Thank you, High School English Class
Thank you, High School English Class
A week ago I returned from a ten-day trip to Thailand along with the rest of the Lovemine crew. We had a blast meeting up with our partners around Thailand and near the border, making plans for the next year, and getting a first-hand look at how things on the ground are going.
The work being done on the ground is both heart-breaking and inspiring; with every story about young leaders seeking out education in a refugee camp in order to be better equipped to serve their people comes another story about a brutal military regime that forced them to flee from their home and into the refugee camp in the first place. Every story of remarkable heroism is coupled with a story of extraordinary inhumanity. And this reminds me of high school English class.
Nice segue, right? I had the same English teacher all four years of high school, and I hated her class. She was a great teacher, I’m sure — in fact, all of my classmates loved her and said she was brilliant. But something about the fact that she weekly required me to read hundreds of pages from books that I thought were stupid stirred up in me a ravenous anger toward her and her assignments. (Obviously I had no idea what was coming when I went to college.) I refused to read a single book in her class — instead, I bought Cliffnotes and watched Wishbone to garner all the literary knowledge I would need to pass. But despite my best attempts to thwart her, I think she did manage to teach me something.
In tenth grade we were reading a set of similarly-themed books that included Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, which I actually did try to read before deciding it was dumb, unsuccessfully trying to find a Wishbone episode about it, and giving up and buying the Cliffnotes. Although I couldn’t tell you the names of the other books or even what happens to poor old Frankie, I can tell you a lot about the use of juxtaposition, which apparently is what all the books had in common. Juxtaposition: the placing together of two opposite things or ideas in order to highlight the contrasts (or something like that). “You don’t know what light is until you’ve experienced darkness,” is how my teacher explained it.
And sometimes that’s the only thing that helps me make sense of the people I meet from Burma. Don’t get me wrong — there is immense pain, sadness and loss for the people of Burma, but there is also unmistakable joy, laughter and resilience. There’s something about experiencing devastating darkness that can make a person know and appreciate even the tiniest glimmer of light. Some of the most grateful people you will ever meet are also those who have suffered the greatest trauma. Some of the most joyful people are those who have had everything taken away. I think they know just how good the light is because they’ve seen the darkness.
I guess the lesson for me — and for all of us — is to learn to appreciate the light more. There is darkness everywhere — and some places are darker than others — but we can allow the darkness to bring to light just how good the good things are: family, friends, community, good food, laughter, chocolate chip pancakes, you name it. Juxtaposition can be a really good thing. Thanks high school English class.
Beautifully stated. Im excited about the work Lovemine is doing and will try to remember to look for the light. (come home and I will make you chocolate chip pancakes)
C.
Juxtaposition was my favorite rhetorical device in 11th grade. I never fully understood its proper use, but I kept mentioning it in my essays. Anyways, thank you for the post and contrasting the light from the dark. I love this quote from John Stott:
“Our Christian habit is to bewail the world’s deteriorating standards with an air of rather self-righteous dismay. We criticize its violence, dishonesty, immorality, disregard for human life, and materialistic greed. ‘The world is going down the drain,’ we say with a shrug. But whose fault is it? Who is to blame? Let me put it like this. If the house is dark when nightfall comes, there is no sense in blaming the house; that is what happens when the sun goes down. The question to ask is, ‘Where is the light?’ Similarly, if the meat goes bad and becomes inedible, there is no sense in blaming the meat; that is what happens when bacteria are left alone to breed. The question to ask is ‘Where is the salt?’ Just so, if society deteriorates and its standards decline until it becomes like a dark night or a stinking fish, there is no sense in blaming society; that is what happens when fallen men and women are left to themselves, and human selfishness is unchecked. The question to ask is ‘Where is the Church? Why are the salt and light of Jesus Christ not permeating and changing our society?’ It is sheer hypocrisy on our part to raise our eyebrows, shrug our shoulders, or wring our hands. The Lord Jesus told us to be the world’s salt and light. If therefore darkness and rottenness abound, it is largely our fault and we must accept the blame.”
Having said that, I think that you and your team are doing an awesome job, and I will pray that God will continue to encourage you and inspire you in your faith, and in your good works.