor shoes), we passed through the doorway into the quad, and my attention was abruptly torn from our “cutesy” conversation, as the sound of shouting rang in my ears. At first I didn’t think much of it, because there are often girls bickering about something, or boys wrestling around, but as the English teacher started yelling at them, I looked up from the little girl by my side, and was shocked by what I saw. There across the room, was a 15 or 16 year old young man, standing over a similarly aged young woman. She was huddled in the fetal position on a bench in a corner. The boy was slapping the cowering girl repeatedly, while she cried out and yelled at him. When we entered the room and the teacher called the boy off, he backed away, but only after giving the girl a full kick to her side. The girl then scrambled off the bench and away from the boy, crying and yelling at him, while he quickly faded back into the crowd with his friends, who were playing ping-pong near by.

Upon hearing all the commotion, another teacher came out of the nearby office, and immediately went to the girl, restraining her, as if she had been assaulting someone. The teacher I was with proceeded to quietly shepherd the second graders up to the library, and away from the troubling scene.

I have no idea what took place to put those two teenagers into that situation, but not once did I see anyone confront the young man about what he had done, nor assign any punishment for his behavior.

On days like today, when I am reminded of the disrespectful view some of the boys hold in regard to girls, and women, it seems almost hopeless for me to really develop strong friendships with those kids, and make a positive impact. Having a total of four male teachers on staff at the school, also adds to the difficulty of proper discipline, and, sadly, many of the boys also lack a good role model of “real masculinity” at home.

I hope that in reading this, your heart and mind are not turned to judge, or to criticize, but that you would be moved with compassion and a newfound encouragement to take action. My hope is that, especially for you men out there, you would have a renewed and reawakened conviction in your responsibility to step up and teach the younger men and boys in your life, what real masculinity is all about. Remember, you are always leading by example for those who look up to you, and you never know who might be following your lead.

Why Just the 14th of February?

Valentine’s day is a little different here from how I remember it, back in my elementary school days. I remember going to the store with my mom, picking out my box of valentines (mom checking to make sure there would be enough to give one to every member of the class.) Disney princesses, Scooby doo, Winnie the Pooh, you choose the theme you want. Then emptying the box over the living room carpet, and carefully addressing a card to each of my classmates, and signing my name.

Here in Magyarmecske, we did things a little different on the 14^th of February. Pink and red papers were still scattered across the classrooms, hearts, and puppies, and flowers, drawn to your heart’s content. But rather than blindly giving a cookie-cutter valentine to each and every one of your classmates (don’t want any kids feeling left out now), the kids were given time, and supplies to make their own valentine creations, and send them, or not send them, to whomever they wished, within the school. You may think this would set us up for an emotional disaster; little girls crying because their valentine box was empty, teenage boys taunting one another over who got the most cards; but amidst the scraps of red paper flying left and right, I saw something spectacular, as I was being pulled at, left and right to draw little puppies in love, and roses, and cupids, shooting their arrows, onto my fourth graders’ papers.

A boy in the class came up to me where I was sitting with another girl, helping her draw two puppies that looked as though they might be in love. He asked me if I would draw a rose for him on his valentine. I was very reluctant to draw it, knowing that he was just as capable as I, and thinking he was just trying to get out of doing the ‘work’. So, we made a compromise. I would draw a cupid on the valentine, if he would draw the flower and write his own message on it. He agreed, and handed me the piece of pink construction paper. I drew a cupid, shooting an arrow off the page, and handed the paper back to him carefully, partially expecting this young man, who can sometimes be a little less than respectful toward me, to take the paper and hand it right back to me, telling me to draw the flower too, then to write the message for him. But, to my surprise, he took the paper, drew a flower on it, and proceeded to write a message on it, to his older sister, a few grades above him.

I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t think I would have made, or given anything to my brother in fourth grade, unless maybe it was a mud pie, or something. This boy wasn’t required to send a valentine at all, let alone to his sister, yet he chose to do so, to tell her that he appreciates her and loves her. I think we can all learn a lesson from how these kids do Valentine’s Day. Yes it’s great to make everyone feel equally ‘loved’ on Valentine’s Day, by requiring kids in elementary school to give valentines to all their classmates, but wouldn’t it be even better if we shared “valentines” with those around us, just for the sake of letting them know we appreciate them, and love them. Not just because it’s Valentine’s day, or not just because it’s someone’s birthday. Not because we feel obligated to do so because of cultural norms, and Hallmark’s advertising, but because we are grateful for the blessings of love and joy that God has placed in our lives, through the presence of those around us. I know Valentine’s Day has passed, but why not send a “valentine” to someone in your life, as a way of thanking God for blessing you with their presence….any day…every day...it doesn’t matter that it’s not technically Valentine’s Day.

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1 Peter 4: 7-11

Ps. You can read more from me, and other missionaries around the world, in my home church's "Mission Beyond Saint Matthew" newsletter, which can be found here: http://saintmatthew.org/DL/news/MBSMnewsletter.pdf

I spent this past week in Berlin, surrounded by my fellow American volunteers, as well as others from Germany, Hungary, Romania, Serbia and the Ukraine. We came together for a seminar hosted by RGDTS (Roma Gadje Dialogue Through Service), and spent the week learning about Roma history and discussing our placements, and struggles, and ways we can better help serve the Roma community. All in all, it was a great time to be in community with others who are serving in similar communities as I am, and was great to learn and grow from our time together. Stay tuned....an entry about Valentine's Day in Hungary coming soon!

To be a kid again...

I played tag today. Stood in a line clenching hands with those next to me, “Red Rover, Red Rover, send Nikki right over!” Sat in a circle on the damp grass, nervously looking behind my back as a girl walked around us, waiting to choose the one she would drop the Kleenex behind – they would be the goose to chase her around the circle. I ran through the dark blue, dusky sky, looking for a place to hide amongst the worn-down buildings, so as not to be found….the counting echoing in the distance, “tizenegy, tizenketto, tizenharom…”

It was a time to play, to enjoy the unusually temperate winter evening…a time to not worry about homework, or troubles at home, or the test at school tomorrow…a time to just be.

The funny thing is, though, I wasn’t playing with first graders, third graders, or even sixth graders. The hands that fit into mine weren’t small and sticky, rather, they nearly mirrored my own. A frequently moody sixteen year-old girl, a seventeen year old boy, typically ‘too cool for school’, the twenty-year old who will head to Germany next year as a volunteer. Somewhere around ten in all, everyone far too old to be playing such games without a younger participant as an excuse; yet here we were, excitedly playing these silly games from our childhood. When I got home, I wondered at what it was that inspired those teenagers to play in such a way, to pretend, if just for an hour or two, that they were children again.

While we may spend our younger years waiting to grow up, yearning for the freedom and responsibility that comes with adulthood, I think there’s a little part within each of us that always wants to hold on to being a child in some ways. A part of our hearts that yearns to know we are taken care of, and loved, and that life really isn’t all work and paychecks, but a beautiful gift and journey that we happen to find ourselves on. Thankfully, no matter how old or young we are, we can rest assured that God invites us all, to be His children.

Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God…John 1:12

What an incredible gift, to be given the right to become a child of God. You may not want to go sit on the grass and play duck-duck-goose, or run around playing tag until you get a cramp in your side, but just imagine what it means to be called a child of God – not just God’s friend, student, or follower, but His child.

A Poem for the Headmistress

We sat in a circle, chair touching chair. The large alphabet letters, rhymes and colorful math posters hanging on the walls seemed slightly humorous and out of place as I looked around at all the adults filling the room. Some older, worn from a lifetime of dedicated work, many younger, in their 30’s, still in the Summer of their lives, all the way down to me and my fellow volunteers in our 20’s. It was the last day before I would venture outside the small town of Magyarmecske, and head up north to spend Christmas with some fellow volunteers in Budapest, and it also happened to be the day for the teachers’ annual ‘Christmas Party’ at the school where we volunteer – and they had graciously invited us to join in the fun.

Now, I can’t say I know what a typical teachers Christmas party consists of, but I can say this turned out to be a bit different than any ‘holiday work gathering’ I’ve encountered before.

Let me take you back a bit…perhaps to about two weeks before the date of this party…back to the day we were told we could attend, and of course, going hand-in-hand with that, we were also invited to participate in a gift exchange with the teachers…you know, put everyone’s name in a box, pull a name out and you get a gift for that person. Nothing new, I was used to that type of Christmas tradition, even though I ended up drawing the Headmistress’ name out of the box (as if that wasn’t intimidating!), I still felt fairly confident that I could successfully complete my task of finding a gift to wish her a Merry Christmas with. Now, let us fast forward two weeks, to the night before said Christmas party. After a day full of little kids’ Christmas skits and festive songs at school, I found myself walking home through a lightly snowy evening, beside Ildiko (the teacher who also happens to live with us). We were chatting about how the day went, when seemingly (to me), out of no where, she asked me if I’d finished writing my poem… (translated from Hungarian)

“hmmm, poem?...what poem?” I ask…trying to rack my brain and remember if she saw me writing a letter, or something she might have thought was a poem.

“You know…the poem.” She replies, thinking I must not have understood the Hungarian.

“hmmmm, was a writing a poem?” trying to figure out why she’s asking me about writing a poem I can’t remember writing…

“You know…the poem…for the party tomorrow…” uh-oh…

“We’re supposed to write a poem for tomorrow?! Like about the person we drew?! I did NOT know this…” haha, double uh-oh

“No one told you?!” Ildiko asks with a laugh

“I don’t think so….”

But then again, I’m beginning to accept that there are a lot of things I happen to miss out on hearing, when I don’t speak the language as fluently as those around me J

I proceeded to spend the rest of that night struggling to write a poem…in Hungarian…about the headmistress of our school. And let me tell you, it didn’t rhyme, and I highly doubt it was pretty J but at least everyone laughed at my last stanza that said something about apologizing for making them all suffer through my horrible Hungarian, and they were able to correctly guess the person I’d written about! (and no, her name was not in the poem J)

As we went around the room – everyone reading their poems, people standing up at the realization that they were the subject of a poem, and graciously giving the writer a hug and receiving their gift, my eyes were opened to what incredible people these were, surrounding me. It wasn’t just a room filled with co-workers, it was a room filled with friends, and brothers and sisters, joined together by their compassion and concern for the children they work with every day. With every poem that was read, laughter filled the room, often, along with tears, for the incredible overflowing of love and friendship spoken in the thoughtful verses. I couldn’t even begin to understand all the humor, or heartfelt feelings that were presented in the words spoken in that 2^nd grade classroom, but I could see that these were incredible, beautiful, compassionate people, whom I was blessed to work with. People committed to working in a school that others might turn and run from, people committed to teaching and loving children who may be at a loss to find someone who believes in them, and people committed to making a difference in their students’ lives. I have no aspirations to become a Hungarian poet, but I do hope that my days would reflect the same love and passion and commitment, that those teachers revealed to me that day…and what a lovely world it might be if we all aspired to do the same J

Well, the camera is still broken, but someone has graciously donated some pictures to my email inbox recently! Sooooo, you finally get to meet the two other volunteers I'm living with this year! That's Krisztina on the left - she is a Hungarian who comes from the Ukraine, there's Michael in the middle, from Germany, and in case you've forgotten what I look like, that's me on the right :) The Christmas season is in full swing here - including a little snow fall outside and a big display of 'snow-laden trees' and fake animals prancing through the 'forest' next to a giant ginger bread house inside the big mall in Pecs :) We've been working at the tanulda in Gilvanfa for the past few weeks doing Christmas themed crafts with the kids, and decorating the rooms with paper angels, stars and Christmas trees (among other various winter and Christmas themed shapes - like that Rudolph on the water heater behind me, lol), and krisztina has even painted a nativity scene in one of the windows! Stay tuned, more photos and stories coming soon :)