Looking back to last semester at K-State, I remember the many nights I holed up in my office with a foot-high stack of papers to grade; besides that, church, and the occasional 'soup night' on Friday with friends, I didn't have much of a social life. Looking back to the beginning of the semester, I also remember many nights munching on a salad at home and planning lessons. Now, I am away from home for supper more often than I am there, balancing Bible study and roommate dinner and English conversations with a Czech language partner. Although I know that my primary responsibilities center on the school, I've also found that a great deal of ministry happens outside the school and even outside my relationships with students as I develop other relationships with Czech people and with fellow believers here. In this blog post, I want to give you a glimpse into the goings-on outside of school.

NOTES NOT-ON-SCHOOL

Czech Partner Story

About six weeks ago, a SEND leader set up me with a Czech language partner: a university student who wanted to practice conversational English with an echte English speaker. What we wanted, of course, was a chance to introduce the student to Christ and share our faith with her. At that time, I also wanted to stretch myself beyond the four school walls, and so I agreed. Mike set me up with Sarka (actually pronounced Sharka), a PhD student in agriculture and ecology at a university on the northwest side of Prague.

In early February, Sarka and I agreed to meet up at the Dejvicka Starbucks (primarily because I felt that was the easiest place for me to find); we were to meet at 6:30 P.M. on the first floor, right after we walked in the door. I was to know her by the purple coat she'd be wearing. At 6:30 sharp, I hurried through the Starbucks door, located a table directly in front of the entrance, and waited. And waited. Five minutes passed, then ten, and still she did not show up. Finally, I decided to check the upstairs level: I trotted up the stairs, and there at the top of the stairs, was a young woman in a purple coat. She'd been sitting there exactly as long as I had, since in Europe the 'first floor' actually means 'the first floor off the ground, as distinct from the ground floor'.

In spite of the confusing start, we've managed to build a stronger relationship. Last week, we actually met in Sarka's dorm room on the university campus (its decor is super-sparse; think hospital room sparse) instead of in public, drank tea and ate grapes. As we've met eat time, we've talked about her work and her environmentally-conscious beliefs, her dream of marrying her boyfriend and living in the country with a

horse, and the corruption in the Czech government.

A great deal of ministry here in Europe centers on strong, long-term relationships; people are not interested in five-minute gospel presentations from someone they hardly know. It's important that we do meet regularly, that I build a friendship with her instead of simply trying to convert her. As I get to know Sarka week-by-week, I hope to move on to more spiritually-meaningful topics and share my own faith with her. At this time, she seems marginally religious and not particularly interested in religious matters, so do pray that God will open the 'channels of communication' in regards to spiritual matters, beyond the day-to-day business of work and studies and teaching and walking in the countryside.

Bible Study Story

Every Wednesday, ten women (or so) from the International Church of Prague hold a Bible study; every week, this Bible study is preceded by supper. Usually, the food is delicious, so much so that one of our participants

has facetiously named it the 'Get Delicious Recipes Every Week Bible Study'. As a group, we've made pasta bakes, crepes, cinnamon rolls, tomato soup, toasted cheese, broccoli cheese soup, and French toasted for each other, and enjoyed every bit of it. I think for each of us, eating supper is a good time to lay aside the stresses of the week and enjoy each others' company, a sort of mini-Sunday in the middle of the week.

Last week, I led our Bible study for the first time. I planned a nice little word search on 'teach' and created beautiful handouts listing important verses; I printed the handouts and laid them aside in a useful place. That afternoon, I got home and discovered that I couldn't find the handouts and that all I had was a list of verses on the computer. And so I improvised: I scrawled the verse references onto a tiny square of scratch paper on my desk, tucked in in my pocket, and headed off to Bible study.

At Bible study, I pulled the square of paper out of my pocket and read the references aloud. The first verse was Psalm 25:8-9:

Good and upright is the Lord,

Therefore He teaches sinners in the way.

The humble He guides in justice,

And the humble he teaches His way.

Being a teacher, I'd planned what I wanted everyone to get out of this verse: that just as God is a 'good and upright' teacher, so we human teachers are also responsible to be 'good and upright' in our behaviour, that we cannot expect to teach others Christ unless we ourselves are walking with Him. And so I asked, 'According to

this verse, who is supposed to be teaching?'. My Bible study peers, like 5th graders, all responded in unison: God. Talk about a discussion fail! Eventually, however we moved on to deeper revelations: not only that we believers should be walking with God as we teach, but also that God is good to us, that He is continually teaching us and leading us, that we too need to be humble to receive His teaching.

And this is perhaps what I find so crucial about Bible study: As long as we teachers are supposed to be guiding our own students in biblical truth, it's vitally important that we are learning truth of our own from each other, that we are encouraging each other to walk with Christ and to live in Him day-to-day. At Bible study, we have the chance to offer each other prayers and encouragement and so contribute to each other's ministry across Prague. A few weeks ago, we studied the spiritual gifts (something I haven't done since junior high), and this is what we took away from that study: Whatever our personal gift happens to be, the most important thing is this: that we love each other as Christ - a genuine, unconditional, active love.

Perhaps this love will be expressed as we eat together and talk together and pray together in Bible study. Perhaps it will be expressed in other ways: This Saturday, for instance, we are holding a bridal shower for my friend Kate, who'll be getting married in July this year. Either way, the point is that we continually reach out to each other, lifting each other up in thoughts and kind, Christlike words and actions.

NOTES ON CZECH

I've noticed that I tend to create "Notes on Czech" based on what I actually have photos of. Given my busy schedule, I don't really have time to go out and take extra photos. So this week I have pictures of parks, and you get a note on "Parks in Prague".

I arrived in January to a frozen tundra, and now, the leaves and flowers are coming out on all the trees. It's absolutely gorgeous here. I was also told when I first arrived that Prague is known for mini-parks all over the city; Jill Dagan pointed me towards a mini-park just around the corner from their house. It's a common experience to simply stumble across a large park on a walk from Point A to Point B. Near the school, there's a park with a fantastic view of the city and the castle. Go there on a warm day, and you'll see Czech people sprawled across the lawn munching on a snack, drinking beer, or simply soaking in the sun (sometimes they're making out too, in which case you simply hurry the other way).

In the city, there are intentional parks, parks that are planned and part of the city's national heritage. Around the castle there are a number of parks that are opening for the spring, and offering gorgeous views of the city:

I love how you can see the castle in the background here:

Sometimes, you simply 'happen upon' the park. It's a park without a name, a tiny patch of green and trees and leaves tucked away into a busy corner of the city. This park is a little corner between a busy street right of Malostranska, down in the hubbub of the tourist section of the city. Along the benches you see echte Czech sitting and enjoying the day, and tourists munching on corn-on-the-cob from the local food stand:

A well-known park near my house is "Letensky Sady' (I think 'sady' means 'park'). One warm day in March, I took a long walk there with my camera; about halfway through, I took off my coat and stuffed it into my bag and trekked along in just a sweatshirt. As you can see, Letensky Sady is up above the level of Prague and offers gorgeous views of the city below. I love the colours in this photo:

Last Sunday evening, I took a walk down in the "Little Town" and happened upon this park. It's tucked away between a restaurant and a tourist store selling tableclothes and postcards. The park dates back to the 1200s, when local monks started an orchard there; today, the trees there are the descendants of those orchard trees, and large peacocks inhabit the park. I unfortunately did not have my camera with me that day, so no pictures of the peacocks . . . yet. I'm planning a return.

As usual, I woke up about 5:45 this morning; my alarm was set for 6:20.

Unfortunately, this early rising is a rather regular occurrence in the Czech Republic: we are so far north that the sun is teetering on the horizon before 6:00 in the morning. In summer, I'm told, the skies will begin to lighten at 4:30. And as usual, I rise with the sun (I've inherited the early-rising-gene from both my parents). What this means is that my project for next week is to run to IKEA on the outskirts of Prague and replace my lacy curtains with dark red ones, or a similarly dark colour.

In spite of my increasingly early schedule, it's been a good week, one marked by the chance to get to know some students better and to moderate some deep theological discussions in class. Let me share a few of these stories with you.

NOTES ON SCHOOL

Alex's Story

At noon every Monday and Wednesday, I toodle down to the lunchroom to keep track of lunch attendance. At

first, I stood in the hallway and simply marked off student names as they entered the cafeteria; more recently, I've made a deliberate effort to take a cup of tea and sit on the lunchroom myself and chat with my students. And I've made a deliberate effort to have deeper chats whenever possible.

Last Monday, I had one with Alex. Alex (or Alexandra, which is her given name) turned to me, perched beside her on a table, and asked whether I'd always planned on becoming an English teacher. I hemmed and hawed a bit (As a 13-year-old, I'd wanted to teach Christian fiction, and as a college student, I deliberately avoided an education degree), and then turned the question back on her: What did she want to do, after graduating next year? Alex confessed that originally she'd intended to be a dentist, but she wasn't sure she wanted to spend her life shoving her hands in people's mouths.

And so we talked about life choices: I encouraged her not to stress out about having her life planned to a T in 11th grade and told her I'd be praying for her. I shared with her how radically God changed some of my plans (two years ago, I thought that in 2011 I'd be starting my first year of a PhD program). Alex shared some of her own experiences: She hadn't intended to come to a Christian school at all, but God led her here when her plans to attend an intensive high school in the Czech Republic fell through. Looking back, we both saw how God had directed us to a good place, how all His plans are good.

Rachel's Story

My 10th grade class includes a student named Rachel, a sweet 17-year-old that moved from the States to the Czech Republic late last year. Her family and I are the "newbies" here at CISP. A few days back, I caught her after class just to chat, but as the other student filed out, I could see that Rachel was visibly upset. As we talked, she shared with me how difficult it was for her to make her opinion and voice heard in English class.

As a teacher, I suggested a way to rearrange the classroom to encourage Rachel to speak up more often and more comfortably (moving her place in class closer to my position at the front of the room). I high-fived her when she spoke up in class last time. But I also got to talk with her on a deeper level: She told me that in her Bible class, she had deliberately chosen to do an assigned presentation on Psalm 121. There, the Psalmist "lifts up [his] eyes to the hills" and asks "where does [his] help come from"; ultimately, he concludes, his "help comes from the Lord". Rachel told me how comforting she found this verse, knowing that God alone was her help.

I like this verse as well, particularly after climbing four mountains in Colorado over the past few years. What I love about it, I told Rachel, was that the Psalmist asks a question in the first portion: the question indicates that he has no clue at first where help is going to come from. For the Psalmist, this moment is one where he feels utterly alone, staring at the hills and wondering how in the world there will ever be help for him. And

even in these moments, I told Rachel, God is still with us, is still our help.

A 12th grade story

My 12th graders read Martin Luther's "95 Theses" as part of their Renaissance literature unit. I'd planned a class of reviewing the various arguments Luther made and debating when to get involved in theological debates, and when to let sleeping dogs lie. But the 12th graders had a different idea, and our class took a far deeper turn.

A question about whether Luther was "Catholic" or "Christian" prompted a mini lecture in church history, explaining that until the 1500s all Christians were Catholic; there simply wasn't any other option. Luther was originally Catholic, and then as his views on Scripture and on faith strengthened, he gradually broke away from the Catholic church. To assist our discussion, we compared current Catholic and Protestant differences (prayers to the saints & Mary, the importance of baptism, the role of priests, etc).

At this point, another student complained about "Catholic hate": he felt perhaps we were being unfair to Catholics, condemning them too roundly and too universally. Of course, the point of doctrine is not to hate people at all, and so I explained that what we as believers must be concerned about is not Catholicism / Protestantism per se. What we must be concerned about is bad doctrine, wherever such doctrine appears. If it is in the Catholic church, we must correct such doctrine (praying to Mary, for instance). If it is in the Protestant church, than we must correct that too (such as the current universalism debate that Rob Bell ignited).

As student debate started to wind down (or reach a stalemate), I tried to wrap up our discussion for everyone.

What the gospel boils down to, I told my students is this: Christ died and rose again, and in Him alone are we saved. After that, as we love Christ and grow in Him, we will gradually correct our doctrine and our behaviour to fall in line with His expectations.

As I've taken the effort to deliberately engage myself in students' spiritual lives, I've enjoyed the chance to get to know each of them and to encourage both those who are believers and those who are not. Recently, someone told me that the spiritual life is a journey: though there is that point in time when we are converted, Christ is still working in us before and after that point, always drawing us closer to Him. As my students and I talk, I get to help them walk along their journey closer to God; occasionally, they encourage me in my own spiritual journey.

NOTES ON CZECH

I want to share my love of Czech architecture with you today. A friend told me, as we were walking through Prague, that I was 'such a photographer'; I'd been fussing about not having my huge Pentax with me to snap photos of clouds scudding across the sky over the Vltava.

As a photographer, though, I am in love with light. And so I love the lampposts adorning the streets and bridges throughout Prague. Let me share a few photos with you. Some of these have already showed up on my Facebook account, but I think they're worth showing again:

I'm listening to John Denver tonight on iTunes ('Sunshine on my Shoulders') and writing a short post, bringing you up to speed on recent school events.

NOTES ON SCHOOL

Last Saturday, CISP held a charity fundraiser: parents and kids donated books and clothes and knick-knacks, volunteered to run games, sold food, and ran an auction to raise money for an orphanage in Belarus and the European version of Ronald MacDonald house.

Originally, I'd signed up to help sell the donated clothes, but it turned out that the booth did not really need me to sit behind it. So I broke out my camera and started taking pictures of some of the crazy goodness there. If you've been on my Facebook page, you may have seen some of these already; this time, though I provide commentary!

The event (which we called 'March Madness') was a success, we were told: We raised over 75,000 Kc (about $3000 USD, which is a significant sum over here). I have to wonder, though, whether we bought half the stuff ourselves.

Here, some of the middle-schoolers get into the clothes-shopping action:

And our 10th grade science teacher gets ready to enter an ugly-sweater contest with something she found in the donated clothes:

If we weren't buying stuff, we were fooling around with it. My 10th grade students Aris, Ana and Amy latched on to the typewriter, trying to figure out how it worked. They asked me to give them a hand, and I had to confess that even I was too young to really know how a typewriter worked.

Besides the bazaar with its ugly sweaters and ancient typewriters, we also had an auction. The local youth pastor Jimmy got in on the auction action. Turned out, he was quite a good auctioneer: he wheedled his roommate (our Bible teacher) into bidding on prints for their man-pad, and he coaxed the menfolk into a competition of who-loves-his-wife-enough-to-buy-a-restaurant-coupon contest. Most of the restaurant coupons went for more than 500 Czech crowns, and some were nearly 1000 crowns - very good prices, in general.

Perhaps the most interesting of all our fundraisers involved a goldfish: We lined up glass jars on a table (with the pictures of 10th grade students, the PE teacher, and the youth pastor) and asked people to sponsor one of these people to swallow the goldfish. All the money put into the jars went directly to charity.

At one point, I walked over to this row of jars and jingled the 40 Kc or so in my hands, wondering which jar I should donate to. Personally, I wanted to see a student swallow the goldfish (does that make me a bad teacher?), but still I hesitated. At least, I hesitated until my 10th grade student Helena came running up and demanded that I donate to her jar - in other words, that I put her 40 crowns closer to swallowing a goldfish.

At this point, those of you who keep up with me on Facebook know what happened next.

Jimmy (the youth pastor) got the most money in his jar.

But he pulled 1000 crown bill out of his pocket -

- dangled it in the air a moment, in front of the whole crowd gathered for the auction -

- hesitated, -

- and dropped it in Helena's jar!

Up she came, and down went the goldfish - the whole thing.

Impressive, really. I'm told her brothers were jealous.

Fun as the event was, it had an even more important purpose: Working together (and donating a Saturday) taught the kids the value of showing generosity towards people who are in need. Perhaps for a missionary kid, whose family is very often on the receiving end of charity, this kind of lesson is particularly valuable. An event like March Madness provides a good 'training ground' for students enthusiastically practice charity and giving, donating a Saturday (or favourite clothes, or the heeby-jeebies associated with swallowing a fish) to mature as generous, Christ-like individuals.

NOTES ON CZECH

My life has been inexplicably busy recently, all the more so as I've started splitting week nights between suppers with my roommate, Bible study with fellow teachers, and tea (or cake) with my language partner. And so, for this post only, the 'Notes on Czech' is cancelled.

Perhaps in the next update, I will sing the praises of the Czech lamp-posts (one of my newest cultural fascinations).

Probably, many of you have never heard of Lilias Trotter. A few of you have, most likely because I've recommended her biography or her writings to you.

Lilias Trotter established one of the first Muslim missions in the early 1900s, working in northern Algeria and taking multiple trips down into the Sahara to reach out to the tribes there. Amidst her journeying and teaching and speaking, she penned several devotionals which still speak to readers today. About two weeks ago, I shared her writing with the school staff during morning devotions, and over the past several days, she has been speaking to me personally. I want to share what I've learned with you.

In Parables of the Christ-Life, Lilias observes the life of plants: in particular, she watches them grow and then slowly die away as the seed matures and is itself replanted. In this process she finds a picture of the Christian life itself. To the plant, Lilias points out, one thing is of utmost importance:

All gives way to the ripening seed. In the grasses the very root perishes by the time the grain is yellow, and comes up whole if you try to break the steam. They 'reign in life' above through the indwelling seed, while all that is 'corruptible' goes down into dust below. They have let all go to life - the enduring life: they are not taken up with the dying - that is only a passing incident - everything is wrapped up into the one aim: that the seed may triumph at any cost. Death is wrought out almost unconsciously: the seed has done it all.

Already you probably see where Lilias is going with this analogy: the importance of of making Christ our sole desire and delight, of letting go of all earthly desires in the hope to know Him more. And indeed, this is exactly what she says:

Can we not trace the same dealing in our souls as, slowly, tenderly, all that nourished that which is carnal is withdrawn, giving way to the forming of the Christ life in its place? His thoughts and desires and ways begin to dethrone ours as the aloe seed dethrones its leaves and casts them to the ground.

Here, I want to add one more thing: Not only must Christ's "thoughts and desires" dethrone ours, His grace must also dethrone our own efforts and self-sufficiency. Only when our self-sufficiency has been cleared out of the way will there be room for His life to grow within us, and to be visible to others.

Let me explain what I mean. Here at CISP, we glimpse God's blessings every day: a visa for our 5th grade teacher and for our middle-school English teacher, an wedding planned this summer and a new IT teacher in the fall, a new student or two added to the Wednesday night Bible study.

At the same time, so many prayers are unanswered. No building yet, no second grade teacher. Our music teacher has also not received her visa. My own teaching plans have gone wildly astray once or twice in the past week, making me wonder some days whether my students are learning much of anything.

And here Lilias' words come into play: All too often, we assume that we are somehow necessary to God, that without us His working (whether in the Czech Republic, or in the States) would fall to pieces. If we only had a building, we reason, then we could do God's work so much more effectively. If I were only a more masterful teacher, I think, my students would be distracted less and learning more, and (of course) learning more about God.

But there is an error here: It is not our skill that God seeks but the Christ-life within us, where alone we can know God and make Him known to others. What is essential is not a "heavenly energizing" nor a "conscious equipment for every service", according to Lilias. For me, her words suggest that I cannot expect a continual supply of positive answers to prayer: Perhaps there will be no building, no music teacher. Perhaps I will have days when I forget everything I've ever learned about being a good teacher. It is in this lack that we best glimpse Christ, at work in us.

Paul himself writes in I Corinthians that he "was with [the church] in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling". Apparently, he lacked that charisma, that magnetism so often associated with a strong teacher or leader; moreover, he lacked the "excellence of speech or of wisdom" presumably necessary to convince the Corinthian church of the gospel. Elsewhere, he complains of a thorn in his flesh (likely, a physical deficiency) that seemed to hinder his ministry. Clearly, Paul lacked certain characteristics we consider important to a successful life and ministry: strong people skills, persuasive speaking, good health.

It is in this lack, though, that Paul sees most clearly the hand of God. At Corinth, Paul writes that he "determined not to know anything . . . except Jesus Christ and Him crucified". Later, in Philippians, he declares that "what things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ". Like Lilias, Paul determines that all his skills and accomplishments - every spiritual gain, every academic success - must go, so that he may know Christ, and that Christ may work in Him.

What we must learn from Paul and from Lilias is this: we are inessential, but Christ is essential.

Nothing but Christ matters. In our relationship with God, we cannot endear ourselves to Him through any particular display of devotion or spirituality. All that matters is Christ in us, His life gradually replacing our own carnal concerns. In ministry, it is impossible to accomplish much of anything based on our own resources and accomplishments. What matters is that Christ be gracious to us, working through His body to reach the surrounding world.

Please note, I am not saying that our efforts and accomplishments are unimportant: Were I to cease planning lessons and studying, for instance, I would be twisting God's words, using them to excuse mere laziness. Our own efforts are valuable to God; they are simply not the crux of ministry. It is Christ that is the crux.

Nor am I saying that we are unimportant to God. In fact, we are inexpressibly important to Him, beloved by Him, treasured by Him, a constant part of His attention. But we are not needed by Him.

In this end, it comes down to this: "I must decrease, but He must increase."

May the Christ-life ever increase in me.

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.