The Reflection: Oz and Israel

The Reflection: Oz and Israel

A Tale of Love and Darkness is more than a memoir; it is a compilation of memories of history in the making, of politics, the community, the family and home environments. There are two voices in the memoir: the distinct memories perceived by the young eyes of the child Amos, and the reflections of him as an adult, mature enough to understand and interpret the experiences that influenced his life. In A Tale of Love and Darkness by Amos Oz, his family is used as a reflection of Israel and Jews throughout the ages showing the eclectic influences through its development as a country and on the inhabitants.

The diverse cultural, academic and political ideologies that have accompanied the Jews to Jerusalem is observed by Oz as their knowledge is fused together and helps create a new type of irremovable inheritance. Although Oz begins describing his own life by comparing his family’s relationship with books to that of a lover, he also depicts how in Jerusalem, at the heart of their land, everyone else seems to be having an affair with books as well. Jerusalem, at the time under British rule, since the 1920s, is now surrounded by well-educated and cultured Jews who have now returned to their land from across Europe to make Aliyah (16-17). To young Oz, it seems everyone he encounters is a scholar (3). In the memoir, the intellectual Jews in Jerusalem are married to books with knowledge as their first-born child. Oz describes his own relatives outside his nuclear family, whom amongst can be found more book lovers, one behind another, some, more notable than others like his Uncle Joseph Klausner, a notable historian, writer, i.a. . Oz remarks how the land’s present state of British occupation greatly influenced their extensive reading habits. “What else did we have to do” (21)? He remarks how Jerusalem’s 7 o’clock curfew was enforced by the British (21).  Britain treated them like a strict father, keeping them under strict regulations like children who needed to be sent to bed early. Despite the locals’ limitations, Jewish people found freedom through reading as a form of entertainment and escape.

Within his nuclear family, Oz is fed a balanced diet of intellectual literature[1] by his father and what his father deemed as fluff [2], by his mother. His father, Yehuda Arieh Klausner, an intellectual deriving from a long line of scholars, passes on his Lithuanian and Odessan roots to Oz, constantly feeding him intellectual meat.  Meanwhile, his mother Fania Mussman, an educated woman from an affluent family in Rovno, Poland, concedes him with literary desserts. Both parents shared idealistic expectations of the New Jew prior to their arrival to British-occupied Palestine (37, 193). As mentioned in the course, the New Jew is an idea comprised of a modern Jews who is not only intellectual, but strong, as well as attractive. Despite the fact that Oz’s father could read approximately 16 languages and speak eleven, while his mother could read and write half as many, he was only taught Hebrew (2). Their vision for an Israeli state fomented Zionistic ideals in Oz’s own life. Throughout his childhood, Oz could sense the burden of his parents’ hopes of his achieving the greatness which had passed them by (267). Even during his teenage years when Oz physically rebels against his family legacy, Arieh’s faith in his son does not flicker as he still hopes that the family torch will be passed on to his son (464, 477). Despite his youthful efforts to purge himself from his family ties, Oz has demonstrated how not even such a drastic change of environment and lifestyle was capable of stifling the flames cultivated by so many generations past (487, 515).  Oz articulates, “in vain did I endeavor to excel in farm work and fail in school. In vain did I grill myself like a steak in my efforts to be as brown as the rest of them” (515). In vain, in vain, in vain he goes on to describe how he tried to eradicate his identity, yet expresses that beneath the layers of his deep brown tan, there still persisted a pale versifier at his core.

Because the memoir is saturated with the heterogeneous origins of how and why the Jews share certain values, Oz shares two perspectives of how this love for books developed. This takes place before British occupation and before many Jews were uprooted or compelled to leave their European homes. Outsiders defined education as the Jew’s real religion, while Jews understood the value of it, believing “that education was an investment in the future, the only thing no one can ever take away from your children” (178). Without any understanding of Jewish history and the incessant prejudice that accompanies it, it is easy for an outsider not to comprehend this bond with knowledge that has developed over centuries. As shown in the scriptures, “wisdom, like an inheritance, is a good thing and benefits those who see the sun (Ecc. 7.11 NIV). In his memoir, Jews might not have been expelled from Europe with physical riches like their ancestors did in the Torah during their expulsion from Egypt, however, in this new age, they have returned with intellectual riches. The knowledge that derives from education has become woven into the identity of Jewish culture as their irremovable inheritance.  

The eclectic experiences that Jews have had forms the personification and value on books, comparing them to a child or a woman. Oz shows his readers that not only is the body of the book appealing, but most importantly, it is the contents that initiates such a bond between the two. It is the wisdom found between the pages that hold the secrets that have saved many Jews around the world. Throughout the memoir, Oz personifies the book when describing his father’s own “sensual relationship with his books” always stroking them like a woman and even comparing his first published book to a child when he says, “it’s as though I’ve just had another baby.” (23, 132). Despite these references to these comparisons within his own time, Oz also shows his reader that this is far from being a new concept. The urge to seek wisdom has been taught since the writing of the Tanakh, “fortunate is the man who has found wisdom…. It is a tree of life for those who grasp it, and those who draw near it are fortunate” (Tanakh Online, Mishlei. 3:13, 18). It is also characterized as a woman when it says, “do not forsake her [i.e. wisdom], and she will preserve you; love her and she will guard you (Tanakh Online, Mishlei. 4:6) Constantly, it assures people who seek wisdom that they will find protection in the truth found in the words within that book. The same ideology has been passed down so that even Oz’s family acknowledges and embraces these benefits which wisdom or knowledge offer through books and education as a medium. He says, “even through “another war, another revolution, another migration, more discriminatory laws—your diploma you can always fold up quickly, hide it in the seams of your clothes, and run away to wherever Jews are allowed to live” (178). He explains how the wisdom contained in books has been the preservation of his people many times. It is the tool that has provided them with the education, like a mother who nurtures her children and feeds them with the nourishment they need to survive.

The effects of the influence of British dominion and of the World War that caused another genocide are mirrored in the people that influence Oz’s life. Britain’s pre-World-War II motto of, “Keep calm and Carry On” resounds amongst Oz’s family circle. That stereotype of sterile British coldness, creeps up in the background, its effects, revealing its presence in the memoir from time to time. In a phone call to relatives in Tel Aviv, Oz reflects on the awkwardness of his family’s conversation, describing its’ staccato tone (11). At the time, Oz was too young to absorb the gravity of the political tension caused by Hitler, their domineering father—the British, and their Arab neighbors, but, as a writer, he reflects on the uncertainty of the times they were living. Looking back, Oz has been able to read between those awkward lines and says the following:

those telephone conversations reveal to me now how hard it was for them—for everyone, not just my parents—to express private feelings. They had no difficulty at all expressing communal feelings—they were emotional people, and they knew how to talk. Oh, how they loved to talk! .…but the moment they tried to give voice to a private feeling, what came out was something tense, dry, even frightened, the result of generation upon generation of repression and negation. (12)

Within his memoir, he mirrors the impact of British colonialism in Palestine. There is trepidation, the people live as if on their tip-toes on a land that they cannot officially call their own. He mentions repression, a reminder of the British influence on the people, advising its’ subjects to reign in their emotions, until all that is left is an unrecognizable and numb exterior. Negation displays the absence and perhaps even the denial of the positive display of emotions such as love and affection. These become a significant and absent variable in Oz’s own childhood as well.

The word, love, in the title of the memoir is a paradox, because even though it is what Oz most craves, he describes more the lack of physical affection actually received as a child. His parents’ way of showing love differs from other families and even Fania warns Oz not to look at her marriage with his father as a pattern for his own in the future (505). Oz hardly describes any form of physical affection between his parents or between them and him. His relationship with his parents always seems to live off on conversations. Their function always seems to lead for the purpose the education. His father’s conversations with him are typical of other group conversations occurring amongst the Jews. Somehow, they always finish in a monologist lecture (66). As a consequence, the lack of affection and communication affects Oz’s development in his childhood.

He learns from a very young age that showing intellectual prowess and a mature perspective of thought allows him to gain his parents’ and other adults’ attention through the manner of smiles, looks, and proud remarks. With his parents, their attention, verbal praise, and pride in his academic success, and mental development takes new meaning. It has replaced the meaning of the expression of physical affection in Oz’s life and he understands it, accepts and craves it. He is often described as a special or extraordinary child and he takes pride in his oddity, or his uniqueness as a child (261, 214, 217). “Even when I was five,” Oz says, “I was ashamed of crying, and at the age of eight or nine I learned to suppress it so as to be admitted into the ranks of men” (457). It seems that Oz has renounces his childhood in order to receive his parents’ favor.  Being an only and lonely child, Oz does what he feels he must to be accepted. In return, he is treated like a little adult and he purposely tries to appease them or seek ways to impress them, to assimilate himself into their adult circle. He becomes addicted to their affection and becomes a “one-child show. A nonstop performance. A lonely stage star, constantly compelled to improvise, and to fascinate, excite, amaze, and entertain his public”. Because it worked so well, young Oz feels he has “to steal the show from morning to evening” (261). Oz’s actions show how he has learned to use his intellect in order to secure his parents’ attention and affection. His mother’s early death seems to exacerbate the conflict of his emotions of feeling unworthy and impossible to be loved (213-214). After her death, he feels his attempts to draw his parent’s attention (i.e. affection) with his talents have been a waste, and that the affection they did have was still insufficient to retain his mother in the land of the living.

Oz’s own performance as a child and his need to appease the adults surrounding him reflect the actions of the Jewish population and even modern day Israel. Before the instatement of the Israeli state, Oz has described the need for his people to put on a show for their own survival since the Jewish Enlightenment, “there was a terror that we might, heaven forbid, make a bad impression on the Gentiles, and then they would be angry and do things to us too dreadful to think about” (190). Despite all the efforts made to play by society’s rules, to use their talents, their knowledge, their strengths, denying themselves for the good of others, it could all be undone with just one mistake (104). “In short,” Oz explains, “we had to try very hard to make a good impression that no child must mar, because even a single child…could damage the reputation of the entire Jewish people” (190). Bearing such a heavy weight by attempting to integrate themselves to the Gentile world, in peaceful and mutual symbiosis, Oz depicts this fragile relationship as a frantic courtship (104). Even during his childhood, he shows how their future has always appeared to be hanging by a thread, in suspense (11). This continual performance that Oz writes about is an effort “to make friends, to ingratiate themselves, to be accepted, to belong, to be loved. . .” (104) The feelings that young Oz felt, the need to put on a show, to impress, is not a foreign feeling, but actually a mutual understanding by fellow Jews for generations.

The show continues for Jewish politicians today since the establishment of the Israeli state. They find themselves with the task of trying to represent their country in a positive light on a global scale. The frantic courtship which Jews experienced for centuries continues even in modern day as the media at large fails to represent the country on equal footing. Marvin Byers, an American and Israeli writer shared his own experience of this in his book Yasser Arafat—An Apocalyptic Character? (1997). While living in Israel, Byers realized just how little the media outside of Israel actually covers.  He says, “the news media never seems to hesitate in promulgating twisted ‘facts’” (47). By the time the West news media focuses their cameras on Israel, the media will usually capture its’ actions of defense in poor light (46-8) Israel continues trying to appease its’ global neighbors as Oz has described by doing “everything humanly possible to please it, to break through its hostility with frantic courtship” (104). Today, the fight for appeasement among the Jewish community continues around the world by using their intellectual inheritance through their contribution through arts and information, cyber technology, medical, and agricultural fields. 

Although Fania’s death during Oz’s childhood stirs many emotions of anger, guilt, and deep hurt, he initially interprets it as a failure on his part for his poor performance to gain her affection. Fania’s overdose suicide made her son feel abandoned. “To forsake is to betray”, Oz explains, “And she had forsaken both of us, Father and me” (213). He considered it as a sign that she had never loved him because Oz did not think of her as a denatured mother. This leads young Oz to believe he couldn’t be loved or even be deserving of it (213). Just as he considers his mother has turned her back on him, his action of leaving Jerusalem for the Hulda kibbutz is an answer to her abandonment. His resolution of moving to the kibbutz reveals his tactic to cope with his mother´s loss as if to say, ‘as you have forsaken me, so shall I forsake you’. However, this attempt of Oz is futile because his memoir reveals how he subconsciously tries to meet his mother’s approval by emulating her ideal image of the New Jew.

As Oz emulates the image of the New Jew, he also attempts to turn his back on his father’s family legacy of intellectualism because of Arieh’s own betrayal to his marriage and family. Arieh’s unfaithfulness to his wife during her depression injures Oz to reject any demonstration of his inheritance. Oz discovers his father with another woman at a café by accident while cutting class. He remembers seeing his father delighting another woman while his own mother was sitting at home, shrouded in darkness, forgotten. It didn’t help that his father remarried approximately a year after his wife’s death, whereupon Oz’ down spiral in his academics begins (465-66). “I killed my father” Oz says, “particularly by changing my name” (464). He forsook his father by his act of moving to Hulda to work as a pioneer, while trying to show depreciation for what his family held in high honor—education. Even though he flees from it, this passion for knowledge runs through his veins no matter where he escapes away to. Even though he initially refrains from participating in discussions, writing or telling stories, he cannot refrain from reading and through this method, Oz continues his autodidactic education (483). Eventually he is even caught cultivating his artistic abilities through painting or writing (515).

His father’s betrayal to both his mother and him is a reflection of British occupation and their betrayal to both Arabs and Jews. Oz describes the relationship between the Jews and Arabs as brothers bound together by the same father who has betrayed them both like Arieh (342). Like Fania and her sisters whose worse accusation among them was sounding like their domineering mother, the same way Oz describes the loathing between Arabs and Jews who see their father’s (colonialism) reflection in each other (172, 343). He explains how they are seen as the new colonizers by Arabs who have drawn the short stick in this bargain. Like Oz, Jews have also rejected their father, yet in spite of this, Arabs have observed how they have nevertheless begun emulated them as well (435-36).

Oz’s encounters and perspectives of his Arab neighbors changes over time throughout his memoir. His initial encounter with Arabs was with an elderly man who saved him from a locked storage room in a shop during his early childhood. Feeling this new comfort, Oz remembers being reluctant to leave his embrace and gentle caresses as the Arab man stroked his cheek and patted his shoulders (231). By the time he encounters Aisha, an Arab girl, Oz has been well indoctrinated in Zionism, so much that he cannot simply be a child. He already feels the heavy weight of being an ambassador “with a strong sense of national awareness” on a mission to bring this girl to the Jewish Zionistic ways of reasoning before he makes an attempt to befriend her (322-25). Aisha confounds him though when she breaks that invisible barrier between them by coaxing the childish nature that has been deeply buried within Oz by challenging him to climb a tree (326). By the next time that Oz considers the relationship between Jews and Arabs, he has witnessed too much violence swiftly after the establishment of the Israeli State in 1948 during the Arab-Israeli War. He has become desensitized by the war and indifferent to Arabs and their cause until his perspective shifts again during his time at the kibbutz (321). For years Oz has lived with a sense of his self-righteous existence in Palestine, experienced the fear and the animosity towards the people who have threatened his very existence, and those he has loved.

 Ephraim Avneri, a kibbutz member seems to put the issue between Jews and Arabs into context for Oz in a new perspective. Ephraim’s balanced outlook reverberates through Oz even in his most recent years. “What do you expect from them?” he asked Oz, “to celebrate with us and wish us luck?... And what about what we’ve taken from them?... If we take more from them someday, now that we already have something, that will be a very big sin” (435-36). This is also warning which foreshadows the present condition between Israelis and Palestinians’ land dispute. In an interview with Amos Oz where he discussed his novel Judas (2014), he repeats similar ideas that were formed that day after listening to Ephraim, “we won’t shoot them because they’re a nation of murderers, but for the simple reason that we also have the right to live and for the reason that we also have a right to a land of our own,” in answer to being provoked (Oz 436). Oz realized that day that he has a choice to develop his own opinion separate from the pharisaical Zionists that he didn’t know he had before.

Oz’s mother Fania, who slips away from his world without anyone’s notice or sympathy, was neglected due to insufficient knowledge or interest of her condition. Despite her intellectual capabilities, Fania’s life appears to suppress her talents by her silence during discussions, writing during the day when her husband is out, and simply remaining a housewife who foments and supports her husband’s endeavors instead (68, 365, 404).  Even with all this, she seems at peace until the ghosts of her past seem to haunt her and the depression sets in. Oz documents her two bouts of depression from which she couldn’t be revived from in the end.  Along with other women of her generation, Fania’s ticket to Palestine sent her through an acculturation shock from which there was no return (214). Other factors that could have affected his mother’s suicide were the loss of the people whom she had grown up with during the Nazi extermination of Jews in Rovno between 1941-42 (152). In the end, the motives that led to her suicide are ambiguous, but the severity of her decline goes by unnoticed by many, unconsidered by family, and misunderstood by doctors (212, 448).  Some blamed her, making her the one responsible for allowing herself to wallow in depression without considering the facts. She was a victim of her time because the gravity of depression as a mental condition was not yet understood during Fania’s lifetime. As a result, there were not enough people who could have taken an interest and made a difference. The same mentality with which Fania was regarded during her death-inducing depression serves as a reflection for the condition of many holocaust survivors in Palestine.

Like Fania, the feelings towards the Jewish holocaust survivors who had immigrated to Palestine lacked understanding and sympathy. Jews already living in Palestine or who had fled Europe before Hitler’s regime could touch them, were unsympathetic to those who did not meet the same fate as them. They were measured unfairly by Jews already living in Palestine and regarded on the lowest rung of their social hierarchy. They were seen as a blight on their reputation, not only contaminating the Hebrew language with their mixture of Yiddish, but also tearing down what their Jewish predecessors had struggled to recreate in the image of the New Jew: someone strong, not a victim, optimistic, not embittered (13-14). Like Oz who was embarrassed of his mother’s weak mental condition, so were many other Jews of these holocaust survivors. These scarred survivors were unwanted by both Europe and even among their own because their experiences had converted their lives into an empty shell, leaving many scarred and thought of as unproductive. These holocaust survivors like Oz’s neighbor, Mr. Licht whom he described as yelling at the children who passed by, had great need of “a huge amount of patience and effort” which their Jewish comrades were lacking (13-14) The book describes everyone in Jerusalem with their thoughts in a second-dimensional world that existed in their writings, thoughts, or research (36). There was no time to think about anyone else even for hurt people like Mr. Licht and Fania.

Amos Oz depicts his family and their eclectic roots as a reflection of Israel and the people inhabiting this land. The memoir establishes the context of Jews’ value for wisdom, books, and explains the bond between the two. The text becomes an educational tool that depicts the effects of British dominion and the surrounding political issues in Oz’s life and other Jews in Palestine. In A Tale of Love and Darkness, Oz redefines the word love and establishes the need to impress as as child does and uses this as a reflection of Israel and Jews’ situation throughout history. His mother’s death a thread that runs through the entire book, mirrors the experience of Jewish holocaust survivors and their treatment in Palestine while his parents’ betrayal eventually leads Oz to change his identity and his perspectives on the Arab community.

The Future

With all the assignments piling up at this time of the semester, the least I should be doing now is blogging. . . I should be practicing my lines for The Taming of the Shrew, researching  Four Humors, and so many other things. But I need a break and writing is something that helps alleviate stress for me.

I don't know how many of you are aware that I have been studying Italian for a while now...not consistently, unfortunately. But when I do, my love for this language is always rekindled. I begin thinking in Italian, praying and translating my favorite songs into this language, talking to my dog and my family in this beautiful language forcing them to learn along. 

Originally I chose this as my 3rd language because I didn't want to be like the majority of the people around me who took French. This is nothing personal, I just wanted to be different. (Secretly inside, I think it sounds nice and hope to add this to my list spoken languages). I loved the sound of Italian, the expressions and hoped to visit this country to become more fluent. 

If I hadn't changed my career goal this year from education to diplomacy, I would be going to Rome next year. Though teaching has its own rewards, I feel the monotony might stifle me in the end. I tell myself Rome and Trieste will be waiting for me...who knows, I might get paid to work there one day.

What began as my hobby to be a pro-Israel voice on my campus has become much more than that. I know that the roots of Antisemitism runs deep in history and will continue to permeate the world, yet if I can inform and influence at least one world leader to change their view of Israel into a positive way, I feel I will have accomplished one of my biggest dreams. 

It is a feeling that Emily Dickinson describes so well,

   

It is an indescribable deep feeling where every part of me is in tune, acknowledging this urge to inform others on the importance of being Israel's ally, it completely consumes me. 

Yes, I have grown up reading the Bible, but it wasn't until I began to see my dad's scrapbook of Israel in his NAVY days that I began to make this connection of the continuity of these people; I began to realize that the people from the Bible stories still live on in their homeland and continue to face people who oppose them simply for who they are all around the world. As my reading level increased I consumed every Holocaust memoir I could possibly find through my local library (I think I passed the addiction on to my mom through Audible.com). These books allowed me to develop an empathy for these resilient people who experimented genocide, persecution all around the world in throughout history and I asked myself, how do they go on? How do they move past the bitter history of pain caused by countries who turned their back on them during times of need like Spain, Britain and even the US? Despite the dark past, they continue to work together on an international platform that allows the world to benefit not only spiritually, but very much on a physical economical and technological way. 

So I said to myself, If you want to be a diplomat, what better place to study and observe diplomacy than in Israel? It might be my only chance as there is no assurance I may be stationed there as a diplomat (I might just be packed off to Latin America once they know I'm fluent in Spanish ^_^).

Making the decision to undertake Arabic has been due to its' usefulness in my local community, and employment, it is also one of Israel's national languages and it will allow me to interact with different groups people.

After school, wherever my career may take me, is in God's hands. Up to now he has been giving me many opportunities...people may call them coincidences...but just how many coincidences must God give us for us to realize or admit that He's the one in control.  (Maybe I'll write about that later)

Whatever His plans are, this is my prayer, "Close the doors if this isn't your will." He has been so faithful to me before and I want to trust Him with this too. 

I've been trying to research as much as I can to know what to take how to prepare. It will be for a whole year if all goes according to plan. I guess I'll have to document my own experience and create some kind of guide for others in the future. 

You're Invading My Bubble!

Cultural Differences and Boundaries (con Traducción)

Last year in December, my brother and I were visiting a sister from church who was in the hospital. When we go on our nature walks in the middle of nowhere, it is my older brother who takes the lead, leaving me way behind! Even with years of practicing long strides, my shorter legs cannot catch up to his fast and determined pace. Even when we he has guests, he goes off as if on a mission, leaving us behind.


El año pasado en diciembre, mi hermano y yo fuimos a visitar a una hermana de la iglesia en el hospital. Usualmente cuando andamos caminando en medio de la naturaleza, es mi hermano mayor quien siempre está al frente, no falta que nos deje atrás a los demás. Aun con los años que tengo de practicar caminar con pasos largos, mis piernas más cortas no logran alcanzarlo. Aun cuando tenemos visita, el se va solo al frente como un soldado en una misión, dejándonos todos atrás, luchando para alcanzarlo.


But when it comes to dealing with people, social skills and society, he tends to hang back. It usually doesn't bother me, unless I am unsettled...like that day we went to the hospital.


Pero cuando se trata de gente, habilidades sociales, y la sociedad, el tiende a quedarse atrás. Normalmente, no me molesta, al menos que este incomoda…como aquel día que fuimos al hospital…


We knew there was not much we could do for our sister in Christ except offer our prayers that God might intervene in her illness, keep her and her loved ones company, and offer them some nourishment.


Conociamos que no habia mucho que podíamos hacer por esta hermana que estaba grave de salud, pero si podíamos ofrecer nuestras oraciones que Dios interviniera en su enfermedad, darle a ella y a su familia compañía y ofrecerles algo de alimento.


I bullied my older brother to take us there. No, not really...but as he is the only one who drives, I strongly urged him to take us. My mother had prepared some fruit for us to take before she left for work. As soon as I brewed some coffee when I returned from work, we were off! Everyone had their assigned position. My brother was the chauffer, I was his co-pilot with the map and my younger brother was the caddy in the backseat, carrying the elixir of life-COFFEE!


Le hice bullí a mi hermano mayor que nos llevara con ella. No en verdad…pero como él es el único que conduce de los dos, le urgí fuertemente que nos llevara. Mi mama había preparado fruta picada antes de partir a su trabajo. En cuanto regrese del trabajo, había preparado un café para llevar y partimos para el hospital. Mi hermano mayor era el chofer, yo la copilota con el mapa, y mi hermano pequeño era el caddie en el asiento de atrás con el elixir de la vida—Café!


That hospital floor was a large maze with hallways inside of greater hallways and rooms within rooms! However were we to find our sister's room? The doorways that seemed to lead to the inner sanctum appeared to need some secret code. . .Or we could have simply pressed a button...but there is something about talking to an unknown voice through such devices that is terrifying to both of us (Now some of you may know why we don't answer our phones very often if we don't recognize the area code...sorry? =])


¡Ese piso en el hospital era un laberinto grande con pasillos dentro de unos pasillos aún más grande y con cuartos dentro de otros cuartos! ...seguiré la traducción más tarde.


Just then, on the other side of the wall to the left, another pair of doors were opening slowly. A blonde nurse was walking inside...we both felt trepidation. should we? shouldn't we? my feet itched as if ready to bound towards what might be our only chance.

In a split second. . .we halted when we found ourselves before those doors as they completely opened and watched dumbly as they began their snaillike return to their closed position.


Armed with my army green backpack, I held the fruit container up in the air with my left hand like a waitress. One of us whispered out loud, 'Are we supposed to be here?' Where had that nurse disappeared to? We found ourselves stuck between closed doors in front and behind us now. How would we get out? How would we get through? Every door had a code pad and the same button to communicate with someone from the 'inside'.


"I don't think we are supposed to be here..."One of us voiced. The hesitation voiced my own thoughts. A familiar blonde woman in white seemed to appear from nowhere. She seemed to camouflage with her blank surroundings and both parties moved towards each other within the never ending maze of white walls and doorways.


"Could you please tell us where station ### is?"


"Oh, it should be in through those doors." she pointed towards the doors we had just abandoned, confused...Yes...but how do we get through? I mentally said through my teeth.


She disappeared as soon as she appeared before us, blending into the surrounding sterile whiteness.

We went around through the hallway that wrapped around a boxlike room in the center. Somewhere inside that box, were many other rooms. Somewhere inside was our sister in Christ. It seemed impenetrable.


Finally, we came upon an open nurse station. Again we halted. . .in trepidation. No one moved. the nurses and a couple of doctors were consulting one another, behind the front desk or busy looking at the information on their clipboards. Neither one of us was too eager to ask for help. I already did it the first time. I was kind of hoping my older brother would step up this time. After giving him what I thought was enough time to decide. Nothing.


Just then, the closest doctor who had been reviewing his clipboard looked up. I imagine anyone could tell from our faces that we were in need of help. Had it been our eyes that betrayed how trapped we felt? Was it our stiff posture or our rigidness as we walked towards him to close the gap? I was worried he might tell us we were not supposed to be there. That would be embarrassing. Pride...ya' know? so hard to get rid of. Quite an inconvenience at times like these.


"Hello, can I help you?"


I no longer lifted the fruit nonchalantly in the air, trying to act cool. I clutched it with both hands in front of me. As the doctor approached closer to us, I halted, as did my two brothers behind me. He stopped at a distance too close for comfort. I sidestepped to the left while I turned to my older brother as if to say, Okay, your turn, talk....talk.......Talk!

Nothing...

I internally sighed. It wasn't really a long time, but in times like these, it feels endless. Maybe he would have. . . eventually. But since the doctor addressed me, I took the reigns and began answer and tell him of our predicament...he came closer.


I clutched the fruit closer, using it to create a makeshift shield between us, addressing both him and my brother for confirmation of what I had just said... It was actually a tactic to give him an opportunity to jump in and take over the conversation. He still said nothing Uii! Pa' que te traigo entonces? ash, I guess I wouldn't have minded if I hadn't been made uncomfortable. But this guy [i.e. doctor] didn't know that he was standing too close for comfort and my brother was just standing there. . .there. Ahhh! And to make it worse, I didn't give the right name which our sister used when hospitalized.


All the while we spoke my thoughts were somewhere else. I studied him. He looked Anglo-white. Not too tall. He passed me, but not by much. I looked at him straight into his eyes acting like nothing was bothering me, but rationalizing inside...He looks white, why is he standing too close? I thought this was something only Latinos/Hispanics did. He talks like an 'American', not an immigrant, so what is he doing? White people don't invade personal space...so why is he invading my bubble?!!


Then I realized I was still looking straight at him and he was still standing too close. I tried to subtly back away a bit, but he stepped forward, not so subtly. Ahh! It was getting harder to keep my cool.


"Aha, I see." I replied distractedly. In the mean time I was trying to find a way to cut the conversation quick and . . . get away!!!!

If you stay here any longer you are going to get red, then that will really get embarrassing! my subconscious was telling me. I was already feeling that faint chill that comes right before my face decides to betray me and turn colorful.


"She is supposed to be in this room number." I said finally.


"Oh, that will be right through here." he finally turned around away from me and began to step away as he led us there, stopping to as were about to go through.


"Ok, thank you very much!" I answered quickly and swiftly sped through without daring to turn and check on my brothers. The tension left immediately. In just a moment I was already thinking about how I would make my brother pay....just you wait till we get home. I was sorely tempted to have it out there as soon as the ghostly white doors closed silently behind us. But thankfully, I remembered that we were there for a higher purpose and my next attack would have to wait.


Adjusting the straps of my army-green canvas pack, I lifted the fruit up in the air once again as we made our way towards our sister's room, my two brother's trailing behind. Not such a fast walker now, huh?


I know, I know. I am not proud of my thoughts. I am not perfect, but when I share something with all of you, I prefer to be as truthful as I can be without being biased. I can only say I am human and sometimes, revenge (as the one I was mentally planning for my brother) can feel so. . . lovely...I know I know! How wicked of me.


But if you really want to help, I beg you will offer your prayers to our Heavenly Father to be faithful with me and finish His work in my life. Only He can make a lasting change on my heart.

Thank you for reading and your support.


FYI, I didn't really have revenge for those of you who worried. It was about a week after that I just told him, "I can't believe you did that to me!" Not so bad right? Someone must have been praying for me =)

I will be adding my brother's POV soon. He offered to write his side of the story. I hope you will all enjoy it!

A Matter of Control?

My sister and I walked the halls of the hospital searching for our sister-in-Christ whom was in critical condition. As we roam, I notice that she was leading. I was not anxious to take the lead or make any effort to do so since that would imply that I would have to ask for directions from the medical staff. I’ve had negative experiences in the past with these people who go about their responsibilities as if we are intruding on their sacred ground of jurisdiction. Besides, my sister loves to be in control so, I thought I let her deal with it.

As we walked passed a set of doors we entered unsure of ourselves and our surroundings. We spot three men talking by a desk and I thought them to be doctors because they wore lab coats versus scrubs. One of the younger of the three must have noticed that we needed a sense of direction because he started to walk up to us.

Ah here it comes I thought to myself, so smug because I did not have to deal with talking to him. Since my sister was leading us I knew she was going to be the one that the doctor was naturally going to confront.

Did I mention that there was a change of pace? Yes, it seemed as if we walked slower into that corridor. I wondered if my sister did that on purpose as a cue for me to move up.

I was resolute, must keep present formation! Steady, easy, Here we go! Woa! That’s too close. The doctor stood before my sister; his gaze was so intense as if to say I’m here for you how can I help.

As he walked up I thought, Ah! he seems friendly. Now he stood barely a foot away from her face. I was like, Awkwarrrd, Ok I we see your lab coat and stethoscope; your place of authority has been established no need to push it!

I was just right behind my sister, so I already had her as a barrier, even so, I was beginning to feel intimidated. That’s when I decided the force is strong with this one, I took a step back, retreat!

This was so cool! Would my sister take step back? I knew she could feel it. The young doctor had stepped so close to her that she was forced to look up at him at a steep angle. She didn’t back down.

I’m here for you sister! Well a step away anyway. Hold your line! It was so amazing! I was witnessing a type of psychological warfare at its best. Here was a frontal assault from a medical professional, marking his turf and even the slightest movement of a backward half step would show deference. I knew this was what he wanted, but Ha! He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with! Still, was it too much for my sister? Would she stand strong or fold? Who would seem to have better control of the situation?

We walked out that battlefield with our dignity! After we received his advice my sister thanked him politely and we turned to walk away.

The pace was respectable and not cowardly. My brother and I closed in behind her giving the MD a great view of our backs and reinforcing an illusion that my sister occupied the top tier of authority in our circle. We were three siblings and they were three doctors. Both groups had someone who was conscious of their portrayed self-image.

Born Again!

In October of 2012 I was participating in my first National Bible Quiz Competition in the Unites States. Since I was the only one from my city competing at that time, I had to fly out by myself to Dallas, Texas to re-unite with my team. At the end of the weekend my pastor and my team mates saw me off at the airport as I again, flew alone back home. 

I had just buckled up when a flight attendant came by and asked if I was willing to give my seat to a mother who was flying with her two children. I said sure, I was travelling alone after all, it mattered little to me where I sat. I was moved to a window seat beside a young blond Hispanic woman. I had thought she was travelling at first with the man that sat on her side by the aisle. 

The plane took off and we made some awkward conversation about the flight instructions and how boring they are after you have heard them a few times. I wasn't very forthcoming to converse at first, because I am usually shy around strangers. However, I remembered that as a Christian, I should do my utmost to be friendly, amiable and show God's love towards others, despite it going against my comfort zone. As I am a very competitive person, I saw it as a dare and I challenged myself to conquer the moment.

I asked her about her trip if she was coming or going. She told me she had just been to Mexico City with a friend. She had toured all the cathedrals there and she mentioned how she thought it was ridiculous that there was a saint for everything! This caught my attention. For this testimony I 'll name her as Blanca.

She in turn asked me about my trip. I explained her my situation, but she was so curious and her intrigue encouraged me to continue talking as it is rare for someone to take interest in these things. She continued to ask so many questions that to explain one thing I had to go further and further back until I found myself telling her about my whole life. Running through the details of how my decision to memorize the gospel of John came from my desire to hide God's word in my heart; how that desire began to grow while I was studying at a Bible Institute in Guatemala for two years, how my decision to study there was a product of my experience in home school and the great need I had felt for God in my adolescence. 

She marveled at the devotion I had at a young age (then 20), but I mentioned how it was my parent's rearing that made me the person I am now. Their discipline and guidance, their lives. When I was a child perhaps they may have seemed a little strict, but then I was used to it. Now that I am an adult I see the reasons and the wisdom of their decisions and respect them even more for it. 

What came as a surprise to me was when I finished, Blanca told me-I know God put you here on purpose. Those words gave me goosebumps. She told me how recently or at different times in her life God had been sending a Christian person to her. She felt he was sort of surrounding her.

Her testimony is beautiful, but I will not give too many details about it here out of respect, because it is not my story. I will only mention the details necessary to complete this testimony.

It seems that since a very young age God had been guarding her, despite of her catholic family and the religious role her mother wisher for her to carry out. She had always felt that she could speak to God personally and never liked the idea of praying to "saints". She was the only one of her family that refused to convert to Catholicism. Once she told me that her life and her words of encouragement had helped convert an old friend of hers and even his family. 

I think it is interesting to mention how during our conversation people who sat all around us were looking from time to time. I saw people from across the aisle turn and hear bits of our conversation, how a person behind us popped their head to see us and one in front, craned their head to take a look, but I decided to ignore that factor. I just thought they looked funny doing that. But nobody said anything.

But with some frustration she expressed how she couldn't understand how she helped lead that man to Christ and how he now had joy and peace and she couldn't achieve that in her own life!

We continued to converse, but the conversation would return to salvation, of her desire for that peace that she sensed in me. She wanted it so bad.

 I sensed her plea and desire of salvation, but I was also VERY confused. She seemed to know a lot about God, about the Bible and salvation. I didn't understand what the problem was though. 

I couldn't help myself and finally asked- So, what is stopping you? I was trying to figure her out.

She answered-Well, I guess, myself.

Bertha also told me how each time she sensed her strong need for God and a desire for him, usually old friends that were a bad influence would pull her away and make her forget that feeling.

I was still confused. I began to pray to God, how do I help this woman? What do I say to her? Holy Spirit, please  guide me!

Finally I felt a voice within me say ask her if she wants to be saved. Ask her.

I thought-What? No, I can't do that, there are still two more hours of flight! If she says no, it would be a very awkward flight back home, I thought nervously.

Then I thought-Why don't you want to do it? Are you embarrassed? Embarrassed of what? God? And in an instant I said in my mind-Oh no! God I don't want to fail to do this because of that! 

I saw it again like another dare, and I was going to beat myself. 

-OK God, but please help, help me! I have never done this, I don't know how to do this.

But I had to begin somewhere. I opened my mouth and asked her.

SHE SAID YES!!!

I held her hand as we prayed together. Afterwards both of us had tears of joy. She joyfully said that she felt as if she could breath easier now. She felt a burden fall off of her and she felt right away a peace that filled her heart as she clutched her heart with joy.

God works wonders! He had every detailed planned, from changing my seat to the person who was picking her up. A Christian friend who never invited her anywhere except to go to church with him. It turned out he was the only one of her friends that could do her the favor that night.

We shared emails, but unfortunately I misplaced it and she never contacted me, but I know she is in God's hands and God has a time and place for everything. Perhaps all he wanted from me was to simple be there that night and be the lighthouse whose beacon guided her towards the light.

The souls belong to God and he gave me Bertha only for that moment, but I do pray for her and whatever became of her...one day I hope the Lord will show me. Now she is again in his hands for safekeeping.

It was a joy beyond description to be there and witness her re-birth. A new life in Christ is something marvelous. No words can express it. I thank God for giving me that opportunity and for giving me the guts when I needed them.

Dios con Nosotros

Pues a sus ángeles mandará acerca de ti, Que te guarden en todos tus caminos.
Salmos 91:11

Hace unos días, mientras tomaba un café con una hermana joven de la iglesia me compartió un testimonio hermoso. Me impacto mucho, así que pedí permiso para compartirlo con ustedes.

“¿Qué es lo que te animo empezar a servir a Dios?”  le pregunte.

“A que te refieres?” Me contesto.

Tratando de aclarar mi pregunta lo fríase de otra manera. “Ósea, hay muchas razones que han movido a otros a buscar a Dios. Para algunos es pura tradición, presión de familia, la sociedad, para obtener una conciencia limpia, porque uno siente en la mente que es bueno, pero no necesariamente sentirlo en el corazón, el alma. O quizás un encuentro con Dios.”

“Oh, porque yo sé que Él es real,” me respondió,” ya entendiendo mi pregunta. “Yo eh visto su mano obrando en mi vida, eh tenido experiencias donde sé que él está conmigo y me ama”.

Ahí empezó a contarme uno de ellos. Hace unos años, ella había estado en un accidente. Aunque me lo había mencionado hace mucho tiempo, nunca me había contado los detalles.

Iba entrando la calle de la comunidad en que vivía ella, “Venia conduciendo el camión distraídamente. Tenía muchas cosas pasando en mi vida durante ese periodo, muchos problemas.” Tanto, que esta hermana joven no se dio cuenta cuando se atravesó un señor que vivía en esa esquina. Era un señor hispano que llevaba mucho tiempo ahí, alto, delgado de cabello oscuro y siempre caminaba con su tanque de aire.

Cuando esta hermana freno, ya había atropellado al señor. Estaba debajo de su camión. Con temor de haberlo matado y el estrés ya acumulado estaba tan nerviosa que no podía pensar claramente. Estaba llorando cuando una vecina salió a preguntarle, “¿Estas bien? ¿Necesitas ayuda?” ¡Él es el que necesita ayuda!

“Si, gracias. Podría llamar al 911 [número de la agencia de emergencias]”. Era lo único que podría decir.

En eso llegaron los policías. Mientras llenaban su reporte uno trato de consolarla, pero sin nada de tacto.

“Oh no se preocupe!” No pasa nada.” El señor atropellado seguía vivo, “de joven yo también estuve en un accidente, pero era un niño ¡y murió! Y no me paso nada. No se preocupe.” Pero en vez de consolarle estas palabras, más lloraba esta hermana.

En lo que se entretenían los policías, venia otro camión hacia ella, pero se detuvo a lado de su vehículo donde ella estaba sentada, las lágrimas seguían cayendo, empañando sus lentes.

Ella se recuerda que El Hombre que iba conduciendo este camión se bajó y se dirigió a ella, pero no podía ver a través de sus lágrimas al principio.

“No te preocupes, todo estará bien,” le dijo. “No tengas miedo, todo estará bien. Pronto viene tu mama.” Le repitió varias veces con mucha certeza. Al escuchar de su mama hizo el intento de verle la cara. Pero no podía.

“Podía ver el rostro de todos los demás, de los policías, de la señora que me ofreció ayuda, pero nomás no le podía verle la cara a él,” me conto. Intentaba vez tras vez, pero solo miraba como la luz del sol.

“Aun cuando él ya se alejaba para meterse a su camión, yo volteaba para tratar de verle la cara, quería ver quien era, pero, aun así, no pude. El siguió por su camino y se fue. Y ¡así come Él me había dicho varias veces, mi mama vino caminando hacia mi junto con tu mama!”

“En serio?” Me sorprendí porque era la primera vez que había escuchado todo esto. Ash! ¡Porque no me habían contado! Pensé yo, me choca. Anote mentalmente de preguntarle esto a mi mama.

“¡Si! Y así como me había dicho, no pasó nada. No tuve que pagar nada. Ni de la seguranza ni por la factura del hospital para el señor. ¡Nada!” tomando un sorbo de su taza de café siguió, “Y por eso yo sé que Dios es real, el mando su ángel para protegerme…y otras experiencias que eh tenido, yo sé que Él es real y me rodea siempre, por eso es que yo le sirvo a Él y es lo que me anima estar en la iglesia. El me rodea y siento su paz.”

Esta experiencia me impacto y espero que sea de bendición para otros también.

Que hermoso ¿No? Me hizo recordar ese verso que compartí al inicio de los Salmos, donde El manda sus ángeles para guardarnos.

¿No sería ideal que siempre así nos hablara Dios? ¿Qué nos guiara? Quizás no siempre abriendo nuestros ojos para ver cosas espirituales, como unos de sus ángeles. Pero que Dios abra nuestros oídos espirituales para poder entender cuándo es que Él nos esté hablando, poder entender la vos del Espíritu Santo.

Él está ahí, esperando para tener comunión con nosotros. El querer viene de nosotros. Dios nos ha dado libre albedrio para escogerle a El o este mundo.

¿Saben? Hay veces en que no habrá el deseo en nosotros, pero lo poco de su espíritu estará clamando dentro de nosotros por Su presencia. Conoceremos que es lo correcto, pero nuestra debilidad, muchas veces nos vencerá.

Habrá momentos que al estar parados en su presencia con otros estaremos clamando por más de EL por fuera y por dentro, deseando que no sea un clamor falso pero sincero. Dios tiene el poder para convertir ese clamor en uno verdadero. Desearemos no estar levantando las manos o nuestras voces por la presión de los que nos rodean, pero porque sentimos su espíritu en nosotros.

Quizás algunos de ustedes se sienten así en este momento, o lo han experimentado en lo pasado, o quizás en el futuro pasaran por algo parecido. Caerá la culpabilidad de nuestra conciencia. N

No sé cómo sea la manera en que ustedes oran, pero les animo que aun nuestro enfriamiento espiritual o estos pensamientos de desinterés por las cosas santas, sea traído delante de Dios. Dios anhela que tengamos la confianza de acercarnos a Él. No tengan miedo decírselo a Dios. Él ya lo conoce, pero como un doctor, Èl espera que los pacientes lo busquen para ser sanados.

Quizás tengan miedo porque sienten que no es mostrarle respeto a Dios. Quizás piensan, “¿Cómo podría decirle a Dios que no me importa?” “Me daría demasiado temor confesarle eso a Dios. . .”

Pero Dios aun así nos espera. ¿Porque hacer tardar el día de nuestra sanidad?

Jesús dijo:  Venid a mí todos los que estáis trabajados y cargados, y yo os haré descansar. Llevad mi yugo sobre vosotros, y aprended de mí, que soy manso y humilde de corazón; y hallaréis descanso para vuestras almas. Porque mi yugo es fácil, y ligera mi carga. Matthew 11:28

Acerquémonos a El hoy. Si es que están pasando por un desierto espiritual, o tiempo de enfriamiento, que este verso sea hecho vida en cada uno de ustedes: “Atráeme; en pos de ti correremos (Cantares 1.4ª)”. Yo creo que es algo que todos necesitamos. Todos tenemos necesidad de que DIOS nos atraiga cada día de nuestras vidas para terminar esta carrera.

Espero que esta sea la oración de todos.

¡Que Dios les bendiga!

Confessions from a Dorm Chapter 10

We might have signed up for two years of study, but it was up to us whether we decided to stay or not. This was determined by our agreement to fulfill our part of the bargain following the rules campus set for us and our academic success.

Our first semester was a ‘trial period’. Although Bible School didn’t believe good test scores proved we met their mission of developing a stronger relationship with Jesus Christ, we were still encouraged to study hard. We were allowed to fail a maximum of 6 tests. If we passed this limit as well as failed to comply with several warnings, the director could arrange for our prompt return.  Bible School was not interested in students who simply wanted to have a two year vacation.

My grades were a test for me. Always having achieved high scores in my primary education, I learned to deal with becoming a lower-than-average student. Not once did I ever receive an A. Perhaps this could have been partly because it was the first time I took classes in a foreign language.

 Although each time I received a B or C, I knew in my heart that my pride was being placed on trial. 

That’s why it didn’t take me by surprise when we received our easiest test back on ‘Church History’ with a B. Everyone else had gotten an A! But due to a careless mistake I received a B! Really God? You couldn’t just give me this one? Just this one! The one everybody else passed perfectly. It was frustrating. embarrassing, and humiliating. . .are these last two synonymous? Sorry. Sometimes I quickly put my test away before the person next to me could ask. But like many humans, I learned to adapt and while I was not proud of my low scores, I no longer cried as I had in Kindergarten whenever I received anything lower than an A. 

It made me see that there were other things more important than the grade. It was not about that, but what we did with the words we received each day. It was about living with kindness, helping my neighbor in the dorm or in the kitchen during our volunteer hours.

Perhaps I no longer felt getting low grades was the end of the world, but nearing the end of my first year I had gotten a few D’s. I remember not wanting to think about how many exams I had already failed. Having to go back home before graduation worried me some. I kept that in the back of my thoughts, never quite allowing it to consume my immediate attention, but my fear was still there, usually popping up after a test
.

Now that I look back I see the hand of God’s mercy which permitted me to remain. It was sometime when I had failed exam 3 when Brother Reuben called me into the chapel during our working hours. I had been worried at first. Did he catch me talking during class? Brother Reuben was a sort of assistant that helped run the chapel during the classes. He reviewed the video recordings and helped administer our exams. Students had told me that he saw everything! So I suppose it was normal to be a little intimidated by the man. He held a position of authority which we respected.

One day during the class break, he had asked to see me afterwards during my working hours. I wasn't worried at first. I was rather thinking I would get away from work for a short while. It was as the hour grew nearer that I began to feel nervous, my brows became unconsciously tight knitted with worry as I swept. . . shaking my head, occasionally as if that motion could diffuse the possible outcome. Somewhere in my thoughts I knew that forgetting about the status of my grades would not eliminate the problem, yet I still refused to think about it. 

As I entered the chapel from my afternoon job of sweeping, I wiped my tennis shoes in the doormat while some male students busily vacuumed the inside and polished the pews. I hesitated a moment before knocking on his office door that stood at the right side of the entrance. I heard a few voices within and stood back a moment before he finally stepped out to speak to me.

            “Gracias Charly, we’ll look at that later” he dismissed the man that worked the cameras every day. He was even shorter than Brother Reuben whose eye level was only slightly above my own.

            “You wished to speak to me Bro. Reuben?” All the while I raked my brain to find some fault for which I assumed he wanted to speak about.

His face was as serious as ever. Brother Reuben’s face never betrayed anything. He was a quiet man who seemed to be somewhere around his forties, with no signs of graying. Had I not seen him around his wife and child on occasion, I wouldn’t have thought him a very affectionate person.

            “Yes,” his thin lips were pressed tightly, “I wanted to discuss some of the questions of the exam with you.” You do? I was surprised when he pulled out my test and pointed to some that had been marked incorrectly. “Are you sure you don’t remember this?” He went on to give me keywords to clue me into the correct answer. I was shocked at first. Why are you doing this? I wanted to ask. Why are you helping me? Does he do this for other students as well? I wanted to ask, but I feared that doing so might break him out of this spell and he would come to his senses. 

On one of these occasions when Bro. Reuben had called me afterwards to see him about one of my tests, I nearly broached the subject, “Brother Reuben, how many tests have I failed already?” I was almost afraid of the answer.

“Four” he answered simply. He wasn’t as blunt as Sister Yoli, but he was a man that was resourceful with his time.

“How many are we allowed to miss?” The rule book wasn’t exactly fresh on my mind near the end of the year.

“Six, but hna. Zara” he called me by the Spanish inunciation of my name, “We’d like to prevent that from happening.” I nodded, not wanting to do anything to change his mind. By all means continue! I thought. Sometimes I felt some guilt. He’s not exactly giving me the answers, and I hoped I wasn’t the only one in this position, but I feared too much to ask because I really didn’t want the tables to turn and have to go home before my two years were fulfilled.

Brother Reuben amidst his stiffness saved many of my C’s from becoming failing D’s. I continued to learn constantly on campus that people were always much more than what they appeared to be, those you might be afraid of or begin avoiding might become a good friend.