普通话 or The Common Language

Okay, so as a serious student of Mandarin for more than a year now, there are some things about this language that are unbelievably spot on and some things that make you scratch your head and wonder what these people were thinking when they created this hot mess.
For example.  Take 火 (meaning "fire") and 车 (meaning "vehicle") and put them together, and voila!  火车, meaning "train".  Perfectly logical.  Easy to remember.


And then, there's 牛奶.  牛meaning "cow" and 奶 meaning "milk".  Now, the character for milk is actually comprised of "woman" and "fist".  Make of that what you will.  Anyway, 牛奶 means cow milk, exactly what it looks like, and very unforgettable.  


But now let's look at 奶酪.  You know the first part, it means "milk".  The second part, though, is made up of "alcohol" and "each one" and means "fruit jelly" or "sweet nut paste".  Now, that makes no sense.  Even more odd, when you put all that together, you get the character for "cheese".  I have no idea whatsoever how that works.  Personally, I don't think it does.


There are some really cool ones - 妙, the character for wonderful, is comprised of "woman" and "few".  Few women are wonderful.  Easy and true, if you think about Proverbs 31.  


学, the character for "study" is made of "home" and "child", which is absolutely fantastic as a homeschooling mom.  Interestingly enough, there is no homeschooling in China (government schooling all the way here, and no choice in it).  


"Home", for ancient and rather giggly reasons, is made of "roof" and "pig" - 家.


安 means "peaceful" and is "home" and "woman" together.


泡 means "bubbles" and is made of "water" and "bound up together", which is pretty cool.


上帝 means "God" and is "above" and "ruler" together. 


It's really fascinating (to me, probably not to you, sorry) how the origins of some of these characters hold great moral, traditional values.  Of course, some of the others (like 妈妈, "mother" made of "woman" and "horse") are pretty much gibberish.  


Anyway.  I thought of some of this whilst beating my brains out studying.  I have no profound thoughts today.  My apologies.  But this was fun for me.

Life Lessons

Have you ever had one of those weeks when life lessons just keep hitting you upside the head?  It's been one of those weeks for me.  And honestly, when I learn this many lessons, I've just got to tell somebody.  Feel free to escape before I get on my soapbox.
First - kids are CRAZY on sugar.  It was Connor's fourth birthday, and as the birthday boy, he got to choose his meals for the whole day.  Breakfast was cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate.  Lunch was a peanut butter and honey sandwich, carrot sticks, potato chips, and juice.  Dinner was homemade chicken nuggets and fries and chocolate milk.  Dessert?  Peanut butter ice cream pie, complete with Oreo crust and chocolate syrup drizzled over the top.
Can you tell my son doesn't usually get sweets?  But boy howdy, he sure knows exactly what he wants when he does get 'em.  By the end of the day, he was bouncing off the walls in a frantic, giggling blur.  The next day he was dragging, his head drooped down to his knees when we went out for a walking/shopping trip for his birthday party the next day.  He was whiny and tired and flat-out grumpy.
No wonder.  Justin and I have decided that the reason our kid is usually so well-behaved is we keep him away from junk.  Now that we've seen the results of a sugar high, we are quite determined not to relax our rules.
Second - for anyone out there with boys, I highly recommend Bringing Up Boys by James Dobson.  I don't agree with Dobson's doctrine on some crucial points, but the man has parenting wisdom.  I now understand my boy better.  From Dobson's book, I've also had my eyes opened to some things about American culture.  That's one of the bonuses of living in another culture; things that I've always taken for granted about the way we Americans think or do things are suddenly things to be considered; these are not things that are universal.  For example, over-committing of our time.  It is a huge cultural thing that I didn't realize until it jumped up in my face.  In our culture, we look at someone who is always busy, running from one activity to the next, with great respect.  I hear about someone's packed schedule and immediately think oh, well, they're very impressive and what an important person they are to be doing so many things.  I have free time, so I must be lazy or slacking in something.  What's amazing, though, is this is a fairly recent development -- people used to take time to sit on the front porch in the evenings, to play more with their kids, to not have to schedule their family in to their day.  Mercy.  Thus, I have resolved to say NO more often with greater finality and keep time open to "train up my child in the way he shall go" without making it seem that he is inconveniencing me.
Third - and the final one, I know I'm losing my audience here - fridges are not as hardy as they seem. The day before Connor's birthday party, I did all the prep work.  I made a cheese ball (the bare-fingered squishing of cream cheese to mix in seasoning/onions/bell pepper is not my favorite thing, by the way, especially when Justin starts talking about body organs while my hands are full of sticky mush) and a few pounds of chicken salad, started rolls rising overnight, and had a couple dozen chocolate cupcakes cooling.  Finally, I decided that instead of buying juice, I would be SuperMom and make lemonade myself.
This was a bad idea.  I squeezed 16 lemons.  I now know exactly what arthritis will feel like in fifty years.  This particular recipe called for ginger, which I thought was exotic and exciting.  You bring water, sugar, and sliced ginger root to a boil, then turn off the heat, add the lemon juice, and let it sit for 15 minutes.  Take out the ginger and let it chill.  Voila.  It was super important to let it chill overnight because we have exactly 28 ice cubes at a time, which is definitely not enough for a houseful of Americans.
So.  I followed all the instructions, let the lemonade cool a bit, then poured it into whatever containers I had available (not many, it was annoying) and put them in the fridge.  No big deal.  Tired after a full day of teaching and shopping and kitchen-ing, I kissed my husband goodnight and collapsed into bed.
I woke up at about 6:30 when Connor padded past our bed to the bathroom.  He wanted to stay up, Justin said it was too early, I rolled over and asked him what time it was, he said 6:30 and oh, by the way, you broke the fridge.
I usually have a tough time waking up in the morning.  I jumped out of bed at that sour announcement and demanded details, mind whirling with thoughts of spoiled chicken salad and how we're in China, I can't just order a pizza or something, and what on earth are we going to do, and cream cheese is so expensive here and I just wasted about 12 ounces of it, and-
Justin proceeded to explain, in a voice that barely contained his irritation, that my hot lemonade had forced the fridge to run all night, he'd been up until 2:30 trying to fix it, and he was pretty sure the compressor was blown.
I didn't know what a compressor was (still don't, it didn't seem like a good time to ask) but I was pretty sure this wasn't a good thing.  I was also pretty sure that this was one of the dumbest things I'd ever done and that it would never be forgotten by my husband.  I could envision winning a big prize for something very brainy in the future and then Justin would throw his arm around my shoulders and tell the reporters eagerly shoving microphones in our faces that yes, he was proud, but more than that, he was surprised because there'd been this time in China when his wife had murdered a fridge because she lacked common sense.
Very luckily for us, an extra fridge has been floating around the foreigner apartments.  I called one of the other teachers, begged for the use of it until ours got fixed, and dragged Justin out of bed to help me get it.  We transferred food in a panicked flurry.  Also luckily for us, the "broken" fridge was cooler than it had been four hours previously, so nothing had spoiled.
Now, my kitchen is about the size of a shoe box.  The second fridge sat smack dab in front of my two burners, and I had to squeeze past it to turn on the gas.  I now had enough room to turn around - literally - in which to fix breakfast, make icing and frost cupcakes, chop vegetables and make dip, arrange plates and cups and set out food....  and I was about an hour behind.
Justin was a doll.  He blew up balloons and hung streamers while I bumped into shelves and multiple fridges in the kitchen (rather like one of those old pinball arcade games), and he never once criticized me for my idiocy.
The fridge recovered in twenty-four hours.  Justin nursed it through the worst of its illness.  The lemonade was really excellent, by the way.  I have copied the recipe into my recipe book and have titled it "Lethal Lemonade".
I'm not sure which one of these lessons is the most important, but I'm positive the lemonade debacle will be the one to go down in the Hill Family history books.

Culture

Culture is a very interesting thing. It reflects a fundamental difference in the way people think, in what makes a country's morals and traditions. It's what makes the distinction in what's polite or rude.

For example, in China it may not be an insult to call someone fat. Americans would be up in arms, but to the Chinese, you are calling them healthy and strong, hearkening back to the days of famine when people didn't have enough to eat.

Chinese people push and shove, jump in line, and in general look out for number one. I have never seen a Chinese person hold open a door for someone else or give up their place in line. Americans are outraged by line-jumpers and consider pushing past someone for the elevator an outright sin.

China is also full of spitting, farting, and multiple other actions we Americans find abhorrent.

But. Culture is not just about countries. I learned something this week. Culture can also be from your family.

For example.

I don't usually say “please” or “excuse me” to close family members. (My mother is dying of shock and embarrassment right now, but hang in there, Mom, I have a point.) To me, based on my family experience, “excuse me” is very formal. Very polite. Something you absolutely do with people you are not as thick as thieves with, but not necessarily with your dad or sister or husband.

Dad and I cooked a lot in the kitchen when I was a teenager. If I was chopping onions at the counter and Dad needed something in the drawer I was standing in front of, he'd pat my hip in a nonverbal “hey I need to get in there, would you mind stepping aside for just a moment? Thanks” and yes, I got all that from a flick of his fingers. Did this insult me? Nope. It was a sign of our closeness, evidence of our understanding of each other that I didn't find this rude or annoying. It was normal. Acceptable. And frankly, when you're carrying on a conversation, it's nice not to have to interrupt each other for a social nicety.

I do this with my sister too. Mom, not so much (here ya go, Mom) because she always tried to teach us etiquette. I even seem to recall the purchase of a book on the subject that she read to us at the dinner table. Poor Mom, she had an audience who were talking with their mouths full, leaning on elbows, and reaching across each other for butter or salt and pepper. But she never stopped trying. (Props to Mom, you can stop blushing now!)

“Please” has always been a kind of understood thing with me, too. I think it's in the voice, in the tone, in the phrasing of the request. If said correctly, “hey, can you pass the potatoes?” is as polite and unoffensive as “pardon me, but my plate seems to be lacking in the potato area, would you mind ever so much passing them this way when you have a moment, please? They are currently residing at your left elbow.”

That's my family culture, despite my mother's best efforts.

My husband disagrees.

“Please” and “excuse me” are non-negotiable to him. It's pushy to budge him out of my way in the kitchen and disrespectful to leave off the “please”. What I take as signs of closeness, to him are not only irritating but possibly relationship-damaging. His favorite argument is that if you need to hear an “I love you” even though you know good and well that person loves you, then you need to hear a “please” or “excuse me” even when you know that person is not intentionally being rude.

Family culture. Who knew?

This came up in a...um, conversation...this weekend and has instigated a great deal of thought on my part. Living in a completely different culture exposes us to opposite ways of thinking on a daily basis, but it's still somehow surprising to see it in each other.

I'd love to end this post with a really deep thought or genius conclusion. I have none. However, I do know that I will be making an attempt to finally make my mom proud and re-learn the p's and q's of etiquette.

Never Talk to Strangers

One of the things about Chinese culture is their obsession with children.  Especially foreign children.  I'm not sure how things were before the one-child law, but children are treated royally here.  Thus the term "little emperors".
But even more than the shameless spoiling of Chinese children, Connor gets doted on everywhere we go.  Shouts of "hello baby!" plague us whenever we step foot outside.  Old women come up and touch his hair.  Shop owners give him candy and call him handsome.  Chinese parents perpetually tell me that he is too cold.  Old men take him by the hand.  Students try to pull him away from me.
This is not good.  Yes, I like that he's liked, but really it's just that he's a novelty.  One of my students told me that Chinese people see foreign children as little dolls because they're so different.  She didn't understand why Americans don't see Chinese children that way.  It took a long time to explain that it's because our culture is diverse.  We have plenty of Asian babies in America.
Anyway.  I do not enjoy having people I don't know come up and try to take Connor away from me.  I don't believe that anyone would do him any harm, but it's a matter of respecting a parent's wishes and the child's feelings.  They don't do this to Chinese children, so why do they think it's okay to do it to mine?  Connor does not like this unless he's in the mood to meet new people.  Most of the time he freaks out when someone tries to take his hand and pull him away, and rightly so!  Besides, I would never allow this in America, so I certainly won't allow it here just because they think my child is a doll.
So there's this book that I remember from my childhood called Never Talk to Strangers.  It's so cute, with different animals that you don't talk to because they're strangers, like the camel hanging from a trapeze by his bony knees or the whale driving the automobile.  Of course, the book goes on to explain that you can talk to your parents' friends because they know them and the Easter Bunny's okay too because everyone knows him.  It doesn't sound special, but it is.  We bought this book for Connor when we were in America this winter, and he loves it.  We were walking through campus today and a group of students came up and "hello baby"d him.  Connor grabbed my leg and buried his face into it, saying, "Strangers!  I don't talk to strangers!"  The students were instantly discouraged to try anything further.
Bravo!  Lesson learned.  Although, perhaps it was learned a little too well.  I was explaining to Connor why he could not play with something yesterday and he didn't like what I was saying, so he said, "No, Mama, you can't talk to me, you're a stranger.  I don't talk to you.  Stop talking, Mama."
Sigh.  Sometimes I wish he wasn't quite so clever.

Blow Me Away

So I think we've established that this semester thus far has been rough.  We've lost some of the kids who've been Studying with us, we've hit roadblocks in the form of big exams, and we've been discouraged.  
Here's the good news.
One of the Sisters, Cen Zi Lin, and one of my favorite Seekers, Hao Hao went with me to eat some barbecue tonight.  Cen Zi Lin is the only Family member to date who's been able to stand up against peer pressure.  She is such a strong kid, especially for still being a babe in Him.
Hao Hao is the girl who, when studying one of Paul's letters with me, saw the reference to Timothy, asked questions, and came back the next week having also read Paul's letters to him.  Just because.  And when a lot of the kids show up having not completed the chapter or so I asked them to read ahead of time, that's a big deal.
These girls have been super busy preparing for the crucial TEM-4 English exam and haven't been able to commit to a weekly study with me.  I had, up until tonight, been super frustrated and upset about that, feeling like I was wasting all my time while all the girls I'd been studying with spent their time in the library.
And then, while we were walking to the restaurant tonight, they tell me that they've been Studying TOGETHER.  They took the initiative to find time together when they couldn't commit to a study time with me.  They told me all about how they were studying about Ruth and what they learned from this woman of faith.
I was blown away.  Here I was, moping and stressing about the situation, and they've been doing exactly what they should be.  The Sister is out there producing crops of her own.  The Seeker is dedicated enough, even in the frantic exam-preparing mode, to take the time to learn the most important things.
Maybe we have been doing our job, after all.  

Silver Linings

So I realized after the influx of concerned emails that the last post might have been a bit of a downer.  Reading over it, I choose to ignore the "gloomy" adjective and go straight for "suicidal".  Never fear, my friends, things are looking up.  A bit.  


I think God knew that we would need a little more time this semester to get into the swing of things.  I am always amazed at His infinite wisdom.  For example, we were dreading a semester as busy as the last, but didn't know how to slow down without disappointing the kids who are used to coming to our house every week.  Many of these kids have a HUGE English exam in less than two months that they're cramming for, so they can't come to our house regularly right now.  We are truly enjoying a little bit of peace in an otherwise hectic schedule.   While we do miss the students, we can see the benefits in Connor, who is given more attention and time than we've ever had before. 


But it's not just the free time that has improved our outlook.  It's the people here working their magic on us again.



The Chinese people are, as always, both a blessing and an annoyance.  You can't help but love a people who are downright thrilled when you can string three words together in their language.  They are friendly and kind, always smiling and excited to see you.  Unfortunately, these are also the people who stare, point, whisper behind their hands, do their best to run you over in the street, and try to pick your kid up when he cries (even though you're attempting the same thing).  Still, the blessings far outweigh the annoyances.


And then there's the kids we're teaching. 


Our students are (mostly) amazing.  There is nothing more encouraging than a student who sends you the message: "Teacher I miss you!  I want to help if you need.  Love you!"  Or the students who are riding the same bus as you and offer to completely change their plans for the day if you need help with shopping or getting around the city.  Or the students who actually speak up in class on a regular basis.  Or the kids who get so excited at the prospect of dyeing Easter eggs with you as a reward for their hard work.  Or the kids who try a brownie and pass out on a chocolate high.


Even when we're tired or missing home or irritated at the perpetual knocking on the door, it's worth it.  Because of these people.


So, I have nothing specific to say except that you can stop worrying about us.  God always has a silver lining behind every cloud.  And right now, that lining is the endless throng of people we have come here to serve.

The Muck

We have now been back in China for six days and have done, at last count, absolutely nothing.  There are reasons for this, the first being jet-lag, the second being a rather nasty stomach bug that consumed all our vital organs and left us wrung out, sweat-drenched, and praying for death.  Almost literally.
But, to be honest, I'm not feeling motivated, and I'm not sure why.  Maybe it's because our thoughts are still in America, with the people we love so dearly and miss more than ever.  We had a wonderful time visiting with family and friends, and for the first time, we're discussing the possibility of life when we return to America, several years down the road.  Has that (along with the aforementioned circumstances) taken the wind out of our sails?  Is it the prospect of another semester like the last, the kind that had us running off our feet every day from dawn until an hour too unseemly to mention?  Is it the disappointments, like some difficult relationships we've encountered or the Seekers who have come so close only to choose against the Truth?  Or is it the constant battle for balance, for creating a home in an un-home-ly place, for raising a child and educating him, for doing the best job teaching English as we possibly can, for learning one of the most difficult languages on earth, for trying to put each God-given talent in the most useful place?  Or is it simply the Dreaded Culture Shock, catching up with us at last?
Most likely, it is all of these things, culminating in a big ole mental block.  The kind that's more of an insurmountable mountain ringed with barbed wire than a simple little red-brick structure.  Perhaps if we were feeling all the way better, or perhaps if we'd had a few more days before being thrown into the teaching ring again, or perhaps if the Seeker we were so hopeful for had found support in her family....
People who do the Work we do are often held up on pedestals, expected to overcome all obstacles known to man with a toothy smile firmly in place.  I am taking a chance here by admitting less than perfection.  We usually begin each semester with boundless enthusiasm, and instead, here we are, slogging through hip-deep mud.
So.  We covet your prayers.  We ask that you remember us and ask God to wash away the muck we're entrenched with so that we can clearly see His plan for us this semester.