Some things just don't translate. Here in Bulgarland, the first of March is a very special day. Every one of my 8th graders gave me a bracelet or pin of red and white yarn. There's a story to go with it that has something to do with a bird that had to fly somewhere and it was shot with an arrow and the blood and the white of it's feathers mixed. I'm not too clear. It made me feel special. Then they began to be demons again. They were strongly scolded yesterday by my counterpart. Today the same stuff came up. I just sat behind my desk and stared into nowhere. They got quiet after a minute. I nearly cried. All I could think to say was, "I don't know why I'm here, you don't listen to me." I didn't shout, I wasn't angry. I was so hurt. I love these kids and they are so rude. I know it's not intentional, that's why it hurt me rather than angered me. One of my kids promised he'd be better. He said it in this quiet and meek tone. This was one of my problem kids. I hope he means it.
Today is Ash Wednesday. I've been fasting all day. I've had water, two cups of coffee, a bottle of juice, and two courtesy bites of bread. I couldn't not eat it. There were these girls in cute traditional dresses passing out bread and wishing a happy баба марта, first in the teachers' room, then in my 11a class. I couldn't be rude. There's a certain excitement in fasting. A sense of anticipation. I'm aware there's a lesson to be learned, and this time the difficulty of it is willed and self-imposed.
There's an irony in the coinciding of Ash Wednesday and Баба Марта. When I was young, at vacation Bible school, we'd nearly always have to make "wordless books." Sometimes it was a felt book about two inches tall. Sometimes it was a bracelet with beads. Each color had a meaning. Initially it was to help us become aware of the gospel. Black because we all have sin in our lives. Red because Jesus died and shed his blood on the cross. White because he cleansed us of our sins and now we're white as snow. Green because now we grow in him. Gold for the streets of heaven we'll one day walk on. And sometimes there's purple for his royalty, where was that? When I got older I helped other kids make them as I led VBSs and backyard Bible clubs.
Today the Bulgarians celebrate the advent of spring. Today I join Christ in the wilderness, with these red and white cords around my wrists and on my heart, I'm not really thinking about when I'll see the first stork, rather the metaphor of blood and holiness, of sacrifice. Fire and Ice. Passion and Purity. Blood is not bad. Passion is not sin. We give these things up not because they are intrinsically sinful or hinder our walks with Christ. Jesus did not fast in the desert to purify himself of sin. He did not allow his blood to be spilled so that he would be emptied of the sinful substance. Sometimes we must give up good things so that they can be made better by God, so that we can be made better by God. That is sacrifice. The reward is holiness.
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