When I was a teenager, I wrote a letter to an American girl living in Israel, hoping we’d become pen pals. Mostly, I longed to know, “What is it really like?”
As I recall, she only wrote me one letter. Of course I was disappointed, but now that I’m in her shoes, I’ve discovered how difficult it can be to explain what it’s like to live in a foreign country.
Why?
Well, at first, there’s just so much to absorb. I remember joking during my first few weeks in Israel that I wanted to be one of the four living creatures described in the Bible — the ones that are all covered with eyes — because then I might have a better chance of taking in all the new sights.
Later (much later), I began to have the opposite problem: Often I simply do not see what’s unique about Israel anymore, because it has become the new normal. I’m blessed to keep bouncing back and forth across the Atlantic, which provides at least a temporary reset button on my seeing, and in between, I welcome guests, happy to borrow their fresh perspective…but sometimes it’s still not enough.
And there’s more: the more I learn, the more I realize there is to learn. Forget sights and sounds: there’s a many-layered culture…and in fact, many cultures to understand. Only, it isn’t just about cultures; it’s about individuals. You can feel free to describe general facts and stereotypes with a touch of humor, but how can you tell tales on folks you know and love?
But I haven’t forgotten that stretching-up-on-tiptoe feeling, the bittersweet longing to know what you cannot yet know. So I try to apply the Golden Rule to my writing.
If I were on that other side of the ocean again, what would I want to see, to hear, to smell, to experience? If I had to rely on someone else’s pen, what would I beg the penman to write? I’d say, Please, don’t be vague. Or conventional. Simply let me borrow your eyes and ears. And then, please, please don’t stop seeing. Don’t stop seeing your surroundings, and don’t stop seeing me.
This works for a life stage, an event in your spiritual history, a job, an illness, a mood, a personality. Not everyone is on Planet Singleness; not all are freshly saved; not everyone is a piano teacher, has diabetes, is depressed, or introverted with a dash of whimsy. You can see something that I can’t see.
Is writing up to the task of transporting someone into your situation? Perfectly, no. But powerfully, yes! And if your experience is anything like mine, simply the longing to tell it like it is will stretch and and grow your writing in unexpected ways. And sometimes — sometimes the Holy Spirit steps in, empowering us to see the unseeable, and articulate the inexplicable.
So please: tell me what it’s really like.
Elisabeth Adams 