When I was studying abroad in Italy, so many friends and family members constantly checked in on me. Inevitably, their top question was always, “How’s your Italian?!” I would think of my social interactions with my roommates and say, “Yes, in fact I did talk to them about 7th Heaven” (they absolutely loved 7th Heaven, as did I in the 90’s) which I would not have been able to prior to studying abroad.
I would wake up and believe that yes, I am so much better today than yesterday, but I [purposefully] forgot that every day I still had a terrible conversation in broken Italian with the vocabulary equivalent to a 2nd grader. The best example is when I went to my Italian teacher’s office hours. I had signed up for one of the two spots available, but when I arrived at her door at my designated time, I saw a list of 17 names to meet with my professor, and 17 bodies huddled in the hall. Once again, I fell victim to the lack of organization and bureaucracy and scribbled my name down as number 18.
But, Hark! Professoressa Lalli appeared outside her door and through a long explanation of something I didn’t understand (this is how I felt in her class, for two hours), I heard the word “Erasmus”, the term for international students: we were the group of students who could enter her office first. That was me! I packed up my things in the hall and walked into her office with 6 other students. I thought about trying to start conversation on what country the other Erasmus came from and how they liked the class, something I normally would do when entering any room full of people back in the States. However, the fear of messing up crippled me, and so I stood there silently. At first we started off with introductions, but something strange was happening. Everyone was saying they were a master’s student of _____________ . Was I in the right place? When it was my turn, I said, “This is different, but I study English and Italian.” Professoressa Lalli looked back at me confused, and said “inglese e italiano?” My hands shook and my face became bright red as I tried my best to explain that I’m from UNC, I’m in her sociology of communication class, and that I’m an Erasmus. She cordially asked me how I liked the class, among other things that I failed to understand. Not wanting to be a nuisance and ask her to repeat herself in front of everyone else, I said “ci vediamo domani”…we will see each other tomorrow? I grabbed my book bag and exited the office while everyone else remained.
I thought about what had just happened. When I thought over the introductions and pulled out words, I realized that I was in the wrong place. All of those masters students were in the process of choosing their thesis on the sociology of being Erasmus and my professor was their advisor. I think I made a pretty good subject for their project, eh? And this shaming happened everyday, chiseling down my pride and confidence, piece by piece.
In all that embarrassment, I sometimes reflect on how I was so wired to manipulate things on this trip: my mind, my memory, people, and time. I learned in which contexts I failed the most and adapted to avoid them, so that I could see myself as more successful. I manipulated people to try and see any glimpse of something good in me to make up for how I was failing at conversing. And I did try to manipulate time, but who am I kidding? Italian time means that you come and go whenever, wherever.
The main point is that I realized manipulation doesn’t last long, and I was absolutely free to struggle there. That is why I was in Italy: to be stretched, among other things. Looking back, I know that I entered that semester with the goals of becoming fluent, meeting new people, and other external factors like these. However, even though I had the tendency to fight it, it appears that God really did something greater inside of me than outside of me. I made the decision to no longer deem my day, week, or semester “successful” based on what was done and accomplished, but rather decided to trust that every day spent in Italy was exactly as God, in all his grace, sovereignty, and goodness, wanted for me. And that brought me joy.
The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me;
your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever.
Do not forsake the work of your hands. (Psalm 138:8, ESV)