Unemployed in Malaysia

Sonnet: On his blindness

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts, who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best, his state
Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.

I don't have a lot in common with John Milton, would that I did, but I have always loved this sonnet. It was one of the first poems I memorized to present in Freshman Speech class at BJU. It's one of the few poems I can still quote. It came to mind this morning when I was reviewing my last two weeks. I feel as useless as Milton must have when he considered his blindness.

Moving to an utterly foreign culture has wiped out any sense of usefulness I ever felt. At least I can speak the language here (or, rather, they speak my language), so I guess it could be worse, but I hate the feeling of living in a place where taking care of myself (and my family.. . ) is a full-time job. I hate the fact that the small talents I have are "lodged with me useless." I feel as if I am not only shirking reaponsibilites "at home" in my land of origin (taking care of ill relatives, helping friends in various extremities), but I am not contributing anything here.

I feel a bit like Will in About A Boy - my day is spent doing things like calling a taxi, waiting for a taxi, telling the taxi driver "No, I don't know how to get there; that's why I called you." Shopping for groceries, and realizing at the checkout that I don't have much in my full cart that I can actually cook or anyone can actually eat. . . at least there is peanut butter here. Walking to the exercise room, waiting for the treadmill, sweating gallons on the treadmill, walking home, taking a shower. Then it's time to call another taxi to run a different errand. . . . and finally going out to eat because I have no dishware to cook with yet and my oven has not been delivered.

I guess there is an element of pride in my discontent. I like to think of myself as a worthwhile person, a worker not a Queen Bee, a producer not a consumer. I am having a hard time becoming a student, not a teacher. I don't like feeling like a child, like a less than competent grown up! There is probably a lesson in humility I need to learn, a lesson in my own dispensability, a lesson in waiting to be shown the next step. This is not what I expected to find in Malaysia, but it appears to be my first lesson: They also serve who only stand and wait.