Everyday Stories

Not Lost in Translation

The Interpreter

I had a conversation with a muslim woman last week. She is a refugee from Iraq and I was driving her to an appointment. As we began to pull away, another car parked behind us and flashed the lights.
Another woman, wearing modest dress with her head covered, approached and got in the car with us. She introduced herself as the interpreter. Greetings flew in two languages, or maybe three.
Using a printout of an online map, complete with turn-by-turn directions, we arrived punctually before the scheduled time.
I took myself off to a nearby cafe to read my book on Thomas Merton and to prepare for a Bible study that evening. The tea was good. The restrooms were not. The hostess was gracious and the time passed nicely.

Returning to collect the ladies, I found the interpreter quietly reading her Quran. There was an intersection. Now for the conversation.

The map, held this time by the interpreter, guided us back to familiar territory as we discussed the common ground of our faith and practice. I too carry a diminutive holy book, the New Testament.

We parted, each blessing the other, clearly holding eachother's gaze as we contemplated the many similarities lurking not far beneath the surface of two women from very diverse backgrounds.

We shared a conversation, at an intersection of several lives, and I am richer for being there and listening.

A Hungry Woman

I was at a conference with a bunch of people who love the Church, who love the ideal of authentic biblical community, who earnestly desire to read the Bible as one story and get it right, that bit about the kingdom and the church and eating together.

Anyway, it can all get to be a bit much sometimes and my head gets fuzzy and my heart gets full . . . so I took a walk at lunchtime. I just up and left the people I was sitting with, not knowing how long it might take them to decide where to eat, and I headed for Queens St.

Well, I headed in that direction, downhill, but I didn't know for sure I was going to Queens St until I arrived there, still hungry.

So I went in to a favourite Middle Eastern place there, ordered a lamb kebab and watched people. There were some students there from Pennsylvania. The girls are on an exchange programme from Loyola and are involved in service projects while in NZ.

I got my kebab and went outside, found a nice wooden bench at a major intersection and started chewing. I was approached by a homeless man, two evangelists and a hungry woman all in a matter of about 15 minutes.

My conversation with the man was all too brief. I did not engage him in conversation at all, my head too full of church talk to be church to him.

Then the lady evangelists came along and wanted me to take a test to prove I was a sinner.

I just confessed without bothering with the test, but then I think I tested them a bit.

I challenged them that there are other ways to approach the whole salvation conversation. While not avoiding sin at all, we can approach the heart of the matter by bringing heart into the conversation. What about God's design for each individual? What about His love for them as a person and His desire for them to be healthy and whole? I'm not in to the mamby pamby gospel that makes it all about me, or you, or anyone other than God, but the character and nature of the God I know is not all about showing me how much of a failure I am. That smacks of the law and I'm so over that!

Anyway, the younger one took it well, even when she asked where I went to church and I countered with, "Oh, is a place to go to or is it a community of faith influencing the world?"

Poor thing. She was a good sport though.

Then, last but by no means least, came the hungry lady.

She asked me for 50 cents, holding out her hand and showing me the coins accumulated thus far. She was very polite and non-threatening. I was at a disadvantage with my hands full of my lunch.

I answered her question with a question as my dad so aptly taught me to do, "What do you want?"

She answered, looking me in the eye, "A hot dog. I want a hot dog."

She knew exactly what she wanted. Not 50 cents at all, but a hot dog.

I was impressed. I respect her approach to life. She knows what she wants. Up we got and went to the nearby hot dog retailer and got a hot dog, or two. We had a little chat, as you do, nothing deep and earth shattering, but friendly and respectful.

I went back to my corner and then made my way up the hill, back to my church conference.

I don't know where she went from there, but for the time being, she had what she wanted.

Perspective comes with Experience

Pulling out of a parking spot on Tuesday I saw a woman go down, and she went down hard.

I pulled back in to the car park and ran to assist. I held her umbrella over her as she cradled her right wrist. Between the slant of the pavement, the flow of rainwater and her very fashionable boots, she was a recipe for disaster as she approached her gym for a workout. She was to have competed in national rowing championships in September.

Yesterday I rain across the street, trying to dodge between the rain drops which probably caused me to collect more than my fair share. As I stepped up onto the curb, a parking slip flew past my legs, followed closely by a woman who had just paid for it, but who couldn't grab it from the machine before the wind did. I turned and joined the chase, doing pirouettes and crazy lunges; the ticket seemingly devious in its avoidance of us both. We eventually nailed it, but only after we had both seen the comedy in the situation.

Having settled into my seat at the university this morning and beginning a series of calls organising volunteers to tidy up the warehouse where we supply refugees when they first arrive, usually without anything but what they are wearing, the voice on the other end suggested I might need to go. Yes, as the fire alarm chased us all outside, I had to marvel at a series of events over the week, and to give thanks that, for the moment, it is not raining.

Stuff happens. Things happen. Conflicts arise and plans go astray. Perspective is vital to appreciate which things or events are worthy of our emotional energy and which ones are not.

I had another phone call this week, Tuesday evening before people were expected at my house for a meeting. Hearing the anxiety and tears, I suggested we meet in my favourite local restaurant for dinner. I'd planned to go there anyway, so for me, the company would be nice. For her, I might be of use in sorting out her thoughts and emotions. As she explained the conflict at work, something totally out of her control, I could see she was in a pickle. Tolerance often only flows one way. Respect too.

So I started asking big picture questions: How much is this job worth to you? Does this situation compare with having your kids swept away in a tsunami, being told you have a terminal illness or civil war disrupting everything you've ever know?

Ok, maybe I went a bit over the top, but we read the stories, even know the people to whom these things are realities. Many of us, on the other hand, then go on to complain about hang nails and paper cuts.

Uncle Tom used to compare any upset in my life to a paper cut. "Is it worse than a paper cut? They can be pretty painful!" and then he'd know what degree of attention or sympathy to point my way.

My friend was in a very awkward situation. It wasn't fair. She hadn't asked for it. The repercussions could affect her income, her social network and reputation. That's what you get for sitting at your work station and minding your own business! So while not wanting in any way to minimise her angst, I thought big picture might be of some help in gaining perspective.

With the woman who fell: at first I was thinking, "Ouch! fractured wrist and bruised ego to fall when being so fashionably heeled." The, when I heard that she was training for a major sporting event; that gave perspective to her loss.

The parking ticket lady: not knowing what else was going on in her life and whether losing her parking slip would be the straw that broke the camel's back, I'm just glad she had it in her to laugh, shake off her fluffy coat and get on with her errands.

My friend: the dust has settled. We do not yet know what bruised egos might yet do, or what this brief and unexpected skirmish might have taken out of her, or what new insights it might have given her.

I think I'd like to stay in tomorrow, not go out anywhere.