Culture Shock # 3: You Don't Have to Go Far...

As many of you know, I live and work in Armenia.

When I am back in the US, I meet several people who are surprised by what I do. I can tell by the look in their eyes, that they don't really know where Armenia is located on the globe, but they know it sounds like a developing nation.

"Wow. You work in ARMENIA! Thanks for going over there and helping out!"

Armenia. Yes, it certainly is not as blessed, financially, as America is. They are also not blessed with as much possibility as Americans are.

Some people live in abandoned shipping containers left after the 1988 earthquake.

Some people live in villages with no running water and outhouses.

The average income, nation-wide, may be around $300 a month.

There are A LOT of needy people.

But, this week, while riding the subway in Chicago, I was reminded that great need is not only found outside the borders of America.

I observed this 50 year old African American man step on to the train. He had a beard, earrings, wore an Obama hat, and had some wild clothing on - jeans and a coat made up of neon colored pieces of fabric that made outfit look like one huge quilt of cartoon charatecrs and spray-painted lewd remarks.

His wife entered a few seconds after him. She was a Caucasian female, overweight, with long straggly hair streaked with grey. She had an identical outfit, hat, and hot pink socks stuffed into silver ballet flats.

I noticed he stood up, and she sat down in another part of the train. He got off without telling her, and she scrambled to get out of the door before it closed shut.

He sped ahead of her through the underground hallways, and she was fighting to keep up behind him. I watched and she looked back at me, somewhat ashamed. There was also a look of fear in her eye - she may lose her husband in this underground maze. So, she would try to run, but couldn't keep it up for long.

They got to the next platform, and he stood near the tracks. Every time she got close to him, he would move far away from her.

How does it feel to be some one's ball and chain? How does it feel to do everything to be loved by someone, to literally even dress like their twin, to be accepted, and yet still feel unloved?

My heart reached out to her. I could see in her eye and on her face - she just wanted to be loved and accepted, and was even running after it.

Yes, people in Armenia don't have all the prosperity of the West. They don't pick their children up from private schools in their Range Rovers. They don't walk into Macy's with a charge card and buy the latest Fall "must have" fashion. They don't always even have indoor plumbing.

But, when you get to the end of your life, does that stuff really matter? What matters is the condition of the soul.

That woman driving her Range Rover, gripping the steering wheel with her Tiffany diamond ring, may feel more lonely, isolated, and abused than the woman in Armenia who walks a mile every day with heavy buckets of water from a well so her children can take a bath.

The woman I saw chasing her husband in the subway with "B***h in Control!" written on the back of her jacket, may feel more out-of-control of her life than the Armenian woman who can only afford to cook potatoes every night for dinner, but goes to bed, every single night, in the loving embrace of a husband who adores her.

These issues of the soul are the TRUE issues that have to be dealt with and healed. Unfortunately, America, prosperity doesn't bring us love. It's deceiving. It appears to. It gives us that "rush" that everything is OK in the world.

But, really....it's not.

Culture Shock # 3: You don't have to go far to help someone in need. I am in Armenia, but there are great needs in the McMansions, the suburbs, the homeless shelters, and the subways of America.

And, I return to one thing that I've been learning over the last seven years: We truly are all the same. American or Armenian, we all require love. We all need to feel like there's hope. We all have to believe that we are on earth for a purpose.

In a few hours, I board a plane at Chicago O'Hare airport. And, surprisingly, even though I was only in the US for 5 days, I feel ready to go back.

I love the food here. I love the shopping here. I love my home culture. I LOVED surprising my sister for her 30th birthday and spending time with her. But, my husband, my kids, my closest friends all now live on the other side of the world.

America, I love you. But, now it's time to go HOME.

Wherever your HOME is, there are people who need you to reach into their lives.

Notice them. Find a way to brighten there day. Remind them that they are not alone.

Culture Shock # 2: On-the-Go Eating

Americans love to eat "on the go."

With the rise of fast food restaurants and drive-thrus, we are a culture that eats while we walk, drive and work at our desk.

Once I was on a marshutka (public transport van) in Kiev, Ukraine. After standing in the aisle for 20 minutes of the journey, I finally was able to obtain one of the highly coveted seats. I sat down, pulled a granola bar out of my purse, and began to eat.

Everyone stared at me. I kept eating.

Everyone continued to stare at me.

Nick leaned over and whispered in my ear, "People don't eat in front of other people like that over here. It's rude. You didn't know that?"

I'm a stubborn person. I looked back up at him and took another deliberate bite out of my granola bar.

I whispered back to him, "I don't care."

OK. I was not being an example of someone who is a "guest" in this country and who is trying to be culturally-sensitive. But, I was being true to my American self.

A lot of cultures don't have the "eat on the go" mentality, and it is truly hard for them to understand why we don't have enough time to sit down at a table and eat a normal meal. Why, in the world, are we eating while riding on a marshutka?

The day before leaving for this trip, I was running errands all over the Yerevan and was STARVING. I finally bought a salad, and as I was walking around the center, started to eat my salad. People stared at me. I continued to eat. I thought...tomorrow, I'm leaving for America. I can let myself feel American one day early! Then, a man knocked my tabuleh salad out of my hand onto the floor of the post office. It was gone. And with it, the stares disappeared too.

October 22, 2010: My first full day back in America

I bought an apple at Target. I walked out the door and began my four block walk to the subway station. The whole way, I was biting into my juicy apple. Cars drove by, and no one noticed I was doing anything odd. People walked by, and didn't stare.

I was back in America! I can now eat wherever and whenever I want to. But, is that a good thing????

What do you think?

Culture Shock # 1: Lines

Americans LOVE lines.

We love the orderliness of them. We love the fairness and justice we feel while waiting in one. We love them!

We are taught the importance of them from a very young age. During our early years, how many of our daily educational minutes are spent on teaching our American children how to quietly and patiently line up and wait in a line?

Line to walk down to music class. Line to get a drink at the water fountain. Line to take a turn to climb the rope in P.E. Lines at Disney World. Lines at McDonald's. Lines at the grocery store check-out counters. Lines at government offices. Lines while driving.

Lines. Lines. Lines.

Well, lines work well in Northern America, Europe and probably Australia! But, once you leave the Western world, forget about it!

When I first arrived in Armenia, this would drive me nuts! I would be waiting in line at a store to check-out, an elderly woman would just walk right in front of me and check out. I was enraged, and everyone else behind me was calm. She was elderly. She had paid her dues. She deserves respect, and she DOES NOT have to wait in lines.

I still cringe at the idea of going to the doctor's office in Armenia. They do not give appointment times. If the doctor is there, you stand outside of his office and wait! NO, you don't wait in a line. You FIGHT to get in. Whoever is the most aggressive or can prove they have the sickest child, gets in first. A few months ago, I stood with Ava in my arms for 2.5 hours waiting to see the doctor. I couldn't bring myself to FIGHT to get into the doctor, and they took advantage of my timidness.

They don't drive "in the lines" in Armenia. Every day I drive, I encounter countless cars that are driving with the dotted line right beneath the center of their car. They are not in one lane or the other...just in the middle of both!

But, despite my Americaness, over the last seven years, I have learned to relax a bit about lines. I didn't really have a decision. Either I learned to relax about it, or I would live my life in complete frustration ALL THE TIME.

October 21, 2010:

I arrive at Chicago O'Hare airport and walk into the passport control/ customs area. I see that there are people entering the hall from two directions. There are a lot of people coming from the left, and I am coming from the right. So, I merge into the "U.S. Citizen" Passport control line.

Suddenly, I am yelled at.

"The line starts back there." A man pointed back to the left.

I, completely unaware of the beginning of line, humbly apologize in a kind voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was coming from that direction and thought the line merged."

Another rude voice from a young lady with glasses, wearing sweat pants, and with greasy hair that looked like she had flown for hours without a shower.

"Yeah, well, I've been waiting here a LONG TIME." A roll of the eyes.

Wow...culture shock! Don't touch the order of the line! Even if it's a mistake. THERE IS NO GRACE!

Lines keep the world in order. Lines make me just as important as anyone else.

I was kinda hoping I'd be overwhelmed with the kind "outgoingness" of Americans upon my return. We're known for that characteristic all over the world.

But, my welcome back into the US: "Get back in line!"

I felt a little mad, a little sad. I felt like I needed a re-education.

Lines are great. They really do bring fairness and order. But, lines are not more important than the individual.

We, and our spot in line, is not important than everything else. Some people do deserve a break: the elderly, the pregnant, the families with young, screaming children who have just endured a trans-atlantic flight.

But, in our culture, we don't care. Line is supreme.

The rest of the world can learn a lot from our lines and organization. And, we can learn a lot from the rest of the world about compassion and flexibility.

I guess that's why we need each other.

Culture Shock # 1! Welcome to the US!

Reverse Culture Shock? Really?

[I am in the bread aisle in a Target, and enjoying every minute of it!]

Since moving overseas seven years ago, I've often heard expats describe their reverse culture shock experiences.

After years of shopping in outdoor markets or small, one-room stores, they arrive back home to the US and enter into a Super Target. They are overwhelmed with the variety: 100 different types of cereals, an aisle full of different types of breads, 30 types of mustard. Suddenly, overwhelmed with the extravagance of it all, their eyes fill up with tears and they leave the store with an inner promise that they will conquer the "shock" and return another day.

I remember when I first heard this.

"What, in the world, are they talking about? We grew up here, in the US, and a few years away cannot erase the history we have. This is our home. WE ARE AMERICANS."

I must admit that every time I've returned the US, I have pretty much skipped gleefully into every Target I've encountered. I love the variety. I don't feel overwhelmed, and I thank God that I am American.

It's true that there is not one store in Armenia that comes close to comparing to all the wonderful things that Target can sell to us. When we first arrived in Armenia, we spent months trying to figure out where to buy things in the city. No one from our organization had ever lived in Armenia, so it was our job to figure everything out.

One day after spending the entire day just trying to find a shop where we could buy enough hangers to accommodate our American wardrobe, Nick had a dream while sleeping. In his dream, he had spent days walking the Armenian streets in pursuit of the long lost hangers when suddenly, the clouds cleared, and before him a appeared a beautiful, bright Target. Red bulls eye glittering in the moonlight. Angels' voices singing. The stress had lifted. He was "home" in the aisle where he could choose: wood or plastic hangers? Trouser or shirt hangers? Child or Adult size?

Today, I boarded a plane to come back to the US for just one week. Purpose: Surprise my sister for her 30th birthday in Chicago.

I have not stepped foot on American soil for a while. I almost immediately experienced reverse culture shock.

While I am in Chicago, I will take some time to document some things I notice.

Why share them with the world on my blog?

Well, I realize that the "shocks" I experience also reveal how our American culture is different from the East. I somewhat feel what it's like to be a guest, a foreigner, in this country. What do they go through to learn OUR culture?

I realize that I'm an American, and I do quickly "fall back" into our cultural lines. But, do you really know what those lines are?

Let's see what I feel and experience over the next few days! Chicago, Miracle Mile...Here I come!

216 Smiles

216 smiles.

Last week, I had the chance of seeing 216 smiles- 216 very distinct smiles.

Some young, some old. Some were extravagant and bursting at the seams, and some reserved. But, all 216 were beautiful!

I remember the anticipation I felt on the two graduation days that I have experienced. When I was 17, I was able to walk up on stage at our city’s large civic arena and receive my high school diploma.

I remember how I felt on that day. It was the beginning of a new era for me. I had completed 13 years of schooling under the guiding hands of excellent teachers and my parents. I had a whole new life ahead. Within a few months, I was moving away from home to begin my college (university) career.

I walked up on stage, I was handed my diploma, and I felt the burden of all of those years of hard work and study be lifted off of me, and all I could do was smile.

I remember the day I received my Bachelor degrees. I had written the huge, 60 page English literature thesis paper. I had performed my senior vocal/ piano recital. I woke up that morning and looked out of my on-campus apartment window, and I could not believe that those long five years of intense study were finished.

On that day, I stood and sang as a part of my university choir one last time to open the ceremony. I walked up on stage, surrounded by all my professors in their doctoral garb, and once again, I felt a burden lift. I was finished, and all I could do was smile.

Last week, I was the one standing on stage “handing out” the diplomas.

I had the opportunity of awarding Bachelor of Theological Studies diplomas to 216 Armenian students.

Some were young and eager to start their future. Others were pastors in their 50s and 60s- ministers who had shared the love of Christ when it was forbidden under Communism. Pastors who finally had a chance to get the education they desired and deserved.

I watched as each student’s name was called, and the tassel on their hat began to sway back and forth in rhythm with each excited step as they approached the stage.

In Armenia, it’s not culturally accepted to always smile – especially when receiving something as serious as a diploma, on stage, in front of everyone.

I watched as many of them tried to hold back the grin; to remain in control of their face; to remain serious and pious for the event.

But, they all failed.

As they touched their Bachelor degrees for the first time, each person’s individual smile began to overwhelm the social norms and emerged wonderfully victorious.

I had the privilege of observing 216 students, one-by-one, who reveled in the fact that they had accomplished something they had never thought possible.

216 Armenians that finished the course.

216 framed diplomas up on the wall.

216 unwritten futures.

All we could do was smile- a glorious, proud and care-free smile.

Celebrating Marine

Seven years ago, we were staying at the Congress Hotel in Yerevan. It had been seven days since we “stepped foot” into Armenia, and we were living out of suitcases and looking for a place to live. Our “welcome committee” of Americans, who had come to stay with us the first seven days in Armenia, had left.

And, suddenly…we were all alone.

It was our first Sunday to attend a church service by ourselves – to sit in a packed sanctuary and realize that we could not read one single word, understand a single thing, and we were the only Americans seated amidst hundreds of Armenians.

Immersion had begun.

I will never forget that morning. That is the morning we met Marine Stepanyan. She walked up with her completely white outfit, super high wedge boots and pink sunglasses.

I remember turning to Nick and saying, “I think she’s one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen.” At that time, I could not comprehend that what I was really experiencing was her internal beauty, radiating out.

She translated for us that day. We could have never imagined the great future we would have together.

Marine has become our closest friend and most loyal employee. I cannot imagine the last seven years in Armenia without her tireless work, listening ear, and life-giving wisdom.

The graduation I wrote about above could never have happened without Marine’s involvement. Her organizational skills made the logistical nightmare of overseeing the school and huge translation task possible.

But, due to her work, she was unable to be a student in the program. She had always dreamed of having a Bachelor’s degree. Years ago, she had completed an Associate’s degree in English, and then the tuition money “ran out.” She had to let that part of her dream die.

Fast forward to September 24, 2010.

All of our students had “walked the line” and received their diplomas.

I looked over at Marine from the stage. She looked exhausted; standing over in the corner. She had just organized an entire graduation, dinner reception, and “corralled” 216 students in to an organized line.

Her voice was gone.

Her feet hurt.

Completely depleted.

Suddenly, I called her up on stage. I said a word of thanks – probably something Marine expected.

Then, I pulled out a blue leather cover.

“North Central University” written in gold on top.

The impossible was coming true.

The announcement: “Marine Stepanyan has been awarded an Honorary Bachelor's Degree in Organizational Leadership from America.”

Her hands cover her face, her eyes - complete disbelief and surprise.

Hopefully all of us have had those moments when we experience some act of unexpected grace, and we feel as if someone is smiling down on us from heaven.

He knows us. He knows what we do; what we sacrifice. He remembers.

God had done a miracle on Marine’s behalf and reminded her that He truly does see everything.

He had worked on her behalf to convince an American university President’s cabinet to approve this degree for, in my opinion, the most deserving woman on the planet.

So, we celebrate Marine! We celebrate her tireless investment in our family and Armenia.

We celebrate God’s ever-searching eye that notices the hidden things and evaluates the generosity hidden away in our motives and hearts.

And, most of all, we celebrate His extravagant grace.