I Love Lars

This blog post isn't really about Hungary or Budapest.  But it is about life.

Last night we invited the students to our apartment for a movie night.  Though Budapest has plenty of wonderful places for them to explore every time they step out of their dorm, we like to offer them a chance to be in a home for a while.  We brought a couple of our favorite movies with us from home and decided to watch Lars and the Real Girl.  Jeff popped up some of his world-famous popcorn (okay, maybe not world-famous; but I repeat my assertion that it was worth marrying him if all I got out of it was the popcorn...), and we snuggled in to watch the movie.  Really snuggled.  When you put approximately 20 people in this small apartment, space is at a premium.

As we watched Lars, I remembered why I love this movie so much.  I am guessing that many of you who read this will already know this movie.  But just in case, for those who don't know it, here is the summary.  Lars is a twenty-something young man who has already experienced that life and people are fragile.  Fearful of that fragility, but needing the contact that we all do, Lars invents the adult equivalent of an imaginary friend - he orders a sex doll from the internet.  If you've seen the movie, you know that Lars is a true gentleman and that, though odd, his relationship with Bianca is filling a psychological and spiritual need, not a sexual one.  If you've not seen the movie, then you probably feel about Lars and his relationship with the "real girl" the same way his family, friends and community do. "He what?" "That's weird." "What's the matter with him?" "I can't go along with this!" As the movie progresses, his community learns with the help of some very wise people to show Lars that he is loved and accepted just the way he is by accepting his relationship with Bianca.

So, why do I love this movie? Because of three scenes.  (At least.  But I'll limit myself to three.)

Scene 1
Gus, Lars' older brother, is very embarassed by Lars' behavior. Their mother died when Lars was just a baby, they were raised by their broken-hearted and distant father, and Gus, as the older brother, has always felt responsible for Lars.  Gus feels like Lars' break with reality doesn't really reflect well on him, but he resists the (self-imposed) idea that it might be his fault.  Until he can't resist it anymore, and confesses to his wife:

I left home as fast as I could. You know? I never thought about him. And then the two of us move back here all fat and happy, and he moves into the goddamn garage like the family dog. You know? And I let him. No wonder he goes and orders a fiancee in a box.

His wife calls him over and embraces him, because what is there to say?

Scene 2
Lars asks Gus how you know when you are a man.  Gus is uncomfortable talking about much with Lars, and he tries to get out of answering this, but when Lars presses him, he comes up with this beauty:

It's not like you're all one thing or the other, okay? There's still a kid inside, but you, you, you grow up when you decide to do right, okay?  And not what's right for you, what's right for everybody, even when it hurts...Like, you don't jerk people around.  And, and, and you don't cheat on your woman, and you take care of your family, and you admit when you're wrong, or you try to, anyways.  That's all I can think of, you know? It sounds like it's easy, and for some reason it's not...
It's like the old man.  He didn't have to take care of two kids alone. He could have given us to an orphanage or something. People do that. But he loved us, and he tried to do right even though he didn't know how and even though he had a broken heart...I shouldn't have left you alone with him. He was too sad. It scared me, and I just...I ran. And that was selfish. And I'm sorry.

There are not many things in this world more beautiful than that scene.

Scene 3
Lars is feeling sorry for himself because Bianca is getting too busy as friends take Bianca places in an effort to help Lars understand how life with a "real girl" really works.  Lars lets loose some of his negativity on Karin, his sister-in-law, who knew even before Bianca showed up that Lars was struggling and has been reaching out to him consistently, trying to bring him back to the land of the living.

Lars: She's my girlfriend and I shouldn't have to check a schedule to see her!
Karin: Are you okay?
Lars: How would she feel if I just left her? If I just abandoned her like that?
Karin: Whoa, wait. She didn't abandon you. She'll be back.
Lars: How do I know that, huh? People do whatever they want. They don't care.
Karin: No, we all care. Lars, we do care.
Lars: No, you don't.
(And then Karin loses it.)
Karin: That is...That is just not true! God! Every person in this town bends over backwards to make Bianca feel at home. Why, why do you think she has so many places to go and so many things to do, huh? Huh? Because of you! Because all these people love you! We push her wheelchair. We drive her to work. We drive her home. We wash her. We dress her. We get her up, we put her to bed. We carry her. And she is not petite, Lars. Bianca is a big, big girl. None of this is easy for any of us, but we do it...we do it...aghh...we do it for you! So don't you dare tell me how we don't care!

And that is why I love Lars.  Because I am Lars.  I don't have an imaginary friend.  But I have other breaks with reality.  They're not as obvious as toting around a life-size doll, but they are just as burdensome to my husband, my children, my parents, my siblings, my friends, my co-workers, my faith family.  They put up with the burdens I insist they carry when I refuse to let go of my distorted view of reality.  They don't do it because it's easy. Sometimes it's embarrassing to them.  But they do it because they love me. There is no greater gift they could give me.

"Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." Galatians 6:2
 

Making meaning, and walking humbly

Cameras.  Laptops.  Smart phones.  Facebook.  Instagram.  Snapchat.  Conversation.  Observation. Eyes.  Ears.  Mouth. Nose.  Hands.  Language.  Culture.  History.

I have been thinking alot about interpreting the world lately.  Or making meaning.

It helps that my daily routine for the past five weeks has been experienced in a place where I have very minimal access to the language people around me use to make meaning, to live, and to communicate.  This limited access to language is generally a negative, or an unfortunate thing, I would argue, but it does have a positive side. Recognizing the down side is an important place to start, I think, but not the place to dwell.

One upside of my inability to speak or understand much Hungarian is a heightened use of non-verbal language, I am paying closer attention to context in my environment, in people's faces and body language, and in their tone of voice.  Daily interaction with people on the street, with shopkeepers, and with Hungarians speaking English with me as a second- or sometimes third- or fourth language requires that I look and listen closely beyond their spoken words. This helps me listen more carefully, and think more carefully about words that I use, and how I use them.

In a reading assignment this week from Patty Lane's book Crossing Cultures: Making Friends in a Multicultural World, Lane describes a primary cross-cultural problem that most people encounter, or are guilty of, something called "misattribution."  Misattribution is the common mistake of ascribing meaning to someone else's actions or words based on one's own cultural or experiential lens.  Especially without access to language, I am sure that I am guilty of a broad scale of misattribution as I navigate the cultural landscape of Budapest, both on a tourist level, but more importantly on a professional level.  I have visited a dozen schools in Budapest as I work to place Calvin students in service-learning placements, and I have developed ideas about what is going on in these very foreign places.  In truth, I mostly have no idea.  I have met with numerous academic colleagues from a variety of universities in Hungary, and I am intrigued by their "normal," which I have trouble comprehending even though my conversations with them is exclusively in English.  My students and I regularly make observations about the city, its patterns and activity, and the presence or absence of familiar things and places that demonstrate a tendency toward misattribution.  My favorite example, one that I shared with the group on one of their first days in Budapest, is from one of David Livermore's good books on Cultural Intelligence - Livermore shares the story of a high school student's journal, where he/she proclaims that "airplanes don't take off in India when it is raining."  Based on his/her one experience of a runway delay, when it happened to be raining, this student decided that the people of India as a whole had not figured out the uniquely American skill of flying airplanes in the rain.  A humorous tale, but one that helps me remain humble in my proclamations of understanding while living in Hungary.

I have a StreetFest t-shirt with the well-known words from the prophet Micah on it, "Walk humbly, do justice, and love mercy."  I was wearing it last week when a man stopped me, (clearly a tourist, who turned out to be a judge from Queensland) he wanted to know what I thought of the message on my shirt.  We had a pleasant exchange, and he shared with me that this verse is the main theme of the Christian Legal Society in Queensland, and I shared with him why I appreciate the prophetic words from Micah for their reminder to us of the importance of walking humbly.  This is the posture that I think best for making meaning while studying, or teaching abroad.

The tools for making meaning are all around us, and some of them include the list above - the internet has provided access to other people's lives in ways that are incredible, instantaneous, dangerous, rewarding, devastating, and fun, all at the same time.  Our five senses should all be involved, too, of course.  Navigating this meaning-making landscape can be overwhelming, gratifying, and exhausting. Knowing when to turn on, when to turn off, how to pay full attention to the human beings right next to you, without losing contact with loved ones on the other side of the world requires a set of skills that takes time, and humility, to develop.

That's enough for now.  It is time to go visit with friends.  In person.  Peace.

Time Flies

We've been in Budapest for a month already. If the time we are spending in Hungary were a work week, we could cross Monday off on our calendar.  At my age this is how time usually moves, of course.  But I distinctly remember when we were here in 2011 how time seemed to have ground to a halt.  By the time we had been here a month, it felt like forever since we had left home and like forever until we would see it again.  Now it seems like this semester is going to fly by so quickly. 

I have a theory about this relative speed of time.  When everything is brand new to you (like it is when you're a young child), you pay attention to everything because you have to.  You don't know what is important and what is unimportant.  You don't know what comes next and when next will be.  So you are noticing and taking in everything, drinking from the proverbial fire hose.  But when you start to know a place, a schedule, a routine, you no longer concentrate on every little detail, word, and moment.  It's not necessary anymore.  Your attention is grabbed only by the things that deviate from the norm, and so time seems to flow by more quickly.  Well, that's my theory, anyway.

Some things that stand out in the last month:

Lena Vida and Nora Takács are two students from Károli Gáspár Egyetem (one of the universities where Calvin students study here).  They immediately got in touch with our family and spent time with us even before the students arrived.  They have done an amazing job of making the students feel welcome and at home.  Lena and her friends Zsolti and Bori helped introduce the students to some Hungarian folk culture on their very first day by performing some folk dances in traditional costume, and also taught us all a dance (or part of one, at least) whose name means "The Path of the Devil".

Lena even invited all of us to a surprise birthday party for her sister at their home in a town outside the city.  It was a beautiful evening with lovely people who extended very gracious hospitality to a large group of strangers. (You can read more about it from Abi's perspective here.)

Birthday party in Lena's backyard

Lunch with Kata Kallay, a Károli Gáspár professor and Calvin's liasion at the school.  She took us to a restaurant where she has her office hours because Károli Gáspár is squeezed for space and not all professors have private offices.  She is a wonderful, hospitable woman, and after hearing her describe her class on Holocaust literature, I wish I were a student here so I could take it.

An afternoon with Tibor Fabini and his wife Delinka at their lovely home in Budakeszi on the outskirts of the city.  Tibor is another Károli Gáspár professor, and Jeff had the pleasure of spending time with him in Grand Rapids when he was there for a conference in 2013.  We got to enjoy an afternoon looking out at the landscape from the patio of Tibor and Delinka's hillside home.

A lunch with Kati Fügedi, the woman who teaches our students basic Hungarian, at her home.  It was so fun getting reacquainted with Kati, remembering how forthright and opinionated she can be, and being treated to a good trouncing in the game of Scrabble by someone who really knows how to play.  (More about this experience from Abi's perspective: here.)

Dinner with our friends Zoltan and Andrea and their son, Peter.  We drove out of the city and into the area of the Pilis Mountains.  It's a beautiful area for hiking, and overlooks onto the Danube and into Slovakia.  We had time before our dinner reservation, so we drove a little further into Esztergom and got a quick look at the Esztergom Basilica, the largest church in Hungary and the seat of the Roman Catholic church in Hungary.  Just a little something to pass the time before dinner.  You know. 

Ceiling of the Esztergom Basilica

Dinner was a really nice time of getting caught up with Zoltan, Andrea and Peter.  We ate at an inn and restaurant called Kislugas which means "little trellis".  It had a simple, timeless feel as though we could have been in a scene from a fairy tale (if people in fairy tales drove cars and could order pizza).

Those are some of the highlights of the past month.  There have been many more grace-filled experiences, large and small, but I know that you can't spend all your time reading about my life even if you wanted to. I wish I could share it all with all of you whom we love, though, because that would make it all that much better.  Though we are quite obviously enjoying our time here, please know you are missed.