Long post. Really long.

As I sat down to write this post I realized something. You, the reader, are my enemy. You are reading this blog in the hope that something interesting has happened to me. I, on the other hand, would greatly prefer it if such "interesting" occurrences were kept at a minimum. This difference in opinion makes us enemies. I say we settle it with a fistfight.

Unfortunately I'm making a blog post, so I guess you win. Perhaps I shouldn't complain. After all, I'm the one who volunteered to go to a foreign country and do a job I've never done before.

At this church they have Friday night vespers every week. After vespers there's a thing called "clubs". During clubs people get together to discuss the thing that the speaker talked about, or perhaps some other topic. The general idea is that people discuss things in groups. It's an opportunity to practice English and socialize.
Last Friday I led a group. It wend poorly. There really isn't much to write about. It just went poorly. The topic was the state of the dead, and the people in my group spoke English at a very basic level. Th result was that it went poorly, something like this.

"So if you died, what would you see next?"
"I'm sorry, I no can understand"
-awkward silence-
"Death is bad"
"yea"

It's helpful to note that the discussion is guided by a series of questions. I just tried to follow them.

This Friday I ventured into "clubs" again. A student I had met during the week saw me and asked me "where you go?"
I responded with a blizzard of multi syllabic words that left him with a blank expression on his face. I tried again. "I'm looking" I said. He nodded.
Just then one of the teachers grabbed me and pulled me into a room. "Come help us here!" he said.
The were going around giving people orange juice and disturbingly green bananas. Seeing the juice I suddenly realized that I was extraordinarily thirsty: parched, and on the whole dying for a cup of orange juice. I watched intently as two teachers came around the circle, one handing out bananas, the other handing out cups of orange juice. When the teacher with the bananas reached me he said jokingly to the teacher with the orange juice "Don't give him any!" I smiled politely at his dry humor. My smile faded however, ans she obediently passed right by me. The life giving orange juice moved further and further down the line.
Seeing the look of despair on my face, my friend from before offered me his cup. I declined it. No, I was going to get my own orange juice.
I got up and pursued the person with the orange juice, feeling quite desperate. Catching her, I demanded my rightful cup. I received said cup, but as I turned to go back to my seat I bumped into the person serving bananas, causing some of my orange juice to spill on the floor.

Crud.

Desperately I scanned the room for napkins, paper towels, frolicking two-year-olds, anything that I could grab to clean up the spill. Seeing nothing, and knowing that discussion was starting, I decided to leave it there. The floors were mopped regularly anyway.

As I sat down my friend leaned over. "Why you leave it there?" he asked. A rapid explanation sprang to my lips. About three seconds into it I realized the futility of the whole thing and got up to get some paper towels. It's easier to clean than to explain.
I returned to find people had divided into groups already. A teacher grabbed me and plopped me down in one of the groups, then handed me a sheet of discussion questions.

The orange juice sat there, watching me as only a glaringly obvious mess can.

I tried to push the orange juice out of my mind and start the discussion. It quickly became apparent that there wasn't much discussing to be done. My friend from the hallway was in the group, and by sheer force of will he managed to give answers, though the answers sometimes had little to do with the question. There were two other women who resolutely refused to speak more than one sentence at a time, and a Korean girl from Connecticut.

This last person chatted happily. I occasionally corrected her grammar, until she happened to mention that she had been born in Connecticut.

Crud.

The others, with the exception of my valiant friend from the hallway, were mostly silent. I tried to prod them with questions, but it never did much Good. The would answer the question in as simple a manner as possible, then stare at me as if I were a shade of silvery green.
In this manner we blazed through the questions with alarming speed, finishing about halfway through the allotted time. Awkward silences interspersed with free conversation followed.

I might have preferred removing my teeth with a belt sander.

The girl from Connecticut then pointed out that I had gone about the process all wrong. Instead of discussing things as a group, I was supposed to ask every question to each person in turn.

Well that explains a lot.

I contemplated going over the questions again, but it was too late. Instead I adapted a sermon idea I had to fit the topicand talked for the remaining time. The girl from Connecticut said it was wonderful.

Let's hope.

I'll admit it. One of the reasons why I came here is that I wanted to develop the quiet confidence that girls find so sexy. Right now I'm just hoping that my frustration and embarrassment don't show through too much and ruin people's vespers time.

Let's hope.

Still, for a time there I did feel as though God were speaking through me. I hope He was able to do something with that time. I really hope I didn't ruin it all afterwards.

Let's hope.
I never did clean up the orange juice.