After you readers indulged me in my love of Dante last time, I think you readers deserved a more lighthearted post. And so, today I am treating you to some pictures from my students' most recent project and a cool new food discovery.

NOTES ON SCHOOL

As a teacher, there are always parts of my job that I don't like: grading homework, for instance, or keeping track of attendance (both of which I have trouble actually remembering to do!). At the same time, these minor inconveniences are outweighed by the perks of teaching, perks far more significant than marking a bunch of reading questions or paragraphs written for class. I got one of those perks in my 10th grade class: a successful group project, one that demonstrated deep thought and even (I think) generated excitement in students.

Recently, the 10th graders studied Romantic Poetry (as in, 1800s social revolutionaries). Along with a partner, each student studied one Romantic poem in-depth throughout the unit, locating the various characteristics of Romanticism in that poem and choosing images from magazines to represent the poem. Last week, we put it all together: I blocked out two days, brought in some cardstock (what passes for posterboard here in the Czech Republic) and gluesticks, and turned the students loose.

And the results were fantastic. My university classes never really 'caught on' to the idea of a collage, though at several times I gave students the opportunity to create one for an assignment. There, the most memorable one was a bad one, notable for about eight pieces of paper smushed over a bright orange piece of cardstock as a collage.

Here at CISP, the students' artsy sides are coming out in the best way. I haven't even finished grading the collage work, but I'm already impressed by what students are doing.

More importantly, I was impressed by some of the more intangible results of the collage. A creative project (as opposed to an analysis) helped students to appreciate the 'deeper' themes of the poem more closely, even students who are generally uncomfortable in an English classroom. A few more detached students 'stepped up to the plate' for a more active role in this project, demonstrated an increasing interest in the English class.

And then, because I've put a bunch of student photos up, you get a candid shot of me. Somehow, pictures of me teaching always show me with my mouth open:

Nothing is perfect, of course: My Lord of the Flies reading schedule has been adjusted a couple of times, usually every time I wake up and realize that I'm teaching 9th graders instead of college freshmen.

Occasionally, the 11th graders still give me funny looks when I ask them to give valid reasons (in a debate) why someone might not teach Huck Finn at the high-school level - or, to be more colloquial here, to censor it. But the Romantic Poetry unit gives me hope, both for myself as a teacher and for the students - all intellectually curious, and full of potential.

NOTES ON CZECH

My dad (as many of you know) is a chocolate devotee. For much of my childhood, our house had a constant supply of Hershey's Kisses, which were doled out one at a time on special occasions. Also, our families always make some kind of chocolate dessert at a holiday, to complement the more traditional confections. Apple pie for the 4th of July? Got it, and we've got brownies too! Homemade pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving? Naturally, and don't forget the Betty Crocker Devil's Food cake.

Several years back, my dad asked why nobody ever made chocolate yogurt. Yoplait makes chocolate-flavoured 'Whips' but those things have all the texture of cardboard. Better yogurts came in strawberry, vanilla, blueberry, and even 'Red Velvet' flavours - but no chocolate flavours. Until now.

Presenting: chocolate yogurt, European-style:

The Czech Republic boasts a wide range of chocolate flavoured yougurts. Besides regular chocolate, there is straciatella (another name for 'chocolate chip') and nugat (Nutella-like yogurt). Nor is this restricted to one particular brand. Besides the Albert brand and the Florian brand featured in my photos, at least two other brands produce some kind of chocolate yogurt.

And if chocolate yogurt wasn't enough, the Czechs also invent ways to eat chocolate granola with their yogurt in the morning. My own muesli I prefer in hazelnut-flavour, like this:

Now, imagine a chocolate version of that, for breakfast. It's the Czech version of Cocoa Puffs.

Actually, I'm quite sure that most Czechs do not eat chocolate yogurt with chocolate muesli for breakfast. The fact remains, however, that they do make these culinary delights. Perhaps I should confess, too: Although I'd never eat chocolate muesli with chocolate yogurt, I do in fact eat chocolate yogurt occasionally (with hazelnut muesli!) for breakfast.

Dad? I guess I've inherited your love for chocolate. And I wish I could bring some back for you from the Czech Republic. But it's not gonna happen.

Here at the Christian International School of Prague, it's been a week of mixed emotions, a week of good news and bad news, and along with both, a new set of prayer requests. Let's do the bad news first, save the good news - just like dessert - till the end.

THE BAD NEWS

I lost a roommate this week, which means that the school also lost a 2nd grade teacher. Five days ago, Janna walked into school to an out-of-the-blue email announcing that her visa had been denied. A flurry of calls between the Czech staff here and the Czech embassy in Bratislava where she'd applied followed,

which produced the following information: the visa had been miscategorized under "Volunteer" instead of "Missionary", and Janna had not submitted the appropriate paperwork for a "Volunteer." According to the Czech embassy, nothing can be done about the error and so Janna will have to leave the country immediately. By the time the week is up, she'll be on her way back to her family in the USA and I will be a roommate short.

A few special prayer requests for this situation:

First, pray for Janna. As you can imagine, she's rather discouraged by the situation, and the passing days (each one bringing her closer to the day she'll leave) have only made her feel worse.

Second, please pray for the school: Among the perils of being an overseas missionary school is that the teaching staff is constantly fluctuating because of visa denials, or a lack of support. And in this case, the lower elementary teaching staff was already stretched thin over the first three grades in the school; without Janna, they'll be stretched thinner still.

Please pray finally for a new roommate: in February, I have a hard time imagining how my third roommate and I will find somebody to take Janna's place at this time of year (particularly since we don't know of anybody coming to Prague for ministry in the next few months) but it would help out a great deal with the bills to have somebody living here.

Have I depressed you enough? OK, then, we'll move on to . . . .

THE GOOD NEWS

If not at the flat, it's been an excellent week in the classroom. In the classroom at least, it's been an excellent week. My 12th graders and I finished a unit on Dante this week, a unit that took us through the Inferno and then into the Purgatory and Paradise. Preparing to teach this week, I raided all my old Classical and Medieval Literature notes (thank you, Dr. Silvester) and a few from graduate school (thanks to Dr. Dayton) and planned out each lessons: As a class, we studied Dante's allegorical theory, the philosophy of Hell and of Heaven, the relationship between the soul and God, and divine justice and mercy.

As an English lover, I quickly learned that books that I love do not usually merit equal love by normal people (Paradise Lost, anyone?). My students earned major brownie points, then, by asking that we read not only a section from the Purgatory but also from the Paradise. Altogether, the trip through Hell and then through Heaven turned out to be a rich one. In his trip through Hell (for those of you who've never been privileged enough to read Dante), the poet writes of his initial separation from God. Ahead of him he can see the sun rising over a hill, saying that,

I raised my eyes and saw its shoulders robed

with the rays of that wandering light of Heaven

that leads all men aright on every road.

Clearly, Dante speaks with a double meaning here. At the literal level of the text, the sun that he glimpses does in fact "lead all men aright on every road" - in other words, provides the light necessary to walk a straight line from Point A to Point B, anywhere on the planet. Allegorically, however, Dante has another meaning: this sun is the "light of Heaven" and thus signifies the Son of God as well, the "true Light which gives light to every man coming into the world" (John 1:9). And so, we learned, Dante glimpses the Wisdom of God at the very opening of his great epic.

At the same time, this Wisdom is not one he can reach. Lost in a dark forest, he encounters a series of beasts that prevent him from reaching the hilltop and looking clearly at the sun. Literally , all this simply means is that Dante "turned to go the way he came" - retreating (naturally enough) from the leopard, the wolf, and other beats. Allegorically, the students concluded that this retreat symbolizes the state of the human soul: though aware of God's wisdom, there is no possible way to reach that wisdom directly. Like Dante from the sun, the soul is divided from God, and the only way to reach it is by going through Death itself.

Later, we had deeper discussions: the great extent of God's mercy, shown in the Purgatory when he extends mercy for "one little tear" shed in true repentance (think of the tiny mustard seed to which Christ likens faith), and the likelihood of Dante's salvation, considering that he was part of the medieval Catholic church. Each of this questions drove us as a class deeper into theological questions and discussions about God. And for believers and unbelievers alike, such questions are valuable: they add to the students' knowledge of God (God as at once merciful and just, a holy God) and demand that believers maintain an active, dynamic relationship with just such a God.

In other classes, we raised similar questions: The 11th graders read a selection from Milton's Areopagitica (another favourite of mine, thanks again to Dr. Silvester) and discussed Christian discernment in reading choices; the 9th graders are studying the human sin nature in Lord of the Flies. Incidentally, the 11th graders also earned major brownie points this week by telling me that they liked Areopagitica - wahoo!

And so the prayer request here is that class will go on in just this vein, that every class will encourage students to not only develop academic knowledge but also spiritual wisdom. In a few days, the 12th graders will take a test, and I will expect them to tell me (for example) about Dante's allegorical theory. It's important that they retain their knowledge of allegory, but it's even more important that they retain their knowledge of the relationship between the soul and God, the division between the two and the ever-present, ever-growing mercy of God.

NOTES ON CZECH

And now, what everybody has been waiting for: a post about cultural quirks. Last time, I wrote about doorknobs, so today, I will dry to top that: I am writing about gas stoves today - in particular, my gas stove (picture below). A few of you know this story already, but it bears retelling.

About six weeks ago, I moved into my apartment, and since it was the dead of winter (and still is), it was a priority for me to make tea and coffee - good hot drinks to keep me warm. No microwave and no electric kettle meant that my only option was to purchase a pot and heat the water the old-fashioned way. So I picked up a tiny little 150-crown pot (about 7 USD) at Tesco one evening, took it home, filled it water, put it on the stove, and - nothing. The stove would not start. I tried every burner, multiple times. Still nothing. Then, I checked to make sure there was a gas tank beneath the stove; it was there. And the stove still wouldn't start. I drank some cold milk and went to bed.

A few days later, I asked a fellow teacher about the stove, and she suggested that (of all things) the stove was not only a gas stove but also a hand-lit stove. In other words, I had to actually hold a burning match down to gas. Picture Megan, the Human Torch. My roommate Janna and I decided we were game, though: she elected me to hold the match, and she turned on the gas, and - nothing. Tried another burner, and nothing. At that point, we went out for pizza - the only hot meal possible in a kitchen where the stove doesn't work.

Afterwards, we walked in the door, and I had a revelation: At home, we have a gas grill. To turn on the gas grill, we have to first turn on the gas tank beneath the grill and then turn on the grill. And so, I checked one more time beneath the stove: sure enough, there was a switch there, hidden far at the back. I squashed my head and shoulders into the cabinet under the stove, wrenched the switch around, and then we tried the stove again.

And it finally lit. Since then, I've boiled eggs, made croutons, and (best of all) made a toasted cheese sandwich on the stove. However, although the stove lights, the stove trouble is not over. Stoves in the Czech Republic have a few interesting quirks: Most of them are gas stoves, involving open flame. I set a panful of bacon grease on fire in the kitchen when I was 14, an experience that only contributed to my fear of fire; since then, I've been steadily getting over it as I prepare bacon and potato soup and toasted cheese and other delicacies on it.

Apparently, it's not unusual to have a hand-light stove. To start it, I light a match and then hold the burning match (and, just so you know, Czech matches burn about twice as fast as American ones, for whatever reason) in one hand. With the other, I reach down and turn the gas on until I hear it hissing. At that point, I touch the match to the gas and watch the whole burner burst into a circular flame - very scary the first time, but rather rewarding after that.

Among the various perils of the gas stove is that the flame is very easy to turn off and on - rather too easy, in fact. Quite a number of times, I've carefully held a burning match to the flame and watch the burner spring into action, put my pan with a toasted cheese sandwich on top, and gone to turn down the flame - and then accidentally turned it off altogether. At that point, I need to take the pan off and relight the stove.

Also, the burners themselves can be rather interesting. I've included a picture here, and as you can see, there's not much to a burner besides a couple of prongs to set a pot on.

In the case of my 150-crown pot, the burner is actually too large for the pot. And so, whenever I boil an egg, I balance the potful of water very carefully on the prongs, just exactly level, and then I hope that it doesn't tip and send up a hissing noise as the water hits the open flame.

Sometimes, I even wonder whether I will miss the gas stove when I return Stateside.

If you've survived 'Snowmaggedon' in the Midwest and are still reading my blog, welcome back! Just to make you a teensy bit jealous, it's been 50 F here for the last three days (about 10 C) with an electric blue sky. I seized advantage of the glorious weather recently to take this picture (and a whole bunch more like it):

For the past week and a half or so, life has been more tiring than expected. In particular, last week only had three days of classes (a break between quarters, and an inservice day, cancelled the other two), and the only grading I had tonight were the 9th grade response questions on Lord of the Flies. So far, my major accomplishment for the evening has been choosing how to abridge the Knight's Tale for the 12th grade class tomorrow and creating an outline for the next Lord of the Flies class (we'll be going over the wise / unwise decisions that characters make). And so I made a decision: I'm going to make this post short and sweet.

A few prayer requests, a cultural story, and I will bid you all a very fond goodnight (and then go much some Disko cookies for dessert):

NOTES ON PRAYER:

Last week, I handed each student a yellow piece of cardstock and asked them to jot down a personal prayer request for me to remember. I've been reading through the requests, and I noticed several students thanking me for being willing to pray personally for them. A gratitude like theirs tells me two things: First, that they have good parents who teach them to say "please" and "thank you"! Also, I remember how encouraging it can be to know there is someone who prays specifically for you, someone who is not just praying "God bless Megan in the Czech Republic" but who knows our needs here and brings them before the all-powerful God in prayer.

And so, a couple important requests right at the beginning of the post:

1. this school desperately needs its own building. Right now, high school kids trek back and forth between two apartments, each about a block away from campus; they also have buildings in the main campus. The distance makes it hard for them to be to class on time, makes it hard for the teachers to set up in their classroom, and divides the community. Also, we cannot pursue accreditation with ACSI until we have our own building.
2. the relationships between teachers and students (like, me and my students) and then between the students as well. Over the past week or so, I've felt as though I've gotten to know individual students a little better: I raved about Ender's Game with one of my 12th graders and had a mini personal conversation with a 9th grader. I've met a few parents too, including a couple from Idaho and a couple from Canada (the Canadians are always feeling toasty in the Czech Republic; the Canadian science teacher here will wander out into the snow with flip flops). I'm excited, on the one hand, to see these relationshisp grow; on the other, I keep reminding myself to be proactive in the relationships - to reach out to students, not to seem distant. Among the school's top goals is maintaining a close-knit, loving community, and I want to contribute to that community and so let Christ be seen here at CISP.
3. the 12th grade students, in particular. My student Jessica told me the other day that her family was in the process of purchasing tickets to return to the States this summer - 4 going home, and 3 coming back; she'll be staying Stateside to attend a Christian university. Going off to college is always scary, but it's extra scary for these students, who will be half a world away from their family and in a culture that is basically alien to them (probably if any of them are reading the blog, I've really depressed them now!). Anyhow, do pray that these last five months will prepare them for that transition - academically, socially, spiritually.

And like all my polite students, I thank you for your prayers. :)

NOTES ON CZECH

Today's post is on the Czech lock system - a very small part of the culture that nevertheless plays a very large role. The Czech locks do not operate like American locks; it is not a simple matter of shoving the key into the lock. No, the Czech lock must be turned over twice to the right, and on the third time turning to the right it finally opens the door. Nor do the Czechs actually have doorknobs; generally, they simply have a door handle, and it is the turning of the key (along with a bit of pushing on the door) that opens the door. In other words, they look like this:

All of this has led to a few rather interesting experiences for me:

Occasionally, the Czech lock system makes it difficult for me to open the door. A few days ago, someone closed (and locked) the door to the staff room in the school, and so when I arrived, I dug out my keys and set to work turning the key in the lock. First I turned it one way, twice. The door didn't open. I turned it the other way, twice again. Still didn't open. Turned it back the first way. No luck. (At this point, I was starting to feel that my M.A. degree would have to be revoked). I jigged the key in the lock a bit, just in case. Nope. Eventually, someone came out from the office (which is inside the staff room) and opened the door for me. I didn't dare shut and lock the staff door after that.

Sometimes, difficulty unlocking a door is entirely the door's fault. My own apartment door (see the picture below) is a case in point.

When we first moved in, the door worked rather worse than most Czech doors. We'd flip it around twice, and then on the third time, we started performing gymnastics. To get the door open, I couldn't simply turn the key around one final time and push. Instead, I had to lay all my things on the floor around me and put both hands on the door key. I had to lean back, so I was pulling the door towards me and to the right. And then (while turning the key all this time), I had to really wiggle the key in the lock - a-WHACK-a-WHACK-a-WHACK-a-WHACK! Sometimes, the door opened at this point (bashing my fingers into the doorjamb at the same time); that's if I was lucky. If I were unlucky, the motion-sensitive light outside the apartment would turn off and leave me in the dark. At this point, I had to take a step backwards and wave my arms (think of those people who direct air traffic on the tarmac) to get the light to turn back on, and then the whole process began again. Since then, the door has been fixed, and I still thank God whenever it opens simply on the third turn.

Finally, the security measures in the Czech Republic are rather different (because there are no doorknobs). A few of our single teachers leave in a flat with a special padlock, a padlock with five bolts. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of that particular lock, so you all just get the story instead: Two of the MKs here in the Czech Republic lived in a guest room in that apartment for six months, attending the school here while their parents worked in the south of the country (the parents have since moved to Prague). The girls were home alone one morning, and a strange guy came and knocked on their door. Being well-trained, they didn't let him in or anything, pretended not to be there, but he came back twice more that day. Later, they had to leave the apartment to go to the grocery store; when they got back, they couldn't fit their key into the lock. It simply wouldn't go in. At that point, they called the police and discovered that someone had put hot wax into the door: the wax molded to the key shape, and so all the burglar would have to do is stick a special tool into the wax and turn it over.

Despite their experiences, though, the locks are pretty safe here. We girls simply leave our key on the inside of the door all night, to prevent possible intruders (it's nearly impossible to get in with the key on the inside of the door). Also, all apartment buildings have an outside door that locks, like this:

and an inside door that locks. If you don't have the key for either door, you don't get in. Feels quite safe, overall.

Thanks for your prayers! I'll keep you posted.

My Sunday afternoons, so far, turn out to be a good time to write: I sit on my couch, throw a polar-fleece blanket over my lap (it's 20 degrees here this afternoon), and fire up the computer. Today, I'm nearly falling asleep into the bargain. Last night, the high school students celebrated their Winter Banquet, and we teachers dressed up and enjoyed the evening too; the only downside was waiting for Bus 119 in a knee-length dress and summer flats. My tights just weren't thick enough to keep out the cold night air. I've included a picture, just to prove that I changed my jeans to a dress for this affair:

Between the Winter Banquet and various extracurricular activities, school is going well. This Tuesday marks the first day that I will have the 11th grade students (in addition to the 9th, 10th, and 12th graders). An 11th grade student caught me at the banquet last night & told me that she was 'looking forward to having me as a teacher'. I hope she really is looking forward to it, and not simply buttering me up for an A!

NOTES ON SCHOOL

For the past week, I've been regularly grossing out the 12th grade students as we read Oedipus Rex in class. It's been tricky to get past the serious ick factor involved in the Theban King's curse. Once past that, though, we've into a philosophical gold mine. All week, the students have piecing together the classical belief on fate: that the gods doomed Oedipus to kill his father, and so they are primarily responsible for his fate; that his personal flaws simply contribute to this fate, and so he cannot escape this evil. One of my students wrote in her journal that 'the gods created Oedipus evil' - which, in the classical tradition, is absolutely true. They are not 'nice guys', these Greek gods.

Lest you wonder what I'm teaching these poor kids at a Christian school, rest assured we look at the alternative side of things too: this week, we'll discuss the contemporary view of fate, but on Friday, we talked about the biblical view of fate. For this, we turned to my favourite Psalm:

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

all the days ordained for me were written in your book

before one of them came to be.

How precious to me are your thoughts, God!

How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them,

they would outnumber the grains of sand—

when I awake, I am still with you.

Based on this quote, the students concluded that something like fate still exists, but in this case it is good. This is no classical doom, meted out by an avenging Apollo or an impersonal Fate. This is a beneficial one, a fate that comforts David as he thinks about it. The story of Oedipus Rex is (for my 12th grade class, at least) a channel of sorts: As we read about Oedipus, we come to understand other people better, to recognize the ingredients of a classical worldview (or, coming up next week, a modern one). And we come to understand the Bible better, to appreciate the intricacies of our own faith.

NOTES ON CZECH

Many of you knew me when I traveled to Germany, and if you received my 'Deutschland Saga' from Germany, you remember that I included notes on that culture (with a focus on food and chocolate, of course!). Here, I thought I'd do the same thing, starting with public transportation.

Let me say this first: I love public transportation. Every morning, I head out the door and (after a vigorous ten-minute hike to the Hradcanska Metro station) I'm on my way to school; the entire process, start to finish, takes about half an hour. It's perhaps the most comfortable form of travelling ever: never do I have to stand freezing in the cold to spend a small fortune on gas, nor do I have to scrape ice off my windshield (and then off my fingers). It's also one of the most interesting forms of travel: Last night, I took public transportation all the way to the airport for the winter banquet: the Metro from Hradcanska to Dejvicka, and then the bus from Dejvicka to the airport. All along the bus route, I gazed out at the northwestern fringe of Prague - the Ferrari / Maserati dealership, the towering Communist-style apartment buildings, a McDonald's drive-through, and a little Czech countryside.

Any transportation system, of course, has its challenges, and European public transportation is no different. A normal tram sign looks something this:

The arrows indicate which direction the tram is headed: straight ahead (wherever that goes), or the right-ish. Hopefully, you already know what part of the city is 'straight head thataway'; otherwise, the arrows do you no earthly good. Even harder are the times of arrival: everything is posted in Czech, and so I guess a lot . By "Nedele" there is a little cross, and so I figure it must be Sunday; the whole list starts off with "Pondeli" and so that must be Monday. Get it wrong, and I'll miss a tram or be stuck on the platform for an extra fifteen minutes in below-freezing temperatures.

A few other challenges involve people. First, there are the ticket-checkers, making sure people are actually paying for their rides. Get caught by a ticket-checker without a fare for the train, and you'll be shelling out about $40 in fines. To the uninitiated, the ticket-checkers look like someone to avoid: Periodically, people will hawk magazines and food in the Metro stations, and the ticket-checkers simply blend in with the crowd. My first time being stopped, I simply waved my hand at the man and said "Ne, no." And then, he thrust his official ring in my face, with the Prague public transportation device on it:

A sidelong glance at this device showed a red snake, and I thought perhaps he was from a cult. I made a second attempt to escape. At that point, the checker person finally asked - in English! - for my ticket.

Besides the ticket-checkers, there are also the people on the Metro. Generally, I really like people-watching when I ride the train, but there are some people you need to be cautious of. Prague has a lot of pickpockets, and so I keep a tight grip on my purse or bag whenever I travel. Also, there are people who make out on the train, and there's not much you can do to avoid them. A few nights ago, I found myself stranded next to one of these couples. It started with just a little kiss. And then they had to kiss again. And again, wet little pecks on the lips in full sight of every other traveler in the Mustek station. I'd think that the crowds of people who file through the Metro every day would be enough to stifle these long, drawn-out kissing sessions, but apparently not. Perhaps I should start wearing sunglasses on the Metro.

NOTES ON PRAYER

Tomorrow, we all pick ourselves up from a restful Sunday and start back to school and begin a new unit. Please pray that the unit will go well, that the students will profit both academically and spiritually from their studies. Pray too for the relationships between myself and the students, that it won't simply be a professional one but will be one of love and respect, one where Christ is ever-present. This week, I was excited to tie Psalm 139 into Oedipus Rex (I know, what a connection!) and I'm excited to teach students to find God's truth in the coming weeks, as we start into Lord of the Flies (9th graders), Romantic poetry (10th graders), and Huckleberry Finn (11th graders). Each of these teaches kids something about God, and our relationship with Him; pray that the truth will be evident in every class and in my own life too.

It's a quiet Sunday afternoon here in my apartment in north Prague. Looking out my window, I can see the American residency, a hazy grey sky, and large flakes floating lazily downwards. Very restful and quiet, very appropriate for a Sunday afternoon.

This post should be shorter than most. As I've taken on my new duties here at CISP and taken stock of the new environment, one verse in particular has taken on new importance. It is a verse that has always challenged me, particularly given my tendency towards a no-nonsense, perfectionist work ethic. It is also a verse that has generally lain dormant in the back of my mind, too easily forgotten in the secular classrooms of my university. It is a verse that I am sure every one of you is familiar with:

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. (I Cor. 13:1)

Much of the time, good teaching requires good speaking. First of all, I have to know what to say. My 10th grader, for example, are about to begin a unit on Romantic poetry. As I plan for that unit, I need to decide what I will say about Romantic poetry - their social criticism, their retreat into rural life, their preference for emotion over reason. Second, I have to know how to talk about Romantic poetry. My 10th graders will probably not appreciate an extended series of lectures that draw on what I learned in graduate school, and so I need to plan activities, games, and artwork that will help students learn the basics of Romantic writers. All this I need to plan, but it is not enough.

All the good teaching in the world is not enough, if my students do not know that I love them and (through me) that God loves them. It doesn't matter if students answer every question correct on the upcoming exam, or only a few questions correct; it doesn't matter if they bomb their Romantic Poetry project or ace it. It doesn't even matter if I am well-planned and poised before my class, or if I am a little disorganized and scatterbrained (and I am totally a scatterbrained person). What matters is that my students experience in my class the love of God.

For me, this is perhaps the most challenging thing of all, but one of the most important. My students here at CISP have a supportive, Christian environment; many are missionary kids and have strong families, but they are not exempt from the normal problems that students face. Like high schoolers in the US, these students face stress on a daily basis: the stress of grades and college plans, the stress of a changing body and eating disorders, the stress of a first boyfriend or girlfriend (or a first break-up), the stress of friends who are moving away as their parents return to the USA for furlough. They don't necessarily care about Romantic Poets. Nor do they particularly need, in the grand scheme of things, to learn about the Romantic Poets. They need to learn about the love of Christ.

I ask you to pray with me for all my students, that they will know the everlasting love of God, that they will experience His love on a day-to-day basis and that they will experience this love in my class. Please pray that, as I teacher, I will plan not only for the academic unit but also for the spiritual health of my students, that I will love my students and will not be simply so much noise at the front of the classroom.

As I end this post, I would like to wrap up on a light-hearted note. I'm finally starting to add photos, and since Facebook has most of the photos of my cultural / touristy adventures here, I thought I'd share some photos of day-to-day life in Prague. Today, I have photos of the Metro. Every morning, I take the Metro to school: I go down the escalators (pictured), towards Depo Hostivar, and sit in the crowded underground train. The church is at the Metro station Namesti Miru, and in Europe, is a fairly normal sight. I love living in Prague.

The Metro:

Towards Depo Hostivar:

The Metro train:

In a Station of the Metro:

The church at Namesti Miru:

Nearly ten days ago, I updated this blog with some thoughts on my church here in Prague. Since then, my Czech adventure continues: I have been wrangling with my apartment landlord, experimenting with the local cuisine, and writing exams for my 9th and 10th grade class.

Among the many cultural lessons I've learned has been "Apartment Landlord 101". I always disliked having to deal with the rental agencies in the States. For two years I used a stove with only one working burner, just because I did not want people dragging heavy equipment in and out of my apartment while I was trying to write a paper and plan lessons. Here in the Czech Republic, the tenant-landlord relationship is even crazier. Ten days ago, I moved into my new apartment in the castle district. Nine days ago, I discovered that apparently neither dishwasher nor the washing machine worked, and the door opened only after a good thirty seconds of sustained pulling and jiggling. I emailed the landlord, and three days ago, he came.

Meeting with the landlord is a challenging process, because the tenant is usually required to be there, and so I juggled my school schedule and arrived home about 11 A.M. on a Friday. The landlord arrived at 11:10, and with him came another fellow that he introduced as a "friend", who spoke no English and zipped into the living room and began installing light bulbs in the fixtures there. Meanwhile, the landlord tackled larger projects: he confirmed that the washing machine was in fact broken, demonstrated how to work the dishwasher, brought in a grungy toaster oven the size of a large cat carrier, brought it right back out again when I asked for a larger one, and promised to call on the Internet. By the time he left, the door was fixed, the living room was shining brightly, and we faced a new challenge: connecting to the Internet. On Wednesday, I will juggle school schedules again to meet with the Internet company that morning; if they are as efficient as the landlord, I will be Skyping my parents within ninety minutes.

Perhaps the most lighthearted of my cultural adventures has been the food. Czechs do not eat what we Americans call a "balanced diet"; their favourite national foods include meat, cheese, potatoes, and bread - very heavy on the carbs, and very light on the green stuff. A typical Czech supper might be one that I enjoyed Friday night, relaxing with a couple of teachers. First, the waiter brought out an appetizer: a basket filled with three different kinds of bread and a pork spread with onions. As always in Europe, the bread was delicious, and we dug in before the main meal came. Next, the waiter brought out the dishes we'd ordered: for me, onion soup, and shared between three of us, fried cheese - yes, fried cheese. Imagine a giant-sized mozzarella stick: a block of white cheese (about twice the size of an ordinary Stateside block of Cheddar) is dipped in batter and deep-fried, giving it a crusty coating similar to fried chicken. Alongside the plate was a pile of creamy-white boiled potatoes, and in a small tribute to healthy eating, a few translucent strips of carrot and sprigs of onion. Lest my next FB profile picture show extra weight along the jowls, I went light on the fried cheese; the onion soup was delicious. Perhaps next for my Czech food experience, I will try the duck or the pancakes on the dessert menu.

As I bring this post to an end, I want to focus on the central thread to all my adventures - all the teaching done since I've been here. I won't actually share with you about writing the exams, lest a student discover the blog and, with it, an exam key. But I do want to share with you a funny story from the 10th grade, about the perils of reading Shakespeare. Shakespeare is a classic, right? His tragedies something every student should read? My 10th graders are discovering the Bard's comic side, right in the middle of the deeply tragic Romeo and Juliet. A few days ago, the 16th century language in characters' mouths sounded, to 21st century ears, as though one character called another 'hot', and so the class dissolved into laughter. Today my students pointed out how many inanimate objects these 16th century characters talked to - to a bottle of potion, of poison, and to a tomb. As a graduated graduate student, I could perhaps wish we were talking about the idea of Fate in Shakespeare and the medieval Fortunes, but I am discovering that high school students do not operate on the same plane as graduate students do, nor should they. At this point, in fact, to observe how often characters address inanimate object demonstrates attention to detail and patterns that will serve them well as we move into later weeks.

Along this line, I want to ask for prayer specifically for each of my classes over the next few weeks. First, pray for me that I will consistently and effectively integrate biblical truth into each lesson. Primarily because of the two years spent at a secular university, my ability to weave biblical truth into every lesson plan, every handout, and every activity is a tad rusty. And yet, it is the kernel of truth in each lesson that makes it worthwhile; if we do not learn truth (and all truth is God's truth), then there is no point to learning about the Romantic poets or about dystopian novels or about classical Greek drama. Within the next few weeks, the 10th graders will begin their study of Romanticism, the 9th graders a study of Lord of the Flies, and the 12th graders a study of Oedipus Rex, and in each of these I pray for skill not only in presenting the material but also teaching the students the truth about Christ.

Pray too that the apartment will come together. I am very thankful for a working door and a working stove (it's a hand-light gas stove, by the way, which is always an adventure), but there are still a few things lacking. I am still lacking Internet, which makes it difficult to communicate with friends and family back home. Also, we are lacking an oven and a working washing machine. Please pray that all of these will come in over the next few days. I will keep you posted, literally, on each of these requests through the blog, over the next few days and weeks.

Still no pictures under 10 MP, but you should be able to access a Facebook album here.

As I sit down to write this update, I begin in much the same place as always – wondering which story, out of all the stories from the past ten days, to share with you.

I could tell about my first days of school, which included subbing for another high school teacher with about twenty minutes’ advance notice, or I could tell about getting yelled at in Czech today at the store, because I didn’t have the back of my debit card signed. I could talk about sharing salad and bread and personal goals at the Bible study last Wednesday, or my first pilgrimage through the rain to the Prague castle on Saturday. My goal, however, is to share a story that captures three things for you: the Czech experience, the school community, and the spiritual life here, and so I have chosen to share about my second Sunday here in Prague.

Like many teachers at the school, I attend the International Church of Prague (ICP), and in many ways, my church here reminds me of the various churches I attend back home. This morning, the service opened with a variety of songs, continued with a confessional prayer and then the sermon, and concluded with the Lord’s Supper. Also like many U.S. churches, ICP finishes the service with a time of fellowship and coffee, which is a good chance for newbies like me to meet new people and hang out with brand-new friends. Incidentally, it was also a good place for me to get coffee today: I just moved into my apartment and, with no microwave, electric kettle, or working stove, had no hot drinks for the previous forty-eight hours.

However similar to an American church, however, any international church has a few key differences which make the experience particularly special. Perhaps the most superficial was simply the ride to church. Much as I like Kansas, the trip in from my country home to church cannot compare with the one here in Prague: from the Metro station near my home, I took a tram down the hill towards church, winding along the narrow cobblestone roads and looked out over the red roofs and church spires that have stood there for hundreds of years.

Later, I discovered something else special about this church community: they take to heart the concept of community – a concept that I believe is too easily overlooked in Stateside churches. After the service, a couple from the school invited several other teachers over for pancakes (taking to heart the pastor’s encouragement to celebrate the Sabbath with yummy food!). My original plan for the day had been to return home for a little lesson planning and unpacking, but who can resist pancakes? And so, a friend and I made a brief stop at Tesco and picked up an electric kettle (which I just now used to make a cup of tea!), and then we trekked on over to Kate and Garrett’s for a really late lunch.

Normally, my Sunday afternoons during the school year include a fair amount of work. As a freshman in college, I once resolved not to study at all on Sunday. That resolve lasted about two weeks, until all the homework hit. This afternoon, however, I took a rare break from my solitary place in front of the computer and spent the day with fellow believers. Kate made chocolate-chip pancakes, seriously good with little pieces of melting European chocolate in them, and we spread peanut butter and bananas on the top. Later, we played ‘King and Scum’ for an hour, and much later, we sat and discussed the various forms of worship in the church today. So far, most of the work I’ve done today has been writing this blog, and most of the time I’ve saved from work has been spent in the company of fellow believers.

This sort of company is under-appreciated (or at least, I didn’t appreciate it enough) in Stateside churches. Part of the reason, of course, is the sheer number of English-speaking people in the States: When everybody speaks your language, it is not quite so necessary to hang out with church people. Here, very nearly the only English speakers I know are people who attend my church, and so I am thrown together with them by necessity. Still, I think perhaps that the community I have by necessity here is just as necessary in the States, simply more easily overlooked.

Here, we draw together because of our unique similarities in a foreign country. Each of us speaks English in a Czech-speaking nation; each of us is a Christian in materialistic Europe. What this boils down to in the end is that each of us is a stranger in a strange land. Essentially, this is exactly what a Christian anywhere is: Christ tells us that we believers are ‘strangers in a strange land’ – people temporarily living in a material world, tied eternally to a spiritual home. In reality, the States is just as foreign to us as the Czech Republic is to me right now; it’s just easier to forget how foreign America really is because of all the signs in readable English. And yet, each of us – even in Kansas, or in the Bible Belt of the South – is just as much as foreigner as I am here, and just as much in need of regular fellowship with believers. My new resolve is to work less on Sundays, to spend more time with believers while I am here, a resolve that I hope will both better prepare me to build relationships with students and also one rub off on fellow believers.

Speaking of students, I do have a few new prayer requests for you all. I’ve begun teaching 9^th and 10^th grade English, and I’ve discovered how different the academic needs of high schoolers are from those of college students. Please pray that I will adjust quickly to my new responsibilities. Also, please pray I will be able to establish strong relationships with the students: I am impressed with these students and excited about getting to know each one of them.

A final note: I discovered this morning that pictures need to be 8 megapixels or less to post on the blog. Most of my pictures are 10 mp, and so no pictures quite yet. There are some on Facebook, so you can check there or send me an email to get photos.