Back to (a New) Reality

When you prepare to return home after two years of overseas missions work, they encourage you to read certain texts and debrief with others to make the transition back home a little easier. Last year, I had anticipated the reverse culture shock I would encounter back in the US and overcame it quite well, so I imagined I had conquered the difficult stuff and would be more or less a pro upon re-entry this time around.

I was wrong.

To be honest, despite one semi-dramatic, jet-lagged crying episode at Kroger when the yogurt aisle, despite its seemingly endless possibilities, failed to produce my favorite daily Czech brands, culture shock in itself has again proved fairly easy to beat. I can deal with the new onslaught of corny reality TV shows, massive 4-lane highways, and overpackaged hamburgers, but it is my two-year absence itself that has become my biggest obstacle.

When I left two years ago, I said goodbye temporarily to friends, family and relationships that had comprised my reality in the US, people I couldn’t imagine being absent in my life for what I thought would be a single year in the Czech Republic. But time and distance put strain on those people during that first year, alienating them from my new reality that they couldn’t experience and that my words weren’t sufficient enough to explain. We managed to survive and they reluctantly stuck by me in my decision to return to the Czech.

But the second year proved more laborious in terms of contact with people back home, and my changing location and limited phone and internet access made keeping in touch with me a daunting task. And I knew that. And if was daunting for people at home, it was equally as daunting for me as I struggled through living abroad without familiar people, facing new challenges and adventures that I often had no on close to share with.

Because of that, I looked forward to returning home with intense anticipation, giving me something familiar to look forward to when I felt alone and lost. My biggest mistake, however, was being so caught up in my own daily struggles and underestimating the life-changing struggles that people were facing on the other side of the ocean.

Home is always home. It’s not supposed to change. And I miscalculated how I would react to the two years that certainly had gone on without me in my absence. While most of my loved ones rejoiced at my return and embraced me again into their lives, I also came home to the unspoken assumption that I’d been foolishly gallivanting across Europe, ignoring loved ones at home and avoiding problems and relationships I’d “intentionally” left behind. I found that many weren’t at all interested in what I’d really done in the Czech or what life had been like there. And from some, I even felt avid hostility and rejection; they felt distant from me, and I from them.

Just as I have changed and grown dramatically during two years as a missionary, they have changed as well - and I wasn’t here to experience it with them or support and rejoice with them during pivotal moments in their journey. Most have been abundantly supportive and understanding of the situation, honestly enquiring about my time abroad and remaining truly loyal friends, no matter where I happened to be. But with others, there’s a noticeable cavern caused by some unintentional offence and betrayal on my part, and an inadequate ability to appreciate the true cause on theirs.

Just as God asked me to relinquish to Him the Czech ministry, returning home heightened my awareness of the people and reality I’d lost at home as well, unintentionally and sometimes unconsciously. So, here I am back in the USA, struggling with losses on both sides of the ocean and fighting back the nagging thought that I should have never left my comfortable reality here two years ago, and that then I would still be a part of it. But I know that it’s a silly thought. The Lord wanted me in the Czech Republic, and I knew when I left that it would require faith and a willingness to give up earthly things I clung to…whether it be indoor plumbing or an old friend.

While I am truly sorry for not being physically and emotionally present to support loved ones on this continent the past two years, I also can’t feel guilty about doing what I felt led to do, and most of my loved ones understand that. Instead, I feel blessed that He’s allowed me to return home and be surrounded by family and friends that have always stuck by me, no matter what, and giving me the new opportunity to be there for them in return. I have to count my losses and be grateful for the ever-changing realities that we are blessed with, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to let people I love get to know me again.

Things I Will (Not) Miss About the Czech Republic

I Will leave it up to you to decide which ones fall under which category :)

- Construction men working only in their underwear (because of the heat)
- Charles Bridge
- Dogs/ white snow
- Not being allowed to walk on the grass
- Black thongs with white pants
- Fanda and krokety at Club Actus
- The river path to Karlovy Vary
- Katie Dip’s “Big Orange Head” joke
- Hearing “Hello” instead of Goodbye
- “Can I have a question?” “I think that yes”
- Old, naked German women
- The Cheb train station
- Dancing with Karolina
- Vecernicek
- Corny bars and Tatranky
- The astronomical clock
- Public transportation
- Night trams with Sam
- Cesky Krumlov canoe trips
- The cleaning women at Gymnazium Sokolov and all the Czech boys they kept trying to hook me up with
- Café Henriette and trying to understand German
- Cesko Hleda Superstar and Balirna
- White coffee with Jara, regular coffee with jana
- Milena’s sideways, silent look when she doesn’t know how to respond
- Plumbing and the SOkolov washing machine
- Blowing your nose in public
- Making out in public
- Lucka’s family
- Drinking Becherovka with Katie Duda on the train
- Slumber parties with Lena
- Bethany: “Are you serious?”
- BoBagel
- The overnight train to Frankfurt
- The Loket castle
- Divoka Sarka and getting lost there
- Cross Country skiing in Hvezda park
- Coat-check ladies at plesy
- Mafia
- The Evangelicky Sbor’s singing ability
- “So, what do you think of President Bush?”
- Dobra Cajovna and Haley smoking the huka
- The Darth Vader statue and the Baby Tower
- Prague Marathon
- Mattoni
- Klobasa on Wenceslas
- Watching movies at the Nad Aleji pad
- Tuesday night post-volleyball pub nights with Marek, Pavel and Katie Duda
- “Katie Duda, Katie Duda, Katie Duda”
- Lada and Jara’s random dictionary words
- Mr. Prokop’s jokes, even though I didn’t understand them. “Sekt? Chces sekt?
- Skoda!
- Slippers
- Ironed sheets
- Czech Christmas carols
- Christmas cookies!
- Getting whacked with a stick on Easter
- Hot-water boilers
- Random 80s songs that I’d forgotten about being played on loudspeakers
- GymSok announcements
- Being served coffee in real porcelain, even at snack stands in a national park
- The train ride between Plzen and Praha
- “Prosim, pozor”
- the guy at Wasteels who always let me speak Czech to him, even though he had perfect English
- “the Nature”
- SMS
- Spooning with Beth
- Sledding down the hill by the Park Hotel
- Duvets
- Cukrarnas and Medovnik
- My milk frother
- Making Chicken Kiev
- Watching “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”
- O-Zone
- Being only hours away from Germany, Poland, Slovakia, and Austria
- Not feeling out of place if I felt like dressing up
- Runs through Petrin park at dusk
- Ice cream with Darina
- Talks with Katie Byrne
- Misa and Jana
- Mysterious gingerbread
- Having 10 Honza’s in my phonebook
- Bubbly water
- People actually knowing how to dance formally and having balls
- $2 operas
- Kava s Bailey’s at Kavarna Slavia with Nicole
- Hungarian fat roasts
- Czech aerobics
- Walking to the store
- Zuzka’s detailed explanations
- Paying with 2000kc bills in SOkolov
- Parek v rohliku
- Praha, Prahy, Praze…?
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An Ode to Sokolov

Sokolov. Yes, it’s dirty; yes it’s a bit provincial; yes, it’s a tad boring at times. And no, no one has ever heard of it. But, it’s my dirty, provincial, slightly boring Czech town that no one’s ever heard of, and though I may complain the loudest about it, I’d be the first to defend it against insult.

When I arrived last year, I had no clue that I would one day truly miss it. Dragging my luggage into our miniscule Communist flat with an excellent view of the Delvita and the barren mining fields, I was ready to hightail it out of there. But the shock wasn’t simply aesthetic. Like any small town, it was a little stuck in its conservative ways and wasn’t particularly interested in change or outside influence, and that included crazy American twenty-somethings that wore their pajamas to the grocery store and made their students consume strange American concoctions like “brownies” and “rice-crispy treats”.

But I survived Sokolov, and we came to a comfortable mutual existence in which we both made sacrifices for the other’s sake and learned to embrace things about the other that we weren’t used to:

- I learned not to talk on the bus, to appreciate Euro MTV, to buy all my groceries before 3pm on Saturday, and to obey the unwritten after-dark curfew that everyone else abided.

- Sokolov expanded its horizons to sporadically carrying tortillas and salsa at Delvita, to tolerating me wearing my exercise clothes home instead of changing after aerobics, to appreciating my broken Czech attempt rather than criticizing it, and to occasionally smiling back at me on the streets.

I learned to value Sokolov for what it was instead of comparing it to what it wasn’t, and in fact, I was never completely aware of its quaint backwardness until I left it for Prague, like the Texas girl who never knew her mother had an accent until she left the country. And it wasn’t until I was in Prague that I became conscious of how those seeming disadvantages of small-town Czech life had actually been acute blessings. In Sokolov there wasn’t much to do, so it created more free time for being with people; there was no truly beautiful architecture, but some of the most beautiful countryside I had seen; minimal English skills, but an intense eagerness to learn.

That knowledge prepared me for my final moments in Sokolov, where I had to say goodbye not only to this town that had been my unlikely home for the good part of two years, but also to the people that inhabited it. In fact, my last day in town was an accurate demonstration of the quaint awkwardness that I loved about my life there.

After spending the day under the hospitality of Lucka, Darina, Misa, and Milena, all of whom heaped good wishes and gifts upon me for my journey home and for a family that they had never met, I enjoyed my favorite meal (“Fanda” and krokety) at Club Actus, my personal favorite of the limited few restaurants Sokolov had to choose from. Beth and Emily accompanied me to the train station, which we walked to since just about everything in the town is within 20 minutes walking distance.

At the station, I ran into at least six additional people that I knew, some of which happened to be former students. We talked awkwardly for a few moments about summer plans until they ran out of English words, initiating tense moment in which they inevitably contemplated, “Well, I really want to talk to Ms. Whittle, but I wish I didn’t have to say anything else in English.” They chose the easier option and left with an enthusiastic “Hello” (instead of goodbye).

I also ran into the pastor and his family, who I had already said goodbye to the week before, but I still felt I should say at least something additional. Having exhausted my Czech knowledge and utilized every possible synonym for “bye”, we stood in uncomfortable silence, staring at each other as I thought, “Well, I really want to talk to them, but I don’t have anything else to say in Czech”. So, instead I muttered another “Ajoj” (both “hello and “goodbye”) before walking a mere 10 ft back to where Beth, Emily, and one of my students were still standing.

When the train came to a screeching halt, I hugged Beth goodbye and lugged my things across the tracks and onto the train, where I chose a window seat so that I could wave to the six people (spread out across the platform so they didn’t have to keep talking in the other’s language) to see me off.

Surprisingly, I didn’t cry. I’d anticipated being more distressed upon leaving a town where I had invested so much of myself, but instead I felt confident that someday I would return to “my little Sokolov” and watched it fade away with a sense of pride. I invaded this quiet place before it knew what had hit it, and I left it hoping I had brought it just a little more joy.

I waved goodbye to Sokolov with a smile on my face, like leaving an old friend that you know you’ll see again soon, until the chemical factory smokestack finally disappeared behind the trees. I couldn’t help but think to myself that perhaps I didn’t survive Sokolov; maybe we survived each other.

An Ode to Prague

The first time I visited Prague almost two years ago, I arrived after dark and blindly followed Beth through the streets of Old Town, marveling at each new sight and praising it above the previous, until we reached Charles Bridge, it’s looming statues black against the illuminated castle in the background, reflecting itself in the peacefully flowing Vltava. I hadn’t seen anything so beautiful in my entire life, nor have any of my numerous European adventures presented any challenge since. I had been in the country only a few days, mostly taking in the realities of Sokolov, and this glittering panorama contrasted greatly with the low expectations I had set. And I decided at that moment that I was happy I didn’t live in Prague, because I was afraid I’d forget how beautiful it was…

…I had the opportunity to test that hypothesis this year, enjoying 5 months of life teaching in the “city of a thousand spires”, with its romantic charm and seemingly endless beauty, its western hangouts, sprawling parks, and hidden squares. But, I never forgot its beauty. In fact, every time tram 18 made its way down the hill from Hradcanska to Malostranska, opening up a glorious aerial view of the city, I thought to myself, “I live in the most beautiful city in the world.”

Within a few weeks, I was a public transportation expert, had frequented the popular Czech and expat hangouts, explored the city’s outer reaches, and learned to blend in like with the local “cityfolk”, despite my small-town Czech background J

And I was surrounded by beautiful people who laughed with me, cried with me, listened to me, prayed with me, accepted me and supported me. From 80s night at Club Hvezda, to picnics in the park; from teaching English at Christian English camps, to inviting students over for Murder Mystery parties at the flat; from crazy tram antics, to doing the chicken dance at the school ball; from attending ballets at the beautiful National Theater, to listening to our students serenade us on the violin outside our office door… for the first time in a long time, I felt loved. I was happy, having fun and smiling again. I was enjoying life.

Prague, I came to you sad and broken, incapable of spreading joy. I came to you feeling like a failure, carrying the guilt of having to leave Sokolov and all the work I was doing there. But, in the end, I realized that God had called me to Prague for a reason, and it wasn’t simply to minister to others: it was to minister to me as well, and Prague did just that. Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten that it was ok for to have fun and be joyful, even as a missionary, and that it wasn’t “cheating”. The Lord rejuvenated me in Prague, filling me with joy that could be felt both internally and externally.

Meandering across Charles Bridge at dusk on my last evening in the Czech Republic, I let the wind brush my face lightly as I took in the sparkling lights reflecting off the water and adding a golden glow to the waterfront facades, as if the entire city were on fire. I knew I was about to leave this place, this city, this country that I’d called my home for almost 2 years, but I wasn’t really that sad. I was thankful. I was thankful for everything I had experienced, everything I had learned. Indeed, Sokolov and Prague revealed to me the varied spectrum of realities existing in the Czech Republic, both personally and on a greater scale, and I was thankful for that as well. Had I lived only in Prague, I would have been ignorant of the country’s true need outside of the city; had I lived only in Sokolov, I would have been unaware of the hope that still existed.

Experiencing that hope that had emerged from within Prague reminded me of the amazing things happening in the Czech Republic, what an influence we can make there, and what an influence it can have on us. Prague made me smile again; it made me accept truths again that I had forgotten. Somehow its beauty had affected me and, in turn, had made me feel beautiful again too, because I got to be a part of it.

Thank You

I took the train in to Sokolov Sunday night to spend my last evening with the Simetovi, the first of the many goodbyes I would say during the following week. It was like any other time I visited them in terms of the comfortable interaction and conversation, except every one of us was exhausted. Jana had just arrived from a month in Sardinia early that morning, Jara had spent the same month caring for Karolina on his own, and I had gotten very little sleep in between accompanying friends to the airport at early hours and preparing for my own departure.

Karolina, of course, didn’t understand that this was the last time that she would see me, at least for a while. She was still overcome with joy at Jana’s return from Sardinia, Karolinka’s first experience with being apart from someone involved in her everyday life. So, she acted as usual… made me “tancit” (dance), fussed about having to brush her teeth, dressed me up in her winter hats, and beat me over the head with the bear I gave her that she still stubbornly calls by the wrong name.

When it was time for her to go to bed, Jana and Jara explained to her that she wouldn’t see me for a long time, and I begged her for a hug goodnight. Immediately, she ran at me, wrapped her arms around me, laid her head on my shoulder and squeezed for a good long minute. Jana was shocked, admitting that she never did that with anyone else besides them, and I rocked her back and forth almost in tears until she tore herself away and grabbed Jana’s hand to go to the bedroom. I couldn’t believe how much she had grown and changed over the year that I had known her, and I tried not to think about how much she would have changed by our next meeting, as she innocently waved goodnight until the door closed behind her.

I sat with Jara in the kitchen and visited for a good hour before Jana emerged, but it felt forced and odd to be talking about such trivial things simply to avoid the obvious truth that I was about to leave. I had to make the last train to Cheb, where I was staying with Lena, so Jara offered to accompany me to the train station. I hugged Jana goodbye with many kisses and promises to write and got a big hug from Jara at the station, where he obediently waited and waved until I was out of sight.

I’m fairly sure I’ll see them again, but I’ve also learned that things don’t always work out like you expect them to, especially when time and distance so ardently work against your sincere intentions. Still, I wanted to express to them how much my time with them had meant to me and to thank them for all of their kindness, even during sometimes uncomfortable circumstances.

But, what do you say to someone in a moment like that that doesn’t sound cliché? “Thank you” simply doesn’t seem sufficient. “Thank you for everything” sounds too vague, though that’s the most concise way to say what I wanted to. Thank you for housing me, for feeding me, for sharing your family with me, for letting me watch your daughter grow up, for helping me, for loving me, for being my friends.

But, “Thank you for everything” doesn’t imply everything that I would want to express. How do you thank someone for the things that don’t always sound like things you should be thankful for? Thank you for “kicking me out” of your house, for sometimes making me feel culturally awkward, for laughing at my Czech inability, for telling me your secrets, and for letting me see a side of your family that most will never witness. These were the things that, while often difficult to recognize in the moment, ultimately became blessings and allowed me to know you better, to serve you better, and to be a better friend to you.

Thanks for being honest with me, for being real in a most “real” sort of way. Thanks for letting me know you.

In a nutshell: “Děkuju mnohokrat za všechno. Vlastně, děkuju”.

Never Ask for Seconds

So, I was in Sokolov for a weekend just to say goodbye to people. And, just as most every time I visit after a long time, it was more like a progressive dinner. You would think I would have learned my lesson after 2 years, but apparently I hadn’t.

I started out in Cheb with a huge brunch at Jessica’s place before heading to Sokolov later that afternoon to meet my former student Misa. At Misa’s, we sat outside in her beautifully manicured garden and helped ourselves to fresh strawberry cake that her mom had made from their own strawberry patch. It was a much welcomed snack, so I left not full, but satisfied.

Then, I headed to the Simetovi, where Jara had suddenly transformed into Mr. Mom while Jana spent the month in Sardinia as a tour guide. Struck with natural maternal instinct, he pressed food upon me like any good Czech “hostess” until I finally consented. In between changing diapers and building block houses, he cut up fresh veggies and bread for me to have as a dinner snack, followed by 2 pieces of cherry cake that his mom had made for them. I left quite full.

I arrived at Lucka’s around 9pm, thinking that I was in the clear and could avoid eating anything else. Wrong. An entire plate of food was waiting prepared for me to eat upon arrival. As usual, the rest of the family had already eaten, so the only thing they had to do was watch me and force me to eat against my will. I had almost finished my plate of fish, French fries and salad when Mrs. Cervinkova returned home. Convinced that I hadn’t eaten enough, she slopped an entire fried chicken breast on my plate and insisted that I eat it or it would have to be eaten by the dog, who sat at my feet begging me to give in to the threat.

Lucka and I headed out for a while to have a drink and returned home around midnight, where I was forced into a midnight snack of poppy seed cake that her dad had prepared especially for me. I managed to choke down one (it was incredibly delicious, though) and then excused myself to bed. I ended up spending the night there so that I could avoid going all the way back to Cheb and then going back first thing in the morning for church.

In the morning, Lucka had already left for work by the time that I woke up, extremely bloated and still bursting at the seams. Walking a bit groggily as I tried to adjust to my new balance, I stumbled through the door to the kitchen, where Mrs. Cervinkova and Darina (Lucka’s sister) looked up cheerfully and eagerly chimed in unison, “Good morning!” as if they had been practicing the English phrase all morning. As I got ready in the bathroom, I could hear the inevitable shuffle of preparation in the other room. I’ve never thought of intentionally vomiting, but I was seriously contemplating it.

I emerged to find a plate of 2 sausages, 4 pieces of toast, 6 pieces of neglected poppy seed cake, a boiled egg, and all the trimmings (ketchup, mustard, butter, and jam).

“What want you to drink?”
“Oh, just water is perfect.”
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks”
“Tea?”
“No, really. I just want some water.”
“So, tea then.”

I nibbled at everything as much as I could and choked down my tea until I thought I couldn’t fit anything else in my stomach. Fairly disappointed by my performance, they tried to force more on my plate, but luckily I was saved by the excuse that I had to hurry off to church. Hallelujah!

So, take this advice… and never ask for seconds in the Czech Republic.