Fear, Love, and Children
This has been a difficult post to write. First off, I was not able to run the marathon, which was a very clear sign to me how far I still have to go in my personal journey. Secondly, I feel afraid. There is, deep in my heart, a fear of what is coming.
The word “doom” is a complicated word. It is almost never used in it’s traditional sense anymore. These days, it is used to refer to a state of ruin, destruction, or death. The mere mention of the word evokes images of war, famine, conquest, and disease. It is loaded with the symbolism of the book of Revelations, the end of times.
But it was not always this way. “Doom” was once, in fact, a much more common word. “Dōm” the Old-English root, simply meant the state of things: a judgement, or a jurisdiction. In this light, it is easy to see how “Judgement Day” is synonymous with this idea of “doom” — doom literally meant judgement. Think of all the words that use “dom” in this sense, kingdom, christiendom, boredom, or freedom. These words are far closer to “doom” than doom is to hellfire or brimstone, yet doom still evokes that infernal sense of fear.
I believe, very simply, that this scary form of doom is just not worth tolerating. It is nihilistically anti-life, and is furthermore anti-Christian. Nevertheless, fear of judgement is prolific today. Fear of accountability, fear of responsibility, fear of atonement. It is painted across social media, a grand and sweeping fear of the inability to actually measure up to claims.
I recently had the pleasure of attending another “hackathon”. At the 3-day event, which revolved around AI, one person in particular stood out to me far more than the other gathered participants and judges. He was a CIO at a digital consulting company, and he was focused very intently on AI “BS”. He smelled it everywhere. Students were judged primarily not by their ability to code or use AI tools, but instead by their ability to be honest with their team’s shortcomings.
Very few teams passed his smell test. Across the judging panel, he would frequently turn towards me and, in a well-practiced international accent, question “It is just BS, yes”? He was completely uncynical and sincere in these moments.
We shared this private joke since the first day of the event, when I was questioned on a panel about how to find clients for one’s business, something I admittedly know very little about. Still, I tried my best to answer, drawing from the dozen successful businesses I have worked at in my life and the couple of unsuccessful ones. Compared to most students at the college, I had a wealth of market experience to pull from. I answered passionately, encouraging the students to not BS their solution, but instead to put their hearts into their pursuits, to care genuinely for the product they were creating, and that their clients would find them. It was a response meant for college students, not for tech professionals, but it also reaffirmed my friend’s earlier answer about faith, working for a purpose (his is family), and caring deeply about your purpose.
Care is also a complex word. Before the 1400’s, a “care” was primarily a burden, something that caused sorrow, but as our language changed, care came to mean responsibility, and finally it envoked a sense of fondness alongside the responsiblity.
Across the last five months at a new workplace I have taught twenty classes to a new group of twenty students, whom I know the names of by heart now. There is a very warm feeling from calling a student who was once just “that troublesome one in the back” by their name and seeing them focus on the lesson, pronounce difficult words correctly, and string together sentences in their third language at age ten. It is not a feeling of pride - but one of care.
It is the same feeling of care that means I have to allow my students to make mistakes. When one exceptionally talented student answers correctly and I praise her, other students whisper her name in admiration, and she shrinks into her seat, embarrassed. It is precisely because I care about my students that I must let them feel embarrassed. When a student calls another a rude name, or hits another student playfully but harshly, it is because I care about them that I show the other students their shameful guilt. The emotions are theirs to navigate, theirs to fit like puzzle pieces into a greater picture that is who they are - as Moroccans, as citizens, as daughters, sons, and someday, the future, but it is my role as a teacher and as a facilitator (a Youth Development Specialist, if you will) to provide both the space and the direction for these emotions to be nurtured in a way that enables their goodness (less it cause me great sorrow!)
This does not always mean the same thing to us. I recently had another long but gentle debate with a particularly devout Muslim man, who questioned me deeply on the differences between the Quran and the Bible. I came to better understand his perspective of what behaviors are acceptable for his children, for the children of others, and for the children of Muslims. One thing that stood out particularly clearly to me was his distaste for any “animal-like” behavior. He reminded me that God set us apart from animals, with reason and souls. We also talked about important things, like whether pig should be eaten or whether Abraham was going to sacrifice Ishmael or Isaac. Haha. Maybe I’ll understand when I’m a father.
I am sure that some of my students will cause me sorrow, in that Old English sense of things. I do wish to see their skills grow beyond my time here, but that is not my place, and the fruit of their studies is theirs to enjoy and not mine. That does bring me sorrow, but I can bear this, and so I will continue to care.
