the returning immigrant

(or “Merry” if you prefer…)

“Hush the noise, ye men of strife, and hear the angels sing…”

As the carol echoed around Hambledon church tonight, I was struck by the depth of that line.  Whatever you’re doing this Christmas, and wherever you’re doing it, I hope you’ll get a chance to hear the angels sing.  I believe that the fact of Jesus’ birth makes the world a brighter place.  Sometimes I need reminding of that.

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please have a listen to the new Christmas EP, “Immanuel”.  I figured I wasn’t going to get Christmas cards out to the various corners of the world where you all live, and the mass email never seems to quite measure up, so the EP is my humble effort at doing something slightly different.  You can find it on Facebook or on ReverbNation.

Wherever you are, have a fantastic Christmas…

with love

Rich.

Today is Guy Fawke’s day, when England remembers that a man was once caught attempting to blow up the houses of parliament with rather a lot of gunpowder. Suspicions about the nature of his arrest and the methods used to extract a confession were brushed under the carpet with almost guantanamoesque recklessness and the poor mutt was strapped to the top of a bonfire and cooked.  For some reason, this provides an excuse for the English to make a model of a man and burn it every year.  We usually let off fireworks as well, although I think that’s as much to do with man’s natural instinct to blow stuff up as anything else.  I couldn’t help but feel a bit let down by it all though - noone was hanging out of high-rise windows, firing roman candles from hand-held tubes.  Noone disassembled a packaged firework to see if it would fire horizontally instead of vertically and I didn’t see anybody letting off random industrial-sized fireworks in the middle of a busy street.

Quite boring really.

Maybe it was because all the explosives in London were somewhere else.  Today I taught my first “observed” lesson as part of the PGCE course.  The year 8 class upon whom I have been foisted are known as a slightly bouncy lot, but I was unprepared for the train wreck that the lesson was to become.  Having kept a lid on things for most of the lesson, I turned my back for a few seconds too long.  The resultant slide into delinquency was unstoppable.

For the first time in my teaching career, two boys actually had a full-on fist-swinging fight in my lesson.

I suppose I’m supposed to be having new experiences, but I wasn’t expecting that.

Ah well…

So I haven’t posted in ages, I know. The trouble is, every time I get round to trying to write something I realise that I don’t have time to write about even half of the important bits, let alone the smaller things that make life interesting. So. Here’s a very condensed run-down of the last couple of months…

September: Got my stuff together and moved up to London (here, if you’re interested). Hung out in a local Primary (elementary) school for a few days doing observations. Started at King’s College. Met lots of people. Got slightly frustrated at the slower pace of some sessions. Tried hard to remember that most people don’t teach for 5 years before enrolling on a PGCE. Tried to extend grace. Sometimes succeeded.  Realised that it’s been a while since I had to do assignments.  Remembered why grace is necessary.

October:  Started first school placement.  Catholic boys school (this one, if you’re interested).  1100 kids. Everyone calling me “Sir”.  Scary.  Small difficulties with school mentor.  Not his fault that he’s a busy head of department but it didn’t help me very much.  Eventually palmed off to another teacher in the department.  Much better.  Realised that I’ve been teaching longer than many of the people I’m observing.  Ofsted (UK national school inspectorate) inspection in second week .  Not a problem for me as I’m a lowly trainee, but lots of stressed teachers running around for a few days.  Everyone survived, so we ate cake and went to the pub.  Very English. Sessions at King’s college continued, 2 days a week.  Some good, some indifferent, which is to be expected I suppose.  Got my old bike back from Yorkshire and fixed up (bit of difficulty removing a jammed seat post, but the man in the bike shop down the road had an “encourager” - a really big wrench…).  Rode it all over London (Westminster, Whitehall, Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park Corner, Buckingham Palace, St. Paul’s cathedral, Tower Bridge was one particularly entertaining route).  Got rained on.  Didn’t care.  Kept riding.  Visited the Palace of Westminster (houses of Parliament) with a friend to listen to the ex-ambassador to Syria and Oman talk about issues in the middle east.  Talk held in one of the old committee rooms I used to see on the news.  Very cool.  Stood in Westminster hall and marvelled at the history that took place there (trials of Charles I, William Wallace, Thomas More, Guy Fawkes; Lying in state of various dignitaries).  Continued the quest to find a church.  Way too much choice.

Which brings me to here and now.  In the world of peaks and troughs that accompanies most cultural transitions, the last week or so has been a bit of a trough, but for no good reason.  I honestly love living in London and exploring its many nooks and crannies, but not a day goes by when I don’t look up at some aircraft tracing across the heavens and wonder if it’s bound for Beijing and if maybe I’d rather be on it.  The feeling has been compounded this weekend by Jay and Becky’s wedding celebrations - going on in Vancouver as I write - at which I had dearly hoped to be present.  Some pills are hard to swallow, and being told that I would not be excused from my course for the 3 days required to attend was one of those pills.  Jay, Becky, my body may not be there, but my heart is with you and I wish you both all the love in the world.  A video Skype call last night helped, but I couldn’t help getting emotional afterwards.  C’est la vie, as they probably say in Quebec…

So there it is, the duality of loving living in one place while still pining for another seems to characterise my existence.  I wonder where life will take me next.

R.

The other week, I managed to finally get out of the house (4 days away from a computer!) to spend the weekend in a field with a few thousand Christian hippies.  Greenbelt is an annual Christian arts festival held on Cheltenham Racecourse (OK, so a very nice field) with bands, speakers and workshops.  Bacon sandwiches for breakfast, and way too much coffee ensured that I didn’t have to muck around with being healthy, although it was an occasional hassle to avoid the vegan food stands.  Musical highlights included Starfield, Martyn Joseph and Seth Lakeman, but there were plenty more to listen to.

The Sunday afternoon communion service was one of those events that could only really happen in England, with somewhat disorganised efforts at creating a liturgy that included everyone but wouldn’t offend.  The theme of the weekend was “Rising Sun,” resulting, almost inevitably, in thousands of people standing in a field singing Lennon and McCartney’s “Here Comes the Sun”…. in the rain.

Most of the last week or so has been spent holed up in my parents’ house, voyeuristically (is that a word?) looking at peoples’ facebook profiles, watching BBC TV online (oh, broadband…), reading cheap novels and generally being lazy. Claiming readjustment, reverse culture-shock, Jetlag and so on has definite advantages.

But there comes a point where a man has to get on with his life and get on his bike.  So I did. Dad is a bit of a cycling nut and has a spare bike or two lying around, so when he said he was off for a pedal I decided to get off my gently fattening backside (too much cheese on toast) and join him.

“How far do you want to go?” he asks.

“10 miles?” I reply, “That long enough for you?”

Considering that he regularly does 4 times that, he very graciously agreed. It actually ended up being 20 because we took a small detour to The Pub With No Name (otherwise known as the White Horse) at Priors Dean, but that’s a slightly different story. Anyway. I digress.

We wound our way down some picturesque (and quintessentially English) country lanes, through the villages of Blackmoor, Selborne and Newton Valence. As we came to the top of one hill, Dad commented that we ought to go single file, as the road was a bit narrow and winding. We set off, dodging minor potholes and the detritus that is so often found on english country lanes, and began to gain speed. This presented something of a challenge, as the bike I was riding, an Airnimal, is designed to fold up, which means it has slightly smaller wheels than is usually the case for a road bike.  Skinny tyres, pumped up hard, ensure that only a very small patch of rubber is ever in contact with the road. This causes less rolling resistance (which means you go faster), but also makes braking rather more difficult.  Which is a problem when one comes round a corner at significant speed to find a large tractor coming the other way.

Big Tractor + Small Road = No Space. Big Problem. How I stopped without hitting him, I don’t know.  I do know that I was squeezing hard enough on the brake that the cable actually slipped in the mechanism. Interestingly, Once everything had stopped I realised that I had, without thinking about it, aimed for the front wheel of the tractor as that was the softest part to hit.  The instinct for self-preservation is a funny thing.

I can also say that, faced with impending death or significant injury, my life did not flash before my eyes.  My concious faculties were filled with one word and it had four letters.  I don’t think there’s anything particularly ignoble about it; there simply wasn’t room in my brain for anything except “oh, bleep…”

Ah well, I survived without actually hitting anything and the post adrenaline shakes gave a pretty convincing excuse for a beer at the pub-with-no-name in Priors Dean…

Speaking of near death experiences, I have an interview on wednesday at which my fate for the coming year will be decided.  A PGCE at King’s, or something else - I’ll keep you posted.

Jetlag is a wonderful thing. This morning, I woke up at 5.30am, any attempts to get back to sleep thwarted by a brain in overdrive.  I’m faced with the uncomfortable task of re-learning how to live in England - bank accounts, mobile phone, groceries (how does anyone afford anything here?!), learning to cook again (yes, it has basically been 6 years…)

The truth is, I already miss China.  The simplicity of existence. The lack of any real responsibility when it comes to obeying the rules of the road (red traffic lights? a recommendation!). Really cheap good food.

But I’m also aware that that chapter of my life is over, however painful that may be, and it’s time to move on.  Time to breath clean air, and savour the lighting fast internet connections of the UK. Time to learn how to cook again.

For those still in China, though, worry not.  I’m not going to forget about you and I will be back to visit!

As I come to the end of this China chapter (less than a week to departure), it seems good to look back over the last 6 years. Here’s a list, not exactly definitive but close, of my top 10…

1. Watching the clouds lifting to reveal snow-capped peaks in Lhasa. Gobsmackingly beautiful.
2. Playing with the Instant Noodles to a full dance floor at the AmCham annual ball. Just call me Al.
3. Leading worship with Liz, Logan, Jerm, Stefan and Daniel at Spring Camp 08. It’s all Jazz, man!
4. Hearing Trey Harvey call me “Uncle Rich” for the first time
5. Watching the IAB Worship band go from strength to strength. Yesterday, today and forever His grace is enough .
6. Being useful during the SARS outbreak (and then finding out that someone in Yangshuo was selling knocked-off copies of the video that we made!)
7. Discovering that I’d stopped being cynical about church. Thanks, NeXt!
8. Biking, hiking and river-swimming in Yangshuo
9. The countless moments of connection that make teaching and youth work so rewarding.
10. The tears at the end of it all. Confirmation that it was worth it.

The thing about saying goodbye, I suppose, is that you begin to realise how much you care about people. And possibly how much they care about you. Which is humbling.

Those of you who are still at IAB next year, be nice to the new guys. I hope that you inspire them as much as you’ve inspired me.

I can see clearly now the smog has gone, but it will probably be back tomorrow and large clouds of uncertainty still hang over my next steps!

There are two more “normal” days of school, 3 days of exams and a day and a half of wrapping up. After which, I will no longer work at IAB. Weird. The last 5 years have gone ridiculously quickly, and I’m painfully aware of the things that I didn’t quite manage to achieve, but overall it’s been a good job. I’m definitely going to miss the school and a large number of students. You know who you are.

Mum and Dad are coming out at the end of term and will be in China until the end of June. I’m hoping to spend some time in Sichuan helping with earthquake relief and my flight out is booked for the 10th July. An interview with King’s College, London, is scheduled for some time in July, after which I should have some vague idea of what I’m doing with the rest of my life!

I like silly ideas. They remind me that life doesn’t always make sense, but that if we smile and enjoy the moment, it generally ends up being more fun. Which is where I find myself. I’m in between back-to-back youth camp weekends, which will be followed immediately (like monday-morning-6.45am-at-school kind of immediately) by a week long trip to Yangshuo with 28 high school students. Oh yes.

Something tells me I might need some sleep by the time that’s all over with, but then there’s the little nagging issue of an impending yearbook print deadline. Just another little thing, right?