Worlds colliding

Sometimes my worlds collide. I don’t dream often, but when I do, the world I know here in Germany and the world I know in America come together. In my dream, I am usually here in Germany, with Germans present and then suddenly my family or friends from America show up. Everything then gets complicated. What language do I speak, who do I spend the most time with and how are these two cultures going to react to each other? What is my role when these two worlds meet? The dream is a bit muddled, and I am never sure how to react. I wake up confused, telling Mike “ My two worlds that I know just collided”.

I am not sure why in my dreams this is so confusing. I live in a culture that is not my own. I go shopping in smaller supermarkets. I cook American dishes with German ingredients. I walk or ride my bike almost everywhere I want to go. I raise my children with American influence. Even with tips and tricks I used when I was a preschool teacher. Yet, my children are still more German then American. My kids walk to school.  They come home from school speaking German and I need to gently remind them they are at home and “can speak English now”. I am used to cultures meeting.

Cultures meet when I go to Naomi’s school. Last night at a parent meeting ten parents were present, with five different languages. When Anika meets with one of her good friends German, English and French are spoken. In Madeline’s preschool cultures of Russian, Chinese, American, French Canadian, Turkish, and German collide. That is our life. It is rich.

But, just like in my dreams, life can get muddled. On Sunday our life got muddled. We had a grill out with people from our church, the FSJlers (the discipleship group) and refugees. It was cultures colliding: German, American, Syrian Arab, and Kurdish. This was new to me, these cultures together. Again I asked myself, “what language do I speak, who do I spend the most time with, and how are all these cultures going to react to each other”?

Sometimes I think too much. We had a grand time together. We used the German that we knew to communicate. We used our hands and feet if needed. We visited. We asked about each others families. We asked how to say words in Arabic. They asked how to say it in German. My girls rode bike, played in the sandbox and laughed with a three year old boy who only spoke Kurdish. We ate salads, beef, French fries and yummy desserts. We played “cornhole”. The afternoon was time well spent. It was rich. It was rewarding.

Later that evening I realized it was September 11; Americans, Arabs and Germans spending time together. What a great way to rebuild bridges.