Spring break is over and life has returned to normal here at LCC...or has it? Last week was Revolution Week, in which Roots of Justice (a group on campus) raised awareness about issues pertaining to human trafficking--sex, labor, etc. This past week was Spiritual Life Week. My goodness, I had no idea that a single week could wear me out so much! I'm exhausted as I write this.

For Spiritual Life Week, our team split up into smaller groups to each plan an event Monday-Wednesday, collectively worked on the coffeehouse Thursday night, and shared in selling goods at a bake sale today. Plus there is a concert tomorrow that we were asked to help with. Monday we had a panel discussion about cravings and an ice cream social after. Wednesday we put on "The Not So Late Show" with a theme about finding satisfaction. So fun. Tuesday was my event: the Hunger Feast (community dinner). All last weekend we visited grocery stores to collect cardboard boxes and wooden crates. When I say we, I mean two girls. We ended up borrowing two grocery carts and making four trips. But the event turned out quite well! Over the course of the week, we raised over 500 LTL to donate to Villages of Hope Africa.

Now something else. The title of my blog post--heartbeat--is our theme for chapel this semester. Each week, a different faculty member has shared his or her heart with us. I figured out that my heart beats for the marginalized--those not as accepted by society.

As I mentioned last week, I had an unusual encounter in Russia. I was walking through a park in St. Petersburg, chatting with a friend (about the wifi in our hostel), and then all of a sudden I felt something wet on my face, heard the sound brought about by forceful spitting, and then heard the man muttering in Russian. I was stunned. As we looked behind us, the man also glanced back. I'm thinking it was intentional. There was also enough room on the path for the man to have easily avoided us.

I was never upset at this experience, though I was definitely emotionally distraught. Never in a million years did I ever think I would be spit on. That goes to show my sense of privilege... I needed to get this story out and figured that it might be a good thing for the study abroad staff to be aware of. So I informed a director once I returned to our hostel. But something strange happened. I couldn't get the words out. I was ashamed. I was embarrassed. I thought I had done something wrong, that I was worthy of that injustice.

Eventually I was able to talk my way into it and spill the story. I was told that the man was probably just having a bad day, heard me speaking English, and decided to take it out on me. 

Okay. 

But then I grew nervous. As I walked through St. Petersburg alone, I wondered if I screamed American. I mean, I walked confidently and quickly. I didn't look around too much or let my mouth hang open. My coat would be the only give away, I think. Especially when I'm alone and not speaking. I was extremely aware of the people around me and perhaps a bit paranoid that something would happen to me.

This carried through to Klaipeda last week. I found myself feeling extra aware of my own behavior and the actions of my friends as we walked down the street. I want to respect the people who live here permanently. It's good to be aware and cautious in a new environment. But living in fear is not okay. Something needed to change.

Luckily, I had a revelation! Tuesday, as I was pushing the shopping carts yet again (this time to pick up 30 loaves of bread), I found that I was walking down the streets with confidence!  I got some looks. People made comments. But I realized that people move on. I'll likely never see them again. Plus the memories I made this week far outweigh the momentary judgment from others. I've already been spat on. The only thing worse is physical attack. That likely will not happen when I'm in a pair, and I am respectful when on my own. Why fear??

I chatted with the other study abroad director last Friday to get her input on the incidence. She said that the man was either crazy or drunk. A Russian wouldn't be able to pick out my accent, and therefore couldn't have known that I was American. I did learn, though, that at least in the market, vendors can easily pick out us Americans because of our mannerisms. So I think there's a chance the Russian man knew I wasn't from around there.

I don't know which theory I believe. But I no longer care, either. Last week, my heart was really heavy. I would wake up early in the morning and not be able to fall back asleep because of the extent to which this experience among others was pressing on my heart. During Revolution Week, I was reminded of my heart for working with the marginalized, as my Bible prof likes to say. My heart breaks when I read, hear, or see injustice in the world. 

This has been ongoing ever since the second day in Lithuania. Seriously. When we visited the KGB museum of Soviet occupation, I was stunned and nauseous as I thought about how heartless people were just a few decades ago. To put this in perspective, I had to kill a frog for physiology lab last semester. It was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. I was crying at the thought of killing an innocent creature that I loved. And it was a frog. How can humans kill hundreds of other humans (or even more)? I can't see into their minds, but it appears that there are no second thoughts. And this is their job. "Honey how was work today?" "Oh, the usual. I executed eight more scoundrels." Day in and day out.

And then in Bible, we've been watching a movie every Friday. As we watched parts of the Bible miniseries, I was struck again by the cruelty and heartlessness of some individuals. The mass killing of infants in Jerusalem. Crucifixion. Beheadings. Flogging. Stoning. I realized that there's a difference between those giving the commands and those actually carrying out the killing. But what could possibly cause such a passion for murder? In the name of God, no less!

And on and on. My heart has been processing a lot this semester and seeking answers. I had decided a few weeks ago that I would apply for a leadership position in the Agape Center next year as a way of implementing the things I've learned this semester and getting more involved on campus. One of the positions that was of interest to me was the Human Rights Awareness Director, but I felt like I wasn't the greatest fit...until two weeks ago. When the man spat on me, my first thought (after why my face was wet) was about how I could all of a sudden empathize with an entirely new world of people! It's one thing to feel compassion and sympathy when reading about social injustice, but another altogether to experience the degradation firsthand. Now I have even more of a drive to work with the marginalized!

As unfortunate as this experience was, I realized that I'm thankful it happened to me. Being quiet and polite, I did not lash out at the man and have internalized the experience for the most part. I'm not going around and retelling the story. I don't want to draw even more attention to myself or beg for sympathy where I don't need it. I don't want to badmouth Russia or create a negative stereotype of Russians. This was a chance encounter that definitely pertained to my role as a tourist.

And finally, I learned that there is bliss in not knowing. As curious as I am about what the man said, I'm thankful to have been spared the hurt that could have come with his words. Same for when I was pushing the shopping cart full of bread. Rather, I found myself wishing I could sit down and engage with the man. It would probably show that I don't fit his stereotype of Americans. But more importantly, I could learn about him, his past, and what would evoke such a strong reaction to hearing English.

So these have been my thoughts over the two weeks. It's cool to see pieces of my life fall together and I'm really excited to try to apply these life lessons when I return home!