I try not to berate myself for my anxieties too often. Anxiety is a curious beast and the stressors that creep into my life on occasion are best dealt with in a loving way (because being anxious about being anxious is one of the most maddening exercises on the planet). And Love being what it is, the author of it (God) routinely reminds me of how big He is in comparison to my occasional bouts of I-have-too-many-student-loans-I-really-need-a-bigger-apartment-I-hate-paying-my-law-license-fees-when-I-don't-even-practice-money-is-stupid-I-wish-I-were-skinnier-how-the-hell-did-I-burn-the-eggs-twice-work-makes-me-feel-like-a-moron-sometimes anxieties.
Anap is one of the students I'm often paired with when I tutor on Monday evenings. She's perhaps a decade my senior and she's slowly, painstakingly learning English. Tonight we were working on a rewrite of a paragraph for a course she's taking, a paragraph she titled, "Why I Want to be a Doctor." Each sentence is a struggle. Her vocabulary stretches with each week, but crafting a fluid, cogent paragraph does not come naturally. And the substance of the paragraph, her desire to go to medical school, just makes the writing and rewriting of simple phrases that much more heartbreaking. The rewrite was instigated in part due to her teacher's red ink comments of, "do you understand how much schooling you will need to be a doctor? Do you enjoy science and math? Is this a realistic goal?"
I can't blame her teacher for having these thoughts, I have them myself. How can she go to medical school when I'm having to reteach adverbs each week? But the uber-American upbringing in me screams, "put your mind to it and you can do anything, Anap!" The hurdles facing such a dream are mind-boggling, and at present I'm only thinking of the educational hurdles. The financial would make medical school seem somewhere just shy of miraculous.
After we'd worked for an hour, I offered to drive Anap home, which is a common occurrence. This time, however, she asked to be dropped at the hospital, where her aunt is currently recovering from lung surgery. And "recovering" may be painting too rosy a picture. Anap has lost her mother and brother within the last year. And this aunt came to her side in her mourning. Anap now keeps vigil beside her, two women far from their birthplace, ensconced in a culture that must fascinate and terrify them in equal part. As she stepped out of the car I told Anap I would pray for her aunt and she smiled, thanked me, and said, "God bless you," before waving goodbye and walking briskly through the emergency room doors. Anap always has the most beautiful head scarves, and the red and pink of tonight's variety matched the glow of the lettering above the hospital door.
On the wide spectrum between Surviving and Flourishing, wrapped up as I am in my own minor earthquakes and struggles, I so often forget that there are those around me whose lives lean heavily towards Survival in comparison to my inch-by-inch pursuit of a Flourish. I lament budgeting for trips to DC, wishing I could spend money profligately on fancy drinks and new purses, when Anap is struggling to make sense of American History coursework and the often curt explanations from her aunt's doctor. I am in the process of paying for the dream I was privileged enough to pursue, and Anap will be lucky to pass a class where she's learning to write sentences about a dream that will, in all likelihood, never come to fruition. How am I owed any level of comfort beyond what Anap is given? I am a firm believer that God does not love me any more than Anap, or desire Anap's happiness any less than my own. We are equally loved by our Creator, and yet my struggles look like blessings beside her day-to-day life.
Comparison is a tricky thing. And no one but the Almighty can explain why I was born in this country, to these parents, in those school districts, and why Anap is struggling in her late 30s to learn a new language, and losing family members left and right in a country that isn't even Home. But when Anap said, "God bless you," in the car, I simply wanted to scream my prayer.
No, not at all. I am already overly blessed. Blessed beyond my ability to recognize said gifts. God bless you, Anap. God bless you.
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