A New Dream

My third semester of taking ASL (American Sign Language) classes has now come to an end.  Although this was my third semester of ASL, when the semester began - I was a journalism major.  Journalism has been my major since I started at my current college in the year of 2010.  In fact, I've wanted to major in journalism since I was 13-years-old.  (I'm pretty sure Superman and Lois Lane may be partial to blame for this life decision.)

My goal was never to be a reporter for the New York Times or for the local Fresno Bee.  My goal was to go overseas, using my journalism skill set of video creations, writing, and photography on a mission field - kind of like what I did in London.  I always saw myself working in another country, in another culture. But, recently I realized that my preferred writing style isn't even close to the journalistic style, and I decided that I pretty much despised my college's journalism classes and didn't care about the classwork.  I thought, "If I don't like the classwork, I'm pretty sure I won't like the real-life work either."  And although I am staying open and flexible about the idea of the mission field, currently I am leaning more towards staying and settling in California.

Now, here I am in 2013 at 22-years-old.  In October I officially changed my nine-year journalistic dream to chase a new dream.  I am now majoring in ASL, hoping to one day become skilled enough to be an interpreter for the medical field.  Once I am done at the local city college with my AA and interpreting certificate, I would love to continue studying ASL at Gallaudet - the main university for the Deaf - through their hearing program. (Between the expense and high competitive level for the hearing program, it is a big dream...so we'll see.)

When I tell people I am studying ASL, often I get asked, "What has inspired you to learn ASL?  Why learn ASL over German or Spanish?"  To answer those frequently asked questions, I will usually explain that I needed either music or language credits for my AA in college.  Considering I can't keep rhythm to save my life, I easily chose to learn a new language.  But why specifically ASL? 

Growing up, my sister, Amanda, studied ASL.  Instead of teaching me ASL as she learned the language, she would sign to me or in front of me with her hearing best friend - and never would interpret what was being said.  So, as I thought about which language I wanted to take, I thought, "Since I don't really have an interest in learning a language at all, I'll just take a couple of ASL courses to meet the basic college requirements, but mostly so I also learn how to decode what my sister signs.  I’m going to beat Amanda at her own game!" 

Since changing my major, I've been asked once again, "Why ASL?"  I started to give the answer I've been giving for the last few months…But then I realized - my original answer that I've been giving is why I started learning ASL and what lead me on this path…but it's not why I continue to choose to passionately pursue knowledge of the language and knowledge about Deaf Culture.  So, one again…Why ASL?

There are many factors that worked together in helping me decide to continue studying ASL.  First, my ASL 1-3 teacher, Nancy, is passionate about teaching her native language to others – and it shines through her every day.  The more I’ve learned in my ASL 1-3 classes and the more I get to know Nancy on a personal level, the more I feel inspired to continue learning about Deaf culture and the language.  She is someone that I admire, and sometimes I can't but think, "If I didn't learn ASL - I'd be missing the chance to know her…How many inspiring people have I missed the chance on knowing, just because I didn't know their language - especially ASL?"

Second, I accidentally fell in love with the language.  I had every intention to complete just two classes and be forever finished with the subject. When I talk to people about my ASL classes, I always tell them, “I walk into the classroom and when I leave – I feel more in love with ASL than when I walked in the door just two hours earlier.”  It's the first time in a long time I've felt so passionate about something, and the first time in a long time where I have felt like, "This is where I belong".  I’ve been told by my friends that my eyes literally light up when I talk about the language, and have even been told by another friend that when I write about learning ASL that my words seem to light up on her computer screen. 

Third, and most importantly, for the first time - the more Deaf people I meet, the more I feel like I am understood and have found a group of people I can relate to in certain ways.

Fact is: I am not Deaf.  I am 100% hearing.  Despite this fact, since starting ASL classes, for the first time in my life I feel like I am meeting people I connect with who "get me" more than the average hearing person.  For the first time, I feel like I've found a group of people who fully accept me for who I am and who I can somewhat identify with.  (Granted, I know my family fully accepts me as I am – but although they accept me, there is a part of me that they will never fully understand or identify with.)

Again, I'm not Deaf, so there are some things that I know I will never understand about the experiences and life of a Deaf person.  However, being born with a birthmark that covers half my face, I understand what it means to not quite fit into the stupid box that our American society hands out to each child at the moment of their first breath.

I still remember a class conversation that took place earlier in the semester.  It's one that won't leave my mind, and it is probably one of the biggest moments when I realized that I feel as though I relate more to Deaf people than I had previously realized.  Those that are Deaf were primarily sharing in class about family meals.  I remember someone sharing that when they are with their family, people verbally make jokes and laugh.  When asking what was said, the Deaf person would be told, "I'll tell you later", or, "It's not that important."

Many of my classmates were asking, "Doesn't that make you mad??"  The response shared was something to the effect of, "I'm use to it."  People sitting next to me expressed how sad and upsetting they found this reality for many lives of the Deaf.  I too, was saddened.  In fact - I remember being moved to tears, thinking about how lonely that would be to not understand what was being said, and having no one willing to interpret. But I also remember thinking, "I get it."  And I do get it - to an extent from two different perspectives.

This summer I spent two long months in Germany.  I know I've mentioned that I was supposed to be there for 6 months total, but instead of coming home in December, I came home in August.  My time there isn't really much to talk about on the positive end of the spectrum…Hence coming home early.  For many different reasons, living in Germany was one of the biggest struggles I have ever had to face - especially alone.  (I've briefly mentioned my time in Germany since arriving home.  Most of what I wrote - which isn't much - can be found in my entry "Life Outside Church Walls.")

As I think about my time there, I remember the strong sense of loneliness I felt.  Not being from Germany, I don't know more than 30 basic words and phrases of German….And I only know the 30 because of my time there.  Despite my lack of knowledge of the German language, I still had to face my days and live the life of the Germans.  Some days I would be around people for 6-10 hours with German being spoken all around me…usually with no one willing to interpret.  I would sit there completely lost, often finding myself staring at a wall completely in another world.  I felt completely isolated.

Before anyone gets the wrong idea, let me clarify: I never expected the Germans I met to cater to me as an American and native English speaker.  I knew going to Germany that I was going to a different country with a different language.  I respected this fact and looked forward to this upcoming adventure!  I went expecting and hoping to learn the language.  (I was so dedicated to learning the language that I even inquired a few times about language school – but my idea and interest was shot down each time.)  However, the days when I was around German for so many hours, I struggled.  I had no idea what was being said.  I didn't understand the joke, or even if I was the joke a time or two…Or why people were laughing.  (There were a few times when a laughing crowd would look in my direction.  I still have no idea what was said, or why they were looking my direction while laughing.)  If instructions were given, I couldn't rely on the spoken instructions.  I had to watch other people's actions and play an international version of Follow the Leader.

Even though I was almost always around a couple of English teachers and someone who held a past job as an interpreter, knowing both German and English rather well, rarely were things interpreted to me. 

I even remember a Sunday after church when I was talking to a friend.  My friend expressed that she was tired and that speaking in English was becoming more difficult as she became more tired.  I told her that she could leave, that I was thankful for her sweet friendship, and kind efforts.  She told me, "I don't want to leave you here alone with no one to talk to."  Replying, I told her, "No worries!  I am happy that I was able to speak to you just for an hour in English!  I'll be okay sitting alone for a bit."

Instead of letting me sit there alone, she went got the attention of one of her friends.  A couple of Sundays before, this friend was supposed to interpret a two-hour church service for me from German to English.  In the end, she didn't as she forgot (which, I totally understand!), but I knew that she knew English rather well by this fact - and by a couple of brief conversations I had already had with her.  Once my friend got the lady’s attention, my friend said, "Hey - I am leaving.  Can you keep Crystal company and talk with her?"   Before turning and walking away, the friend gave a two glance and two second reply, "No, sorry.  My English isn't very good."  Her English "wasn't very good", yet we had talked before and she had promised interpret different things for me in the future.

I only lived in Germany for two months, and I lived with people I had met for the first time…and although I know this part of my Germany experience doesn't even compare the the life-long stories and experiences of those who are Deaf...knowing how lonely and frustrated I felt by being left out and often ignored, it breaks my heart knowing that families with a Deaf child or sibling willingly do that to their loved one.  Actually, it doesn't just break my heart.  This completely shatters it.

It was a really hard moment when I felt completely dismissed by the lady, who knew English, but wasn't willing to make an effort - especially after she promised to spend time with me and to help me…and she was someone I barely knew.  And I know it's one thing for a near stranger to do this…But it bothers me that families would do the same thing to their own blood...Not being willing to make an effort to learn sign language, or sometimes not being willing to use what ASL they do know with someone is Deaf.   To be frank - I find it to be quite stupid.  (I have a friend in my ASL classes who has a Deaf friend.  Her friend’s parents know ASL, yet they chose to speak around their son without signing or interpreting the conversation. My friend, a classmate, had to interpret the family’s whole conversation to their son – her recently made friend.) 

I imagine and very well remember the struggle of two months among people who were practically strangers.  As I try to imagine living a whole 22 years with the experience with my own personal family…I can't even wrap my mind around the idea, let alone my heart.

(Before I continue – let me add that I am extremely thankful for a few specific people who went out of their way to welcome me to Germany, trying make me comfortable.  Although I am extremely thankful for their efforts, and I remember my time with them with a smile on my face, I either usually only saw these people once a week…or, I sadly did not meet most of these these friends until the end of my time there.)

The second way I can relate to the class discussion is in regards to the response of, "I'm use to it.”

No one in class was able to understand how Deaf people can become use to family members who aren't willing to communicate and include their family members.  I don't know what it is like to go to family dinners and to be left out in this way.  However, I do understand how it one can become use to something that most people don’t understand.

Having a birthmark on my face…Well, that’s hard to hide!  Between people’s staring, crazy comments, or rude questions, I usually have a story to tell by the end of each day – or at least a few by the end of each week!

Recently I met a Deaf woman by the name of Lisa.  She told me that someone once wrote a question down for her on a piece of paper that asked, “Do you know how to read??”  From what I understood, the person was genuinely curious if she had the ability to read – but I guess they didn’t realize the irony of their question, nor did they know how to completely use their brain when they asked it.

No one ever asks me if I know how to read, but I do get asked questions all of the time. I get asked, “Does your husband beat you?” (I’m not even married – or dating.)  Or, “What’s on your face?  Is it contagious?”  One time a store clerk asked me what was on my face.  I told her it was just a birthmark that I was born with.  She responded with, “Oh – that must be an interesting story to tell.”  Confused, I thought, “Ummm…There is no story.  I was born – end of story.  It’s people like you who give me stories to tell!”  Or, for a more recent story - I had a guy staring at me.  Usually during these staring contests people get a clue that they should stop.  This man, however, did not.  For the first time I actually had to say, “You can stop staring at me now.  You’re being incredibly awkward.”  He did stop…For two minutes.  Then his eyes returned.

Usually I take these situations with a grain of salt and take them as moments to laugh.  When I am out with friends or family and someone is staring, being rude by what they say or ask me, my friend will ask me with anger in their voice, “How do you put up with this??  How are you not rude back?” Casually and calmly, I respond, “I’m use to it.” – And my friends don’t get it.  They forget that I was born with a birthmark on my face and forget that I was born into a lifetime of staring contests and bizarre questions and comments.  They also forget that I don’t know life any differently. While it’s not normal to them, this is the normalcy of my life…Even if it is sometimes a bit of an obnoxious kind of normal.

Maybe I don’t get what it is like being Deaf.  Maybe those who are Deaf don’t get what it is like having a very visible birthmark covering their face…But although my story is different than someone who is Deaf and vice versa, there are still often common denominators in our stories.  Even my ASL teacher recently told me, "Your stories about your birthmark...Yours happen to be visible while my deafness is invisible but the way people deal with us is more similar than one would think."

As I learn of other people’s stories, I realize that some people who are considered “normal” can easily become ignorant and uncomfortable with something that is “different”…and because of this discomfort and lack of knowledge, people don’t know how to act – often resulting in their insensitive and brainless questions.  They forget that regardless of who the person is and what they look like, or if they are Deaf or blind – we are all ultimately the same on the inside.  We are all people with joys and sorrows, people with heartaches and happiness.  We are all people with a story to tell and people who have feelings.

While growing up outside of the box, many lessons can be learned.  You can learn to be confident and happy in who you are and not conform to what others wish you could be.  You learn that there is something incredibly beautiful in being “different”.  And yeah…sometimes I do get frustrated in specific situations…But if I react in equal rudeness to the comment or question given, wouldn’t I be giving up an opportunity to educate another person?

Even if someone asks a question in an insensitive manner, I still believe that it’s an open door to educate someone – and possibly the chance to change their perspective on how they see other people – and the world.  It’s a chance to teach that people who have birthmarks, people who are blind, Deaf, in a wheel chair, etc…That these are not people to look down on or people to treat like they are any less than themselves, but these are incredibly beautiful people we can look up to for inspiration and as great role models.

Growing up, I've never really felt like I've lacked people who understand me.  But, now that I have met Deaf people who understand me more than most hearing people, I find a sense happiness and relief that I didn’t realize was missing.

Deaf people are always talking about Deaf pride and being happy in who they are - regardless of not fitting into that ridiculous box.  Even though I'm not Deaf, I find the attitudes of those that are to be contagious and to be a reminder to be happy and proud of who I am whether I am hearing, Deaf, if I have a birthmark or don't, if I fit into that box, or if I break the mold.  

The Travelin' Chick,

Crystal

PS: Most of what I have published here was written for a class journal for my Deaf Culture classes - but with a few alterations.  There are other reasons as to why I am studying ASL…Like the stories I learn about of children who are mistreated by adults because they are Deaf...Like in my blog entry "A Home to Return to", with the story of the Deaf child whose parents cut off her fingers because she was signing instead of speaking…Yeah, stories like that?  They break my heart.  Stories like that make me want to try and make a difference on how the Deaf are treated, and any person who is being mistreated in any way.

Life Outside the Church Walls

Spiritually I'm struggling.

Growing up I've been the granddaughter and a niece of two great pastors.  I'm even a deacon's kid.  I've helped run the powerpoint at church since I was about 7-years-old (or, back then, I helped run the overhead projector with transparencies).  When I was 12-years-old, I became interested and involved in missions - going on my first mission trip when I was 15...going on one almost every year since.  In 2012, I even spent 6 months overseas helping a mission organization.  In between all these activities, I have done other things, such as write articles for Christian magazines, been involved in different leadership activities, and I like hanging out with the youth group when I have the free time.  I've even attended the same church since all my life, minus my time at Bible College and my time overseas...and that's only a portion of my church resume.  (Please note - I am not saying all of this to brag in any way at all.  I'm just wanting to give you a history and background of my life so you have a better understanding, and so you can see that even those who grew up in church and those who have done many church activities can still struggle spiritually.)

In the midst of all of that "churchy" type of stuff, life outside of the church walls has taken place.  If you've been following my blog or my Facebook page, you know my story, at least, the part of my story that has taken place in the last 3 years.  Between the death of my baby niece, the near-death of my father (3 times in one year) and his poor health, and many other family emergencies, life has not been easy...Not to mention the things I haven't, and can't, Facebook or blog about.

Being a "church girl", I know my hope shouldn't be based on my circumstances.  But, when circumstance after circumstance is one bad thing after another - it's becomes harder and harder not to lose hope.  Mentally I know my hope ought to be in God alone.  Emotionally and human wise, sometimes my hope becomes divided.

I think my spiritual struggle first started a little bit when I was 15, when my dad became really sick for the first time.  Then, I think I was okay for a while, until 2011 --- when everywhere I would look my life seemed to be turning upside down.  I went to London in 2012, even after a rather traumatic year, and was incredibly blessed.  There is no doubt in my mind that I was suppose to be in London when I was - and I thank God for my time there, the spiritual growth I experienced, and for the amazing team I was blessed to work with.

Then I came home from Germany after this most recent summer.  Coming home from Deutschland, I was not in a good place.  At all.  (I even posted a blog about struggling after my return.)  I wasn't, and am still not, the same girl I was when I left.   I figured after a month or so of being home, I'd snap out of the funk I was in and would get back to "normal".  But I haven't.   I've dealt with anxiety, depression, the desire to isolate myself, and self conflict...and my relationship with God hasn't gone unaffected.

I've been home for a little over two months now...Yet, I know I'm still not myself.  I am still struggling spiritually and emotionally.  I came home totally and completely broken.  And although I've been home for 2 1/2 months, it wasn't until about two weeks ago when for the first time, I verbally admitted to someone that I was, and am not, okay spiritually.

I feel extremely tired, worn down, weary, and spiritually dry.

Many Sundays I haven't even wanted to go to church.  I've gone for the service, but I've just about completely stopped going to Sunday School...and that's not a normalcy for me.  The thing is, it's not that I don't believe in God - because I definitely believe in Him still.  I've just been struggling.

The other week I told someone that I would pray for them.  Then it hit me, "When was the last time I even prayed?"  Then I wondered, "Have I stopped praying because I've lost hope through the last few years of hardships?"  Sometimes it seems as though all that comes my way, and my family's way, are hardships...and that's a tiring process to go through time and time again.

But why did it take me so long to admit to someone that I was struggling spiritually?  I've told people with ease that emotionally I've struggled in the last few years.  That, for me, is an easy thing to admit to.  But when it comes to telling people that spiritually something just isn't right in my life?  That's hard to share.  Oddly enough, I find it easier to tell people that I've been in and out of counseling and therapy than it is for me to tell them that my relationship with God isn't where it should be.  When I opened up to someone for the first time about my deep and personal struggle, it wasn't even to anyone I am close to.  It was to a retreat speaker that  spoke at a retreat in September during a drive to take her to the airport...I talked to someone who barely knows me, my story, and someone I barely know myself.

Maybe it was easier to talk to someone I hardly knew because she was someone who doesn't know my history, who looks at me as just me and not as the girl in leadership, or as the "girl who goes on mission trips".  I felt less pressure to hold up to a standard that I feel I sometimes have to reach - whether that's just a standard I've given myself, or a standard other people expect me to meet.

Overall, I think I've kept quiet for so long because because I have felt incredibly embarrassed about the issue.  Here I am, the granddaughter and niece of pastors...A girl who has attended church all her life, has always been involved in multiple church activities, has been a short-term missionary, and leadership positions...You get the idea.

I should have it all together, even through the hardships...Right??  Well, I haven't...and I don't....and I've put a lot of pressure on myself to be "that Christian girl" who continues to play all the same parts, not wanting to clue anyone in on my ongoing battle.  And truth be told - pretending I have it all together when I don't...Well, it's exhausting...and sometimes I feel as though I'm just going through the motions with a weary and frustrated spirit.

It's not that I enjoy struggling with my relationship with God.  In fact, I hate that this has been a big struggle of mine for the last several months.  More specifically, I hate that it has gotten worse in the last couple of months.  But more importantly, I really dislike that I've let it gotten to this point, not knowing what to do, and not telling others sooner.

I really miss feeling refreshed, and my passion and zeal for God.  Even more so, I miss having the relationship with God that I use to have.

If anyone has noticed my struggle - I'm unaware.  No one has said a thing to me about it, although I wish someone would have if they took notice to my internal battle.  It's a hard thing to go through alone, not knowing what to do.  I've noticed red flags and changes in my own behavior (such as not attending Sunday School), and I can't imagine no one else noticing.  Then again, maybe I'm a better actress than I thought when it comes to hiding what I've been ashamed about.

Do I feel ashamed to admit to a spiritual battle because of pressure I put on myself, or because it comes across as a taboo subject??  Why, as Christians, do we have a hard time admitting to one another that we don't always have it together spiritually?  That our relationship with God isn't always at it best?   Why do we find the need to hide this part of our life, when what we need is to be open about it so that others know how to better pray for and help us?  To keep us accountable?  After all, our church family and Christian friends have all probably been here/there themselves, and (hopefully) want what is best for us - physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

So, here I am being honest, once again.

In the last few months especially, and even throughout the last few years (on and off), I have struggled.  I've been in and out of depression after many hard life circumstances...And I've never really healed from anything that has happened in the last few years.

Although I firmly believe that recent events have a lot to do with my current struggles, I know they aren't the only cause.  In my heart, I know that the struggle is the result of an accumulation from the last few years and recent life experiences.  The most recent issues just seem to be the cherry on top of it all, and I'm just tired.

If you're struggling emotionally and/or spiritually - I encourage you to tell someone you trust.  (Although, I've noticed if you struggle with one, more than likely you also struggle with the other.)  Once you open up to one person, and once you say it aloud for the first time, it is easier to be honest about it and face it.  By opening up with just one person, it instantly took a lot of pressure off of myself - and now I've even found myself opening up to you here in my blog - even though I'm not sure how any of this will be taken by those who read this.

Once you open up with someone - make a plan.  I'm still working on a plan to get myself in a better place with my relationship with God.  I'm working on healing, and not running and ignoring things that I know I need to deal with.  I'm trying to be proactive by talking to a couple of mentors I know on the phone (as sadly, they live out of the state of California), and I'm seeing a local counselor for a few issues - my spiritual battle being one of them.

I've also been learning to tell others that for now, I can't take on any jobs at the church because I know I need to focus on me and God before I can take on any responsibilities.  If I were to take on any jobs right now, I would be cheating God and the church because I'm not where I need to be to take anything on.

Ironically, I'm 22 and have grown up in church, and yet, I still am lost as to the best way to get to where I need to be...But I know that admitting to where I am currently at and knowing where I want to be is definitely a good start.

Sure, I have two pastors in my family, have been a leader, been involved in many church things, and have gone on many mission trips. But I am human.  I have emotions and I experience life.  I'm not immune to possible struggles, physical, emotional, or spiritual...and I shouldn't feel ashamed, embarrassed, or even guilty about these struggles - as I've allowed myself to feel.

When I get responses from people about my blog, I always like hearing that people love how I am open and honest through my writing.  I figure, the more open and honest I am, the more I can truly connect with you, my readers.  Maybe through my writing, you'll know you're not alone in an experience, or maybe you leave my blog feeling encouraged or hopeful.  Sometimes the opposite happens as well.  Sometimes, when I hear from you (which I LOVE comments left, or emails I receive), and I hear your stories, I sometimes realize and learn that I'm not alone, and I often am encouraged by your responses.

By hiding this from you all, I have felt like a lying impostor posing as "that chick", seeming to come across as having it all together - even when I don't.  But here I am...Telling you, being honest with myself, and owning up to the fact that I don't always have it together - and right now I definitely don't.  Right now, I'm just trying process and attempting to figure some things out.

I've spent the last few weeks debating on posting a blog entry like this one...Not knowing how it will be received by others.  As I have gone back and forth on the idea of posting this entry, I've wondered, "Will people judge me for my struggle?  Will they think my struggle is stupid?  Will people see me in a different and negative light?  Will anyone even understand??"

Truth is, it doesn't really matter what others think about where I'm at in life - and I shouldn't worry about it.  It's a real battle and it's my life story.  Why should I hide where I am at?  I'm now less concerned about what others think about my struggle, and more concerned about getting back to where I know I should me…Where I know I want to be with God.

No matter how it's received by strangers, family, or friends, I can't hide the truth any longer.  I have to be honest...and really I feel like it needs to be posted.  I want to continue to stay open and honest through my entries - because odds are, realistically...I'm probably not alone.

The Travelin' Chick,
Crystal

A Home to Return to

Recently I met at Starbucks with a couple of friends of mine.  One friend in particular was asking me how many more laser treatments I would need for my birthmark.  Responding, I told her something like, "I don't know.  I can stop when I want to stop or I can keep going.  I had them as a child but decided to stop when I was about 11-years-old, and my mom said, 'okay', and let me stop.  When I was about 18-years-old, I told my mom I wanted to continue - and she told me 'okay' again, and I continued."  She said something to the effect of, "You have a good mom who supports you and your decisions."

And that's the thing.  I do have a good mom.  In fact, I have a great mom who supports me and my decisions...and recently, I've realized how I sometimes take her - and my dad - for granted.

Lately I've been reminded more and more about how blessed I am to have my parents in my life.  During the last few weeks, I keep hearing stories of people who don't have such a great support system in their lives.

I have friends who don't want to go home, because if they do, they have to "deal with their family".  I have friends who's parents aren't kind to them with their words, who put their child (my friend) down.  My friends have parents who tell their children that they aren't pretty enough, thin enough, or that they deserve to become sick, they deserve to go through an emotional hard time, etc, etc.

In my ASL (American Sign Language) classes I learn of stories of children who are Deaf who have gone through horrendous medical experiments, therapies, and treatments - even when they requested that they stop.  (This happened/happens when parents are new to having a Deaf child and rely on doctors for advice.  The parents want what is best for their child, but what they are told to do by their doctors doesn't always end up being the best option.)  My teachers, friends, and classmates who are Deaf share what it is like to grow up Deaf in a hearing family...Being left out of conversations, social activities, and being left completely alone.  One friend even shared that his mother left the family when they found out he was deaf.

The other week, I was with a group that included 6 of my friends (two friends are Deaf, the other four are hearing).  We were trying to figure out who all wanted to go to Wal-Mart, so we asked both the hearing and Deaf friends in the group if they wanted to to to the store.  If we all went, we would take two cars, as we all wouldn't fit into one.  If some wanted to stay at the apartment until we got back, we only need to take one vehicle.  One of my Deaf friends responded, "I don't need to go.  I'm use to being alone.  I'm use to my family leaving me out."  Needless to say - we took two cars and made sure that all 6 of us went to the store together that night.

Two weekends ago I also went to see The Deafhood Monologues.  The monologues included many true stories based on experiences and the history of Deaf culture and people, but one story particular stood out to me...and has come to my mind everyday since the performance.

During the monologues, actress Shira Gravelsky presented a (true) story of a woman who went to an adoption agency.  The woman that Shira played met a young girl who loved to draw - regardless of the fact that she was missing fingers.  Shira's character spoke to someone in charge, asking if the little girl was born without her fingers.  To her character's surprise, the little girl's current condition was not to be faulted due to her development in the womb or due to a birth problem.  It was faulted by a recent, tragic, life event.

The little girl was born deaf.  She learned to do some sign language, but then her parents took her to a doctor who dubbed signing and ASL as bad.  The doctor insisted that the parents push oralism and speech therapy on the child - and told them not to let their daughter sign or use ASL.

Her parents tried to get her to go oral, but she continued to sign.  Her dad became infuriated and one day yelled, "Is she signing again??  Is she?  Make her stop!  Make her speak!...Is she signing??  Make her put her hands out!"  So, the child was forced to lay out her hands - and bam!  Her father took a knife and cut off all his child's fingers.  (The child's parents went to jail.)

I listen to stories like this and my heart breaks.  I listen to my friends talk about their strained relationships with their parents who aren't very kind, and I become extremely saddened.  My heart has broken so many times during the last two months as I hear stories in class or through new friends.  All the people I've heard share about their poor home life are such beautiful people, and I can't imagine how their parents don't see the beauty in their own children, or how they don't accept their child as they are.  Hearing about all of these stories and experiences...I am reminded of how lucky and blessed I am to have the parents that I have.

When it comes to my health and to my body, my parents have never forced me to do anything I haven't wanted to do.  Like with my laser treatments.  If I want to have them, they're okay with it.  My mom even drives me to and from - 3 hours each direction.  If I want to stop the treatments, they are okay with that too.  And when I was diagnosed with chronic pain at the age of 12?  My parents made sure that I got the best treatment possible to help relieve as much of the pain as possible.

If I need help with friend situations or need advice of any kind, I know I can trust my parents.  I know they'll think rationally and not attempt to feel bad about any of the situations.  They try to encourage me through their advice.  They're not afraid to be honest with me if I'm in the wrong or need correcting, but they correct me in love and in a tender way in hopes of helping me grow as a person through the situation.

My parents have let me travel the world without them since I was 15-years-old.  They want me to travel, understanding that the world is a big and unique place.  They've encouraged me to spend 6 months in London, and supported me when I wanted to go to Japan to help with the disaster relief efforts after the tsunami hit.  Even though the tsunami and issues Japan was having with the nuclear plants and radiation made my parents a little nervous, they knew I felt like I need to go and they trusted in God to keep me safe.

When I decided to move to Germany for 6 months, my parents let me make my own decision and told me it was a good, once in a life time oppurtunity.  When I decided it was best for me to come home from Germany 4 months early, my parents were once again in full support.  They welcomed me home with wide-open arms and picked me up from the airport.

Whenever my parents see an area I become interested in, they encourage me to persue my new interest.  If I enjoy a new hobby, they support me.  My dad, after all, is the one who surprised me when I was 13-years-old as he bought me my first SLR camera - seeming completely at random at the time.  I remember coming home from school, seeing a Nikon D50 on the table, and asking my dad, "Who's is that??"  He told me, "It's yours."  I don't even remember asking for a camera.  Asking him tonight why he bought the camera for me, he recalled realizing my growing interest in creating videos and thought I needed a better camera to help me out in the new hobby.  Little did he know how much photography would become part of my life!

And in college...Even when I change my major for the 3rd or 4th time, my parents always insist that they want me to major in what I love, what I'm passionate about, and what makes me happy.

My parents have accepted that I am living my life and am trying to live it to the fullest.  They've stuck with me through the good times, and the most trying times.  They even try to give me experiences that they possibly didn't have themselves as a child or young adult.

I just can't imagine having parents who don't accept me for who I am.  I can't imagine having parents who ignore me, or force me to do things I don't want to do, or who make me feel ugly and awful about myself.  I've been blessed with parents who are patient, kind, encouraging, accepting, and who have instilled that beauty runs much deeper than skin deep.  They've taught me to be proud of who I am, even through my differences.

My life could have been extremely different had I been born into a different, less supportive family...And I just want to thank my parents.

Thanks, mom and dad.  Thank you for being great, supportive, encouraging, and loving parents.  Thank you for being parents that I enjoy spending time with.  I hope that if I ever become married, and have children, that I am half as great as you two.

Thank you for giving me a home that I want to return home to at night.

The Travelin' Chick,
Crystal

It Happened in a Pretzel Shop

It happened in a pretzel shop.

Once my plane landed back in Fresno, I hit the ground running.  Within about 12 hours of landing, I was already out having lunch with friends and having family dinners.  Within 36 hours, less than two days after arriving home from Germany, I went out shopping with my mom, sister, and aunt.

While we were out shopping, we went out to an outlet mall with all kinds of shops.  Famous Footwear, Claire's, Lane Bryant, Bath and Body Works, etc...There were many people around the stores that day, and I was able to understand every word being spoken around me by every person.  I was back in my English-speaking American culture after being away for two months!

Apparently, though, two months is all it takes to have the 'joy' of experiencing reverse culture shock.

My sister, mom, and I stuck together as my aunt went to another store that only she wanted to shop in.  We went into a couple of stores before heading into a pretzel shop that smelled deliciously tempting.

Once in the shop, I read the flavor options to my mom and sister.  Well, okay, I read the three or four that sounded good to me out of the 10 or so listed.

Asking my mom and sister which one they wanted to share, they both told me, "I don't know which one I want...you decide."  I insisted that they all sounded good to me so I wanted them to chose, and they also insisted that I make the decision.

That's when it happened.

In the middle of a pretzel shop my brain shut down.  I literally could not make a decision.  As tears threatened to spill out of my eyes, I became overwhelmed and firmly told my mom, "I can't make this decision. I need you to make it this time."

I couldn't get out of that pretzel shop quick enough.  My sister, mom, and I found a picnic table outside of the shop so we could sit down to enjoy our freshly baked treats...but my mind was still in overload as I gazed off into space.

My mom was asking me what was wrong, and I honestly don't recall what I told her in response.  Trying to avoid questions, I probably something like, "I'm fine - just tired and jet lagged."  I guess my sister couldn't quite hear what was being said, as she asked, "What??"

I'm usually pretty mellow.  Rarely do I snap - but for some reason, I did that day.  Before I could stop myself I couldn't help but snap out, "I don't want to talk about it!!"...As I stood up and walked away...and kept walking.  The tears that threatened to spill out of my eyes 10 minutes earlier had finally acted upon their threat.

At the table they were asking me questions about what was wrong.  When they called my phone after my "moment", they asked more questions.  I kept telling them I was fine.  After all, how would I be able to answer their questions about what had just taken place, when I didn't know the answers for myself?  All I knew was my mom and sister weren't the cause for my reaction...It wasn't their fault, and I felt awful for responding in the way that I did.

Even four days laters, I still don't know what came over me.  I've heard about this happening to missionaries after they spent 2-4 years overseas in other countries.  But, I've never heard of this happening to someone being gone for just two months.  Even after spending six months in London, England, I never had a moment like this.  Sure, I had other types of moments when I returned home from London - like realizing how many new songs were on the radio in just half a year or how many new slang terms were imbedded into the American vocabulary.  But nothing so...dramatically overwhelming.  (Granted, I do realize England is a different culture than Germany and my surroundings and experiences were completely different.)

For those of you wondering, "You were only in Germany two months?  I thought you were going to be there for six months?"  I realize I have confused a lot of people.  My plans changed and I chose to return home four months early.  That choice was not an easy one.  A part of me wonders if my moment in the pretzel shop was a result from my mind being completely overwhelmed from making many big and difficult decisions in the recent days and weeks, that it hit a point of being unable to make a small, simple, decision.

Who knows why I reacted the way I did, but here's to hoping that will be the only moment of its kind!

The Travelin' Chick,
Crystal

Welcomed by the Youth

The last two Friday nights that I've been in Germany, I have been attending a youth night/Bible study.  The youth group meets once a week, every Friday.

Before I continue about my time in the youth group - let me define what they refer to as a youth group. The youth group at the specific church I am attending isn't just middle school thru high school ages.  The ages range from about 17 or so until about 20-something, maybe even early thirties.

The first Friday I went, I was very nervous.  Here I am, in a new culture, not knowing the language, or the people.  I didn't know anyone in the room - except the person who had just given me a ride, whom I had only spent about 10 minutes with at that point.  I was told that many people there knew English, but I didn't know who knew English, or how well.

I met one guy named Peter.  He talked to me for about five minutes and was very welcoming.  I guess he could tell that I was a bit nervous, as he asked me, "You're quite shy, aren't you?"  I told him, "Ummm...Sometimes."  He replied, "But I thought Americans weren't shy??"  Ha...I guess I proved that stereotype wrong!

Peter then took me to meet a few girls.  They were very kind and took it upon themselves to translate everything to me during the night. Announcements, the message, songs...You named it, they heard it in German and turned it into English.

At one point, one of the leaders (and brother of the people I live with), Hermann, was giving some announcements to the group.  While this part wasn't translated word for word, I knew he was sharing that there was an American in the group who only spoke English.  (AKA: Me.)  While introducing me, there was a moment I found to be awkward.  One of the guys in the group said something (in German, of course) that resulted in his whole row looking back at me and laughter being shared among people in the room.  I have no idea what was said.  I didn't think to ask for the translation because I was caught off-guard and felt a bit embarrassed...but at least some people got a good laugh...right??

During the service they also sang two songs in German, and one in English.  The first Friday was a great introduction to the group.  I met a few people and they were all very welcoming.

This last Friday, I went back once again.  The same girls helped me out again by spending time with me and translating their native language to mine.

During the message, the leaders had everyone break into about 7 groups.  Before I realized what was happening, people started counting off.  People who said the number "one" were part of group "one".  People who said the number "two" went with group "two".  However, I don't yet understand the numbers in German.  I've heard them before, but not enough to realize when people are counting.  The group was counting and saying their group number.  Then, it was my turn to say a number...but I was still clueless as to what was even taking place.  Once it hit my turn, I think I got the "deer in the headlights" look as I knew I was suppose to say something - but I didn't know what.  Thanks to my new friend for allowing me to follow her to her group!

The groups were all given the same challenge to discuss.  The challenge was to find something (an act of service) that each group can do for the church or the community within the next month.  My group spoke in English the whole time, with a little bit of German.  I insisted that they could speak in German, but one of the guys told me, "But speaking in English is cool!"

Each group had a piece of paper for our group to write down our act of service we wanted to do.  Our group came up with an act of service and they wrote down the names of each member of our small gathering.  When they got to my name, one of the guys asked me, "How do you describe your name?"

How do I describe my name?  What???  It took me a second, and then I realize what he was asking.  I responded, "Oh!  Do you mean how to I spell my name?"

For those of you who don't know much about the German alphabet (as I didn't know much about it either until recently), their alphabet is a little bit different.  There are a few more letters in it and the letters are pronounced differently.  Sadly, I couldn't remember how to pronounce all the letters the German way - but I did remember one important one.  The following was how the next conversation took place:

"I spell my name C-R-Y..." - Me
"Y?  Which letter is Y?" - German Guy
"I don't know...I don't remember..." - Another German Guy
"Oh!!  Sorry...I mean 'upsilon'!...Did I say that right??" - Me
"Yes!  You did!  Good job!" - My New Friend

While I couldn't remember the exact way to say each letter, I remembered 'upsilon'!  If you've ever attempted to learn another language, you know exactly how good it feels when you remember a word (or, in this case, a letter!) and get something right.  It's one of the greatest feelings of accomplishment.  It also gives the feeling and thought of, "I remembered something in German!  Yesssss!  Maybe I'll be okay here after all."

After each group finished filling out their paper of what they want to do in the next month, we turned the paper in and all gathered together for the rest of the service.  The leaders read off the different papers of the tasks everyone intends to do.  Some mentioned that they want to help the church janitor clean for a day, some want to help care for the church garden, others want to provide snacks for the Friday night youth service.  Our group decided to write notes of encouragement to members of the church who are currently in a time of discouragement and hardship.

As the leader was reading off all the different things people planned to do, she was reading them in German as my new friends translated for me.  Then, the leader switched to English and looked at me saying, "The next one is a surprise for Crystal.  One of the groups wants to sing a song for you in English."

The group went up to the stage.  The same leader who introduced me the week before, Hermann, was in this group, and he spoke saying something like, "We just wanted to let you know we are very glad and happy that you are in our youth group while you are here.  We want to sing a song for you and we hope you enjoy it."

The song wasn't one that I knew - but I liked it!  The song is called, "Heaven is a Wonderful Place".  The group sang the song and then invite everyone else to join them for the second round.  If you don't know the song - click here for a youtube (random) video of the song.

After the service was over, they had hotdogs for everyone to enjoy.  (Yum!)  As we ate our hotdogs we all chatted and some of us stayed to play games.

I got to the church around 8:00 pm.  I didn't leave until about 12:00 am.

I'm really looking forward to meeting more of the youth group this upcoming Friday, as well as getting better aquatinted with my new friends.

I have only gone to the youth group twice, but I look forward to going more than I can really express.  The youth of the church have really gone above and beyond in welcoming me to Germany.  Although I've told them I don't expect someone to translate for me every time, or for them to sing a song in English every week, so far they have.  Every time I have left the group, I leave feeling encouraged.  They have really included me and I am excited about making new friends.

The Travelin' Chick,
Crystal