Yardımcı Mısın? Are You Helping?

Recently I was in a lesson with my original and now former language helper. We were talking about the question, what does "iyilik yapmak," or "doing good things" mean. Here it is a means of earning sevap, or scoring brownie points with God. My helper said that "iyilik yapmak" usually involves helping someone in need. You have extra eggplant and your neighbor has come into hard times? You share. You have old bread? You give it to the animals in the park.
Okay, so not all that interesting yet. But wait, now she gets to the part where she describes what we as Americans think helping another person involves. Our words. We warn, we thank, we encourage.
As believers our response to those we see in need should always be different, marked by a love for our Maker. This is one way my dear friend perceives the American believers around her, in one way or another.
Life does get complicated. Situations over here are far more gray than the black and white way I so often perceived them to be when I was not the foreigner. My actions have ramifications. But it leads me to ask myself this question: am I willing?

When Are You Going To Eat The ONE Clif Bar?

This weekend, in celebration of July 4, three friends and I headed off to Kızılcahamam, a small town about an hour outside of Ankara for some hiking and some good 'ole fashioned girl time. It's never a bad thing for a small town girl to get out of the big city and have some head-clearing time in the pine trees.
Saturday's adventure began with the discovery that the bus to Kızılcahamam left from a different location than it did a year ago and the taxi driver who wasn't sure the bus stop had changed to would be happy to take us there for a "good price". We declined and ended up riding with one who knew where he was going...or at least sounded more knowledgeable.
After arriving in Kızılcahamam, eating a Magnum bar and finding out hotel we went for a stroll down the road that cuts through the national park to the tune of Turkish folk music. On either side of the road, relatively closely packed together are all kinds of picnic tables for people to "make a picnic" or "make a grill." It's better that way - if you've forgotten something, you can always ask your neighbor! And quiet? Nope! Kids running everywhere and out of every other car or so load music.
Later that evening, after a delight supper we walked the streets with everyone else, eating (with everyone else) sunflower seeds and spitting the shells on the street (again, with everyone else). And of course, when we returned to our hotel room we played the requisite card games and laughed the requisite laughs.
Among the many topics of discussion was the Clif Bar I currently have stashed in my kitchen. Who knows how the topic came up. It seems that whenever you get a group of American ex-pats in a room (in this case, four American single worker women) the topic of various and sundry foreign...a.k.a. American...foods comes up. Normally I would bring such a Clif Bar hiking with me, but as there is only one in my kitchen and no easy source of replacement, it waits for the next, longer hike. And when my roommate asked me when I was going to eat "the" Clif Bar, we truly couldn't help but laugh.

Empty Headed Dogs?

Translating can be a tricky job. I'm so not a translator at this stage in the game! But still, things come funny to me at times (including the English language...I don't think we say that things come funny to us - that would be a translation out of Turkish to English!). About a month ago some friends and I came across this sign while hiking. We have a stray dog problem in Ankara. But directly translated - we have a problem with dogs who have empty heads. Stupid dogs? No, simply dogs who have no owners...

Life on the Street

A few days ago I was caught in a rain storm. Now, for Ankara in June this was no small storm. Can we say river in the street? Fortunately when the thunder started I was still in my language lesson so my language helper called me a cab. From the front gate of her building to the cab I crossed a small creek, a.k.a. the road. Right across from me was the weekly outdoor market, or pazar as we say here. Normal activity had paused for the down pour. Women and men, shoppers and pazarcıs (men selling items at the pazar) were huddled under the umbrellas in attempts to stay out of the rain. By the time I arrived home not too many dry people could be found in the streets of central Ankara.
Right now so much of life is lived outside. Summer is here, after all! Ankara is out again! So when the rain comes, watch out. And always carry and umbrella.

Karşılaştım

When I first arrived I met friends of a friend. These friends own a office supply store where I will occasionally go, drink tea and talk. Through these friends I met the owners of the restaurant next store. And through the owners, I met two ladies who make Kayseri mantısı, a small pasta that slightly resembles ravioli.
Last week I ran into one of the mantı makers on the street. We chatted briefly and then went our separate ways. I ran into her again in the grocery store on Friday. Again, we chatted, I asked her how to use a type of herb that is sold here, she asked if my parents live here and then proceeded to tell me to stop by anytime. Later, by the cash register, she told me to stop by again. I thought, sure, I can stop by sometime in the next week or so maybe. Often at first glance it's hard to tell if people really want you to stop by or if they are just saying so because it's the thing that is done. She had told me where she lived and I had told her where I lived, we said our good-byes and I left the store with my purchased groceries.
I was making green beans on the stove a while later when the doorbell rang. Low and behold, she was at my door...with food. She kept apologizing for coming and I kept saying that it was no problem and thanking her profusely. She thought that since I live alone (although now I have one gal staying with me for two and a half weeks and two more coming after that, so not really alone) and a student whose parents live half-way around the world, I might need some food.
So I guess I'll be visiting her after all. I need to return her dishes. And they need to be returned full.

Art Class

Since last fall I've been taking part in a city-run art class in a nearby neighborhood. Last Tuesday was our last class before the big exhibit in March. Part of me is glad for a slightly freer schedule to hang out with other friends, especially now that summer and the annual emptying of Ankara is coming. I will miss these one's I have gotten to know. Fortunately, I have their numbers and they have mine. We'll see what this summer has to offer!

In Acceptance Lieth Peace

In the past couple of days I've been thinking about change. Well, more the past week or so. I spent last week in Germany with my old roommate and now she is here in Ankara visiting me. When I arrived in Basel (the first airport I've ever been to where I had to choose what door I went out by the country I was going to - France and Germany or Switzerland) it had been almost two years since I had seen her. Lots of good conversations about the new, about the old, about everything in between. Yesterday morning I started to get sad, knowing that our time together was drawing slowly to a close. And then tucked away I found a poem by Amy Charmichael given to me by a friend a while back - In Acceptance Lieth Peace.

He said, "I will forget the dying faces;
The empty places,
They shall be filled again.
O voices moaning deep within me, cease."
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in forgetting lieth peace.

He said, "I will crowd action upon action
The strife of faction
Shall stir me and sustain;
O tears that drown the fire of Manhood cease."
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in endeavor lieth peace.

He said, "I will withdraw me and be quiet,
Why meddle in life's riot?
Shut my door to pain.
Desire, thou dost befool me, thou shalt cease."
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in aloofness lieth peace.

He said, "I will submit;
I am defeated.
God hath depleated
My life of its rich gain.
O futile murmuring, why will ye not cease?"
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in submission lieth peace.

He said, "I will accept the breaking sorrow
Which God to-morrow
Will to His son explain."
Then did the turmoil deep within him cease.
Not vain the word, not vain.
For in Acceptance lieth peace.

I rejoice for this time we have had together to share good words, laughter, walks, coffee, Asian food, German food, Turkish food. And truly I am thankful for the reality that this one, my dear friend, I will not have to say a permanent good-bye to. I am thankful for these ones here in my adopted country who have welcomed me home. And I am thankful for all that lies ahead of me in the weeks to come. Truly, in acceptance lieth peace.