Home v. "Real" Home
While the Eastern Shore of Maryland will always be my “real” home (if that makes sense) I’ve greatly enjoyed the opportunity to live in both France and now Poland.
(This post is a little bit of a ramble, jumping from one topic to another)
Many of you have been vicariously traveling with me, through my abundance of Facebook post, and I greatly appreciate your many messages, questions, and well-wishes.
As you may imagine, one of the most difficult aspects of spending a year abroad, alone, and away from home is being away from my family and my closest friends (I also have missed Maryland politics quite a bit).
Planting yourself in a new land with a new language for six months is no easy feat. Not knowing anyone upon touching down doesn’t make it any easier. Doing it twice in a row for 2 nearly back to back six month stretches (minus a 13 day break in between) makes you start to enjoy life abroad while starting to wonder how in the world you’re going to integrate into the life you left back home (as in “real” home).
All of my facebook posts are well thought out and I very carefully consider and control the message being conveyed with every word and picture. Part of this consideration can unintentionally sanitize the other half of the narrative by only focusing on the positive. After all, some have you have perceived an illusion, that I’m on a 13 month vacation. This is by no means the case. While I have enjoyed each and every stretch of my journey and the many places my time abroad has taken me thus far, it’s by no means all fun all of the time.
That’s the point of this post, still carefully crafted with regard to messaging; however, I’ve decided to focus on a piece of the other half of the story. I wanted to show the more “human” side, after all I would not want to give the wrong impression or be misunderstood.
So back to what I was trying to get across... traveling solo has been both wonderful and lonely. I’ve been able to make my own schedule and do things on my terms (for the most part). Yet, on the flip side, I’ve spent many evenings eating dinner alone, looking across at a table with no one sitting across from me, no one to converse with or make weekend plans with.
To be frank, that’s part of the reason I began to travel so much while in France- while I really did want to see the world, my desire to occupy my time and those empty weekends was also a compelling factor to put my passport to good use and see a few pretty amazing sights on Ryan Air flights.
As someone who is very extroverted, it’s been a process of adaptation and there have been good days and difficult ones, times I’ve enjoyed the solace of being alone and a number of instances where I would have loved to have a friend to grab a lunch or share a dinner with.
I didn’t think I’d say this, but on a political front, I’ve actually missed knocking on strangers' doors in the wintering heat or driving around town accomplishing various small tasks.
Faith is another topic that’s always been on my mind. If you know me, I hope you are aware that my faith is the most important aspect of my life; my faith is my foundation. From growing up in a Christian school to being surrounded by wonderful family and friends, I’ve always been grateful for my community.
Leaving “real” home meant leaving that community of people, along with physically leaving every community of which I had been involved of. [Sidenote- one community I sincerely miss is my Lakeside community and calling bingo :)]
Talk about bring uprooted, I’ve tried my very best to remain active in political and SU related affairs- but it’s hard to "be present" in two places at once, and with a six hour time difference it becomes a taxing effort.
One thing I wouldn’t let become uprooted in any fashion was my faith; however, it wasn’t as easy as I would have hoped after metaphorically setting sail (jumping on an airplane just doesn’t have the same literary ring to it).
In France, I was grateful to the American Church in Paris which became my church home. While I came to greatly enjoy the services at ACP, I never really got to know anyone there very well, it was simply a very large church. After a while, the pastors would recognize me and ask how I was, but that’s as far as actually getting to know people went during my time attending ACP while in Paris.
While it was technically nondenominational, the church had a very Lutheran-esque style that reminded me of the Catholic Church as you had what I liked to think of as the line-by-line, play-by-play in the bulletin. From the spoken responses to the old hymns and the “Peace be with you” and (my favorite) the congregation harmonizing while singing an Amen processional at the end as the choir and pastors exited down the middle aisle - it was a church experience I very much enjoyed. At first, I was challenged -both spiritually and intellectually- by the very liberal bent of this church, compared to what I was used to in the US, some of the interpretations and messages proclaimed by this church would have turned many heads within my church back home. I realized that the Bible was still the Bible, they weren’t trying to change any of that, however many had a very distinct view of US domestic politics and were no fans (for the most part) of current events back in the USA. I remained considerably uncomfortable with the way in which politics were integrated into messages from the pulpit, but I still valued most of the messages as only one of the pastors had a tendency to get too political on Sunday morning.
When there was another guy living with my host family in France, Walter, we’d often go to church together as he was also a Christian. Politically, Walter was ideologically more liberal than I from the start, so I think this particular aspect of church life at ACP was less of a shock to him. All in all, I enjoyed being at ACP and was sad to leave when my time in Paris came to an end.
Fast forward to the living on the other side of Europe
In Poland, things have been much different. For the first month or so, I’d gotten accustomed to live-streaming ORBC church services from back home. Then, one evening as I was attending a choral concert at a beautiful Catholic Church (of which there are many in Kraków), I felt that God was laying it in my heart to find an actual church, live streams are good - live people, In Person, are even better. The next day (Saturday) as I was walking through the Old Town square, I heard music and someone preaching in Polish and another, translating in English. This was simply too much of a coincidence- I went up to the guy who was translating in English and asked where their church was. The guy, Franek, gave me their card and invited me to their service the following day.
Here’s where it gets interesting
I show up to a building and, at first, I was almost convinced that I had gone to the wrong address. I was at a school, not a church. I went in and turns out it’s a Christian high school that they use as a church on Sunday.
Okay, this was the right address.
Next, I thought I’d say hello to Franek and then proceed to sit in the back so as to draw as little attention as possible (after all, I'm the new foreigner that nobody knows and who can barely hold only basic conversation in Polish at this point). I had one problem, after saying hello and meeting a few other people, I realized that it was a small congregation. Everyone knew each other, and it was not possible to disappear into the background. My next challenge was Polish, although some members spoke English, most did not. My Polish was rudimentary so while I could introduce myself, I couldn’t follow along in conversation at a normal pace. Luckily, there was Julia, a very kind lady who offered to translate for me. After first politely declining (as I didn’t want to be a burden and having a translator definitely didn’t help the goal of trying to go undetected), Julia insisted and I graciously accepted the much needed help in understanding what was being said.
All was going well, except that’s just it. It was going, and going, and going... you get the point, I was wondering how long the sermon was going to last. It was a great sermon regarding the armor of God, it just seemed to keep going... until-
Finally, people got up from their seats, but then I was confused, the pastor said we’d have a fifteen minute break. Did I misunderstand something; was this lost in translation? Did he say break, as in after two hours the service is not over?
Yes.
After halftime, (as I’ve come to think of it) there was the singing. This is where I was pushed out of my comfort zone, which is something usually difficult to do. After seeing of couple of people hit the floor, I soon realized I was at a Polish Pentecostal Church. I didn’t know what to think and I didn’t understand the music (as it was all in Polish and I didn’t have a translator for the second half).
Following a few verses, I decided to take a stab at the pronunciation and began to sing, quietly of course, as I was afraid of mispronouncing words I didn’t understand. I was staring to enjoy it, only one question... When was it going to end?
All said and done, I walked out of the building four and a half layers after having arrived. Wow! A 4.5 hour church service was a whole three hours more than the 1.5 hour services I was used to back home. Talk about mixed feelings, I wasn’t keen on going back the next week, but I felt as if I should - so I did. The second week, Luke translated the sermon and then I was once again able to practice my pronunciation and try to learn Polish praise some during the second half. Turns out 4 hours was about the norm. I must admit, going back for the third week, I was going more for the people than for the four-hour Sunday marathon (only half of which I could understand with the help of Luke).
Fast forward to today, now I’ve been attending for about two months and have also joined a small group that meets on Friday nights. I’m grateful for the Church because it gives me both a place to worship and also because it is through the Church that I’ve made a couple of good friends (otherwise I still wouldn’t really know anyone).
The community at this church is truly that, a community. While I still don’t understand a number of aspects of the Pentecostal denomination, they believe in the same God and accept Salvation through the same Jesus I have been saved by, and at the end of the day that’s the quintessence of the Gospel.
In France I never really got to make any close friends, I’m grateful that this is not the case in Poland. Łukasz (Luke), Franek (Frank), Mikołaj (Michael), and Dominika (Dominica) have been wonderful friends (and great translators). As pitiful as it may sound, it means a lot to have people that you know you’ll see every week when you’re separated from everything you’ve ever known, in a new land trying to learn a foreign language. I still have days in which the loneliness of separation from family takes more of a toll than on normal days, in which I’m largely preoccupied by other aspects of daily life.
Yet that’s life.
Every day I am reminded of how fortunate I am to be here. Furthermore, I remain profoundly grateful for this opportunity; I wouldn’t trade it for a second. I’m grateful that Poland has become more of a home in a way France never did (Don't get me wrong, I still Loved Paris). I’m thankful for the amazing friend Luke has been in translating Church services for me, helping me find my way when I’m lost at a bus stop, and making a point to check in with me periodically to ask how I’m doing.
I continue to learn more and experience new things each and every day. Just as I have since departing from BWI on January 8, I look forward to each and every week that lies ahead. These past 10 months have been amazing and genuinely life changing as I have obtained a much more nuanced view of our world and have learned (and continue to lean) a great deal. Those who have helped me along the way, have made more of an impact than I think they realize. Thank you, I appreciate each and every one of you.
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