An Absurd Contradiction of Adjectives

Dear Family,

I don’t know how long I’ll be able to write, tonight. But I did want to get a quick email sent off, before Sarah arrives on Monday. I know I won’t be writing at all while she’s here!!

I began level 5 two weeks ago, and was assigned the one teacher whom I’d most hoped to be able to avoid. She was my reading teacher, last semester, and I had written of her to my Naomi,
“I find her teaching style so abrasive that I totally shut down during reading class. I try to engage for the first five minutes or so, but I quickly become so stressed by her, that I implode. My thoughts begin to fall apart, and then I begin to panic, and suddenly my mind freezes. And there I am for the rest of the hour. I stumble through it in sort of a daze, trying not to listen to her voice, because it makes me feel chaotic, and hoping that I won't be called on to answer any questions. When the time comes for us to discuss amongst ourselves the passages that we've read, I try to appear enthusiastic, because it's demoralizing to be studying with someone who lacks interest in what's going on. But inside my heart is in my stomach, because I know that I'll have to go home and set aside more precious time to re-study on my own what I ought to have learned in that waisted hour of class.”
I had supposed that my chances of having her as a teacher two semesters in a row were pretty slim. But I was wrong. And now she teaches not only my reading class, but my grammar/speaking class as well. There no words to describe what a blow this was to me. On the first day, she walked into the room, and a cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach. The will to fight was utterly and completely extinguished. I felt like I’d had the breath knocked out of me, and I was suddenly exhausted and absolutely finished.
“I cannot think about any of my tomorrows with any amount of peace.” I journaled a few days later, “I fully expect to fail, and it’s only day three! It’s far too early to give up! But I think I have. My body and mind keep pressing forward, but my hear has lost courage. I’m trying not to let myself be discouraged, but it’s hard to rally myself for a strong start when there are such obstacles at the outset. I will pray about it this morning, and ask God to teach me to trust in Him.”
I did pray. And God met me. The funny thing is that I can’t remember any of that prayer. I don’t remember what I said, or what things He showed me. But I do know that I came away fully at rest, and with a renewed enthusiasm, and was able, with my whole heart, to later write,
“God’s promises are sure. I have nothing to fear, nothing to dread. Every tomorrow will display fresh evidences of His care. I have but to ‘sink into His fullness, and in trustful weakness lie.’ What a Father! What a Friend!”
For the last week and a half, from that time till now, my life has been the most absurd contradiction of adjectives. Class is difficult, and pointless. I came a hairs breadth away from making arrangements to remain here without continuing on with school. Once a week I stay home to make up on my own for everything I’m not learning in class. It’s ironic to me that I learn more when absent. But God has shown me, I think, that I’m not to diverge from what He has set before me, until He instructs me to do so. So I see myself retaking level five this spring.
But, contrary to circumstance, my heart feels light and carefree. It’s not difficult (and it should be!) for me to throw as much will into this as I would if I had a fighting chance. Rather, I feel the promise of life and the pleasure of honest effort. I enjoy waking up every morning, and laughing at the absurdities of my fish. I enjoy walking to class, in the crisp, cool out of doors. I enjoy being with my classmates and friends. I find that life is beautiful.
Also, I’ve been able to interact with my teacher outside of class quite a bit this semester (It’s random. I’ve never interacted with any of my other teachers outside of class.), and I find myself heartily appreciating her as a person. It doesn’t make school any less pointless, but it does make the class atmosphere lighter and more pleasant. I laugh at the absurdity of it.
God is good, is He not?

In essence, the topic of this email hasn’t hugely differed from my last email, has it? School. It’s always about school. That is my life, presently, so that is what I write of.

I’ll add some variety, before I sign off. I realize that I do so at the risk of loosing your interest, by further lengthening an already long email. But the story is a funny one, and I hope you’ll appreciate it. It’s a sketch of my fish that I wrote, some weeks back.
“Junior has been busily rearranging his tank all day. Just a few minutes ago I stopped studying to watch him for a bit. As soon as he noticed that my eye was on him, he totally feigned innocence. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and began to swim around in casual circles. He would have added a whistle to the general effect of unconcern, but I had surprised him red handed, and he had five or six un-whistle-around-able pebbles in his mouth.
I'm generally pretty lenient, and if he wants ten pebbles on the east side of his tank, and two hundred fifty on the west, I'll turn a blind eye. But he knows that I put my foot down when it comes to blocking off the filter. It was the later occupation in which had been employed, so I considered it a good sign that his conscience had smitten him.
I spoke to him coaxingly, offering a compromise: I promised that if he spit the stones out, I wouldn't fry him for dinner. He looked surprised that I could doubt his innocence, and continued flitting around in lazy circles, his gullet stuffed so full of stones that it was stretched transparent. So I laughed and went back to studying.
Fifteen minutes later, I glanced in his direction again, and saw that he was resting his heavy head on the bottom of the tank, still stubbornly holding onto that uncomfortable mouthful of pebbles. It occurred to me that I might persuade him to spit them out, if I could tempt him with something more tasty. So I shook a few flakes of food into the tank, and Junior went wild. He began chasing the flakes of food around, but he couldn't open his mouth wide enough to eat them without the pebbles popping out. So he'd catch at the edge of a flake with pursed out lips (fish do have lips) and, just hold it there, totally nonplussed. After a few seconds, he discovered that, if he went for minuscule particles of food, he could suck them in without moving his mouth. But, of course, that accomplished, he still couldn't swallow! To swallow would be the same as opening his mouth, only in the other direction! So there he sat, with one molecule of food and five stones in his mouth, as he longingly watched that hated filter suck up his beautiful, red dinner. His eyes were tortured, and even as I keeled over laughing, I felt pity.
I'll leave the room to make dinner, soon, and leave him to his privacy.
I love my demented fish.”

Thank you all for your emails and prayers.

With much love,
Elisabeth

A Quick Story

I have a quick story for you:

I went to a 'Bible Study' yesterday. It wasn't open discussion, like I'd expected it to be. That, I suppose, would have been too western, encouraging independent thought. It was rather more like a church service. We sat in rows of folded chairs, facing the front, and sang a few songs. Then the pastor came and delivered a 'lecture'. Or at least he began to. He wasn't fifteen minutes into it, though, before he stopped in the middle of his train of thought, and said,
"I don't feel like God's Spirit is here. Please give me just a minute."
And then he just stopped talking. I suppose he was praying, even though he didn't bow his head or close his eyes. It might have been an uncomfortably long silence for some, but I was intrigued. I've never seen or heard of a Korean figure of authority, especially a religious one, exhibit any degree of...well, of humiliation, for lack of a better word. Especially under the gaze of inferiors. It must have been hugely embarrassing for the Koreans present.
After a bit, he began again.
"I'm not going to teach what I prepared. I can give a dozen lectures, and teach you to know all about God, and you'd go away with religion. But religion isn't God."
And then he left his notes folded up, and proceeded to teach spontaneously.
I can't really say that I got a whole lot out of what he taught. His ideas may have been new to some, but they weren't especially to me. And I didn't entirely agree with all of his doctrine. That wasn't really the point, though. He spoke of God from his soul, and not from a page. I think I've finally found what I've been looking for in a leader: a man whose heart is soft toward God, and who is willing to be faithful to the point of foolishness. Someone who teaches about God because he loves, and not simply because he's expected to, or because it's his 'job', and he's payed a salary, and he'll be asked to resign if he doesn't fulfill expectations.
I had begun to wonder if I was being too picky. If I was perhaps holding out for a good orator, rather than a good man. If I hadn't been spoiled by Travis's teachings. But I know now that that' wasn't the case, and it rather relieves me.
At any rate, they're going to start an English church service this Sunday. I'll go, and rather expect it to be people with Koreans, almost exclusively. I'm good with that. I've been thinking about joining a Korean service, in order to have more opportunity to interact with Korean Christians. The only thing that had held me back, was that I didn't want to turn my church experience into a Korean study session, which is what it would be if the service was in Korean. But this will fulfill both expectations. A 'real' pastor, an English sermon, and lots of Koreans to interact with afterwards.
I'll let you know how it goes.
With love...

With Wings as Eagles

Happy Thanksgiving, Family!

Today is the last day of what has been a relaxing two week break between semesters. I had hoped that the R&R would help me to kick this bug, but so far that hasn't happened. The weather has been pendulous, warmish one day, and freezing the next. Every time the temperature drops below zero, my cold rears its head, tyrannically asserting it's self-appointed rights. I'm hoping that, once winter finally makes up it's fickle mind, my immune system will begin to kick in.

Otherwise, life is good. I've been spending a couple of hours every day getting prepared for Level 5. I wanted to get my books in advance, hoping to be able to at least familiarize myself with a significant portion of the vocabulary before the semester begins. Vocab is, hands down, the most time consuming part of studying. So I my way up to the seventh floor of the language building, to speak to the department director. Since I'd been able to get my books for Level 4 three months early, it never entered my mind that there would be any problem. But apparently administration has changed since then, and I was uncompromisingly informed, "You'll get your books on the first day of class."
It had been a very stressful week, pulling 13-14 hour study days in preparation for my finals, so I was feeling worn out and upset to start with. The director's decision was singularly unreasonable, in light of the fact that I was registered, payed for, and the books were available and sitting in the shelf next to us. I listened to his explanation with a frozen smile on my face, but the room was loud, and his Korean was blurry (guy-Korean is spoken much less distinctly than girl-Korean, so it's generally very difficult to understand), and I was too angry to listen carefully, so his explanation was wholly unintelligible. I went home feeling more discouraged and upset than I have in a very long time.
When I got home, I hashed out my attitude with God, and then sang to myself while I made lunch. It's remarkable how far a song can go toward improving one's perspective. I was still at a complete loss, though. I'd been able to glance briefly through one of my friend's books, and not only is the vocabulary load increased, but we'll be given twice as many grammar rules than we've been given in any of the levels up to date. It was entirely impractical for me to think about studying level 5 without having the books in advance. I finally decided to wait until after finals to think about it, and pushed the matter to the back of my mind.
Two days later, with the other tests out of the way, and only the interview left, I gritted my teeth and rode the elevator to the ninth floor. I showed up early, and feeling strangely detached, walked over to one of the ceiling-to-floor windows to watch the life of the city below me. I had slept little, and eaten next to nothing for the past thirty-six hours, because I had been feeling sick, and as I stood there I began to feel dizzy and to see black spots in the corner of my vision. I sat down on the window ledge, and at that moment an osprey glided past the window at eye level. The end of Isaiah 40 flashed into my mind, "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." And I knew that, pass or fail, God would continue to be strong for me.
My name was called, and I bowed and greeted my interviewer. It's called an 'interview', but it's not so much that as a guided, twenty minute conversation, to determine one's level of fluency. The conversations are recorded, so that the interviewer may later go back and analyze one's grammar, pronunciation, intonation, vocabulary, continuity, and variety. As such, what one answers is wholly irrelevant. On the last day of class we were told: "Feel free to state false preferences and opinions. Your interviewer hasn't the least interest in whether you're from Brazil or Japan, so if it's easier for you to talk about Japanese customs, then for that twenty minutes, you're Japanese. If you don't know the answer to something, make it up!"
As it turned out, it wasn't necessary for me to create a fictional self. One of the first questions the teacher asked was how Level 4 had been for me.
"It wasn't as hard as I'd expected," I replied, "But it's not as easy for me as it is for the other Asian students, so I need a lot more study time than they do. There was so much vocabulary to memorize, though, that I didn't feel like I had enough time to spend with the other subjects."
"You know Level 5 is going to be more difficult..." (Don't I!!) "...if you didn't have enough time last semester, how are you planning on making it through the next?"
"I have no idea." And I explained to her what I've entailed above, ending with, "If I can't get the books in advance, I might not study here next semester."
"Well, you know," She smiled a beautiful smile, "I have the books. I can lend them to you until you get yours."
I pressed my hands to my face, laughed weakly, and for one dreadful moment thought that I was going to burst into tears. The moment quickly passed, and I heartily thanked her.
The rest of the time passed smoothly and quickly. When I got home and called my family, they told me that they had asked people to be praying for me. I wasn't surprised. Both the tests and the interview were easier and more relaxed for me than any before, and when I got my grades back, 99% was scribbled on the face of my reading test, that subject in which I had been previously averaging very low 70s. Mounted up on eagle's wings, indeed!

I have a lot of stuff to do this evening, so I shouldn't spend any more time on the computer. I hadn't meant to write only of my tests! Next time I'll try to add more variety, but meanwhile this will have to do. Please be praying for me, as I go on to this next semester. I'm beginning to feel burnt out, and am so very ready to be done studying Korean!

With love,
Elisabeth

Grass and Sparrows and Thumbs

Dear Family,

I seems a long time since I last wrote you all. I find myself now with a moment, and feel that it would be a good thing to take advantage of it, before I jump back into the fast-paced life, tomorrow, of people and school.

I've been fighting a cold for a few weeks, but to no avail. This last week it finally knocked me out. Toward the end of the week I began canceling engagements, on Friday I finally skipped a day of school, and I'm now pretty much milking it for all it's worth. I've usually got so much on my plate that it's a beautiful luxury to be able to kick my feet up with a good book and a box of Kleenex. I was never more grateful for a raw throat and swollen sinuses!

I had midterms three and a half weeks ago, and the days leading up to it were so full and feverish, that I hardly had a chance to stop for breath. Just after midterms, as the week drew to a close, I found myself with a free evening. The weather was still fall-ish, fresh and warm, so I made myself a sandwich for dinner, and took it outside to the Sogang campus, along with Twain's 'The Mississippi River'. It was a pleasant way to dine. When it grew to dark to read comfortably, I drew a light sweater about me, and strolled about the campus, with only the vaguest idea of where I was or where I was going. It was simply enjoying being out of doors, with no demands upon my mind or my time. One of my favorite places on campus is a water fountain just outside of the Korean language building. I wrote my sister about it, a few weeks ago:
"Monday night I was on my way home, at ten o'clock, after a long day of just about everything you can imagine, and I passed a water fountain near the Sogang language building. It beckoned me, so I sat on one of the square stones beside it, while I waited for the traffic light to give me permission to cross the street. I watched the brightly lit water spill over lips of slate, and dash playfully into the frothy pool below. The light flashed green, and then red again, and still I watched the water. It was so calming. That water fountain has become rather a habit with me. It's loud enough that, if I sit very close, it drowns out the noise of the traffic and the people. And sometimes I forget that they're there at all. It's probably the only place in the city where I can pray out loud without being overheard, and I pray every time I sit by it. This time I prayed for a girl that I had passed just moments before, who had been walking down the street crying. And then I just sat and thought about God for a while. It's amazing how such a little thing can be so calming."
Unfortunately, now that winter has blown into every corner and crack of the city, I'm not able to enjoy the out of doors as much any more. I'm looking forward to spring already!!
A few Fridays ago was Korea's National Foundation Day, so we had the day off from school. I decided to use part the afternoon to make cookies my my small group, which gathers each Friday evening. No sooner had I stepped into kitchen and rolled my sleeves up, than I realized that this would not be as simple a thing as I had supposed. Apart from a one cup measuring cup, I had no other measuring instruments, so most of the ingredients were added somewhat by guess. And my little toaster oven is set to one temperature, and what that is I don't even know. The first batch burnt on the outside, but was runny on the inside, so I propped the oven door open a crack with a fork, and after that they cooked nicely enough. Not Mrs. Field's cookies, perhaps, but my friends thought they were excellent. I'm certain that the fact that they haven't tasted a home-made chocolate chip cookie in Korea yet helped a great deal.
It's really important, in Korean society, to build relationships with colleagues / classmates outside of the normal work / study environment. So my class decided that we ought to have dinner together some evening. The restaurant of choice was a restaurant where they serve pork. At Korean restaurants one orders a few common platters of food to be divided up between everyone, rather than each ordering individual dishes,. I think it's an excellent system, because then you can eat as much or as little as you want, and have a more varied meal. I generally let others make the choice of what to eat, because most people have more preference than I. My classmates' choice ended up being, in this case, three heaping platters of pig feet, stuffed pig intestine, and pig fat. I tried a bit of each. The hoof was okay, once I got past the texture and abundance of cartilage, but the intestine was the most repulsive thing I've ever eaten. Koreans eat a lot of it, but I'd never been brave enough to try it until then. This time I steeled my nerves and told myself that I could just chew it up really fast, and gulp it down. So I put a slice in my mouth, and began chewing. But, to my horror, it wouldn't chew. It was like rubber, and I couldn't distract myself from what it was that I was eating. So I chewed and imagined, and imagined and chewed, and then chewed some more, and after an eternity it was small enough to swallow. After that I stuck to the fat, which is actually pretty good. I didn't used to like it, because I wasn't used to fat texture. But it's remarkably flavorful, and now is one of my favorite meats (and it can be called a meat, because there is always a little bit of meat on each slab).

Now that winter has come, and the days are shorter and darker, I frequently have a candle lit. A little candle works wonders in transforming a gloomy space into a cozy cubbyhole. Sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, I turn off all the lights in my house, and watch the flame for a bit. A few weeks ago I lay on my belly on the floor, with my candle in front of me. And as I lay watching it, I told God about all the things that I like – the things that I think He did an especially good job with. The stars, for example, and autumn leaves, and green beetles, and water drops. It was a very pleasant way to spend time with God. I don't think I've ever before told Him what things I like, just like that.

Moving a candle to my desk, the other day, my thumb pressed itself into the warm wax, so that when I pulled it away, its print stood out clearly. Looking at it, the thought flashed into my mind that my thumb print is unique. I wonder why God took thought for thumbs – they're so insignificant. It seems absurd that God should have been so deliberate in the creation of my thumb, but so it is. I think I'll stamp my thumb print in ink somewhere where I can see it regularly, to remind myself that God takes thought for little things: grass and sparrows and thumbs.

With love,
Elisabeth

God Sees and Understands

I have to remind myself frequently, these days, that I'm not just throwing my life away over here. Somehow that thought keeps coming back to discourage me, "You've been in Korean since you were twenty-two!" my mind shouts at me, "And now you're nearly twenty-five! What have you got to show for it?! So you can speak Korean better than the average westerner - what of it? The chances of you being able ever to use it in the way you anticipate are so slim as to be absurd. And, meanwhile, here you are, throwing away the best years of your life!" And then it shrugs and shakes it's head at me in a pitying sort of way. All I can do is try to ignore it and pray, but even that resource is so evasive sometimes... But, however futile my present course sometimes seems, this one thing I know: God sees and understands that, foolish or otherwise, the life that I have turned my back on was set aside for love of Him. My course may be ill advised, my direction purposeless, but like the widow's two mites, it is all I have, and it has been given to God. If He chooses not to use it, that is His business. At least He may know that I love Him.
Please pray that God will give me courage.
Elisabeth

There are Always Quiet Moments

My Dear Sister,

I have a dozen people to write to, and four pages of dialog to memorize for the upcoming interview, but my mind is too tired to keep going. So I'm emailing you before I go to bed, which is relaxing, because I don't have to think about what I write.

...I hope I don't dream of Korean again tonight. Last night I dreamed that I kept double and triple booking myself, promising to study with people who were trying to prepare for different language tests, and always, pressing on the back of my mind, was the knowledge that I needed to study for my own, too. It was stressful.

My last fish is better. I was certain that he was going to die, but after several inactive days, he rallied himself, and is back to moving pebbles from one side of the tank to the other. That's one good thing that happened this week.

Another good thing took place on Monday night. I was on my way home, at ten o'clock, after a long day of just about everything you can imagine, and I passed a water fountain near the Sogang language building. It beckoned me, so I sat on one of the square stones beside it, while I waited for the traffic light to give me permission to cross the street. I watched the brightly lit water spill over lips of slate, and dash playfully into the frothy pool below. The light flashed green, and then red again, and still I watched the water. It was so calming. That water fountain has become rather a habit with me. It's loud enough that, if I sit very close, it drowns out the noise of the traffic and the people. And sometimes I forget that they're there at all. It's probably the only place in the city where I can pray out loud without being overheard, and I pray every time I sit by it. This time I prayed for a girl that I had passed just moments before, who had been walking down the street crying. And then I just sat and thought about God for a while. It's amazing how such a little thing can be so calming. I only stayed for five minutes or so; I'm never there long. I hadn't had time to eat dinner yet, but I was so very tired by the time I stepped through my front door, that I just grabbed a few rolls and a slice of processed cheese (yuck!), turned off the light, got into bed, and fell asleep as I ate.

Yesterday was pretty similar to Monday. It's because of these midterms. On Friday we have what is called an interview, but is really just groups of two, each presenting three five-minute dialogs on given topics, using specific grammar patterns. The three topics will be chosen at random from eight, so it's eight that we have to create and memorize. I'm good with winging it. But I have a Japanese partner, and she wants to have the dialogs down to perfection. She doesn't study as much as I, because Korean to the Japanese is as Spanish is to the English speaker. So she has a lot of time to give to the interview. I don't, but I know what it's like to study with a person who doesn't care to put as much into the final results as I do myself, so I'm trying to give her as much time as she needs. That's adding up to about three precious hours a day. So I study for two hours before school, attend class from ten to one, come home for one and a half hours of study over lunch, go back to school and prep with Liae till 5:30, then either come back home to study until bed time or go out to meet someone. Then I go to bed with my dinner. That's my schedule until Friday.

And if you were here, I'd tell you about my attitude toward my reading teacher, and you'd challenge me. That thought makes me smile. *sigh* I'm sure she's a fine person. If I was explaining it in Korean, I'd say 'it's just that our personalities don't match.' I find her teaching style so abrasive that I totally shut down during reading class. I try to engage for the first five minutes or so, but I quickly become so stressed by her, that I implode. My thoughts begin to fall apart, and then I begin to panic, and suddenly my mind freezes. And there I am for the rest of the hour. I stumble through it in sort of a daze, trying not to listen to her voice, because it makes me feel chaotic, and hoping that I won't be called on to answer any questions. When the time comes for us to discuss amongst ourselves the passages that we've read, I try to appear enthusiastic, because it's demoralizing to be studying with someone who lacks interest in what's going on. But inside my heart is in my stomach, because I know that I'll have to go home and set aside more time to re-study on my own what I ought to have learned in that waisted hour of class.

I only got 75% on the reading midterms, by the way. That's forty percent of my final grade. I had hoped to do well enough to help cover for the finals...but that seems not to have been God's plan. I'm okay with that. It makes me feel tired, but I don't feel pressured by it at all. I'll find out how I did in the other subjects on Friday.

I bought a Korean Bible for Doshiae, my Japanese friend. She's studying Korean, too, so I thought that it would be appropriate. Sister, I do want to see happiness in her eyes! I'm going to be seeing her again in a week, and until then I'm praying over the Bible every day, because I want the words in it to come alive to her.

My back has been hurting tremendously lately. And I'm fighting a cold, so I"m very tired. But at least I'm fighting it, eh?

I am glad that my fish is still alive.

As busy as I've been, and as pressured as I've felt, there are always quiet moments in which to settle my mind. Each morning, before the sun is up, I wash dishes, and the warm, soapy water is relaxing. Whenever I blow out the candle that I have frequently lit, I sit quietly and watch the smoke until it disappears. While the earth exists, there will always be time to watch candle smoke. Every day I have a few moments with the waterfall, while I'm waiting to cross the street, after school lets out. And every night, while I'm waiting for sleep to come, the silence wraps me up and holds me close. And, because He somehow loves me, God always draws my mind to Himself during these times of stillness, so that I feel closer to Him now than I often have when nothing else distracts.

I'm so amazingly tired.

And I love you amazingly, too.

Thank you for listening to my thoughts.
me

Dear Friends

Dear Friends,

I always like to begin emails, because I get to write that: ‘Dear Friends’. And when I see those words typing themselves out, it makes me feel warm and cozy inside. I do think that good friendships are one of God’s sweetest gifts to us.

Firstly, thank you again for praying for my neck. The pain is entirely gone, and I’m very happy to be able to be about daily life, with no worries. Or at least with no worries of that sort.

The weather has grown cooler. I wear a sweater out of doors, and watch as little indications of winter creep slowly over the city. Leaves will be turning color soon, and then they will die and fall. And winter will be here. I fitted foam liner into the cracks between my windows and their respective sills, this afternoon, to keep the draft out. And tomorrow I’ll do the same for my door. That will make things a bit cozier.

Two weeks ago, and while the weather was still hot, a few friends and I traveled just north of Seoul. The area we went to was beautiful, and within a few hours I was completely relaxed, as all the busyness and stress of life dissipated. We drove up a mountain and found a waterfall. It poured over into a beautiful, deep, green-blue pool, and after exploring the area for a bit, I kicked off my shoes and jumped in. Because there’s always so much on my mind, I’m not usually spontaneous or carefree around even those people who know me well, so I think that I startled my friends a bit. But I laughed at back at them, and I wasn’t long before we were all in the water. It was absolutely freezing, but so invigorating! And the mountains and the sky and the quiet naturalness of it all were so peaceful, that I felt more refreshed and relaxed when I got home late that evening than I have in a very long while.

I gave a twenty minute presentation to my class, yesterday. I chose juggling as my topic, and enjoyed prepping for it. It went very well, and my teacher liked my presentation methods well enough to hold them up to the other students as an example of how they should prepare their own in the future. I was very happy.
I’ve often wondered what place pride in a well done job ought to take. Now I think I know, but it will be difficult to explain. I sent a text to a friend, after my presentation was finished,
‘Yay. My teacher liked my presentation! I’m happy!!’
He replied, ‘Good job! Be proud!’
That make me cock my head a bit, because it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be so. I was pleased as a child that I had done a good job. I was happy about it with the same happiness I have that I’m able to write well. Or the same pleasure that comes when I receive a letter in the mail, or when the sky clears and the earth warms for the first time every spring. It’s not gratitude, exactly – unless that word once meant what it now no longer does. It’s simply exultation of heart over a good thing. When I study the work of a artist, I’m filled with admiration. When I think of my presentation, a similar feeling comes over me. Not at my own abilities. I worked hard to do a good job, but that is in no way remarkable. Anyone might have done as much... and perhaps it is exactly that which brings me pleasure. It is beautiful to me that God created in each man the capacity for excellence. When I aspire to, and manage to touch, that goal, my heart thrills. When I stop to consciously consider it, I know that I am not deluded into supposing that the work was my own. The wonder is born of seeing the image of an excellent God stamped on my soul, and that displaying itself in my work. I can take no more personal credit for such a reality, than I can for the fact that my eyes are blue. But that makes me no less pleased with the reality of what is. And, while I cannot be proud either of the drive toward success or of the ability to succeed (neither of which I have created), nor can I think myself ‘humble’ for refusing to take credit for Another’s work. I can simply watch with awe and applaud, grateful to be permitted to look on, and giddy at the thought that He has chosen my heart for His canvas.

I’ve been fighting a cold for these last few days, and that leaves me very tired. We have midterms next week, and the thought of that makes me even more tired. But since I realized what I wrote above, I’ve had a great deal more enthusiasm for my school work. I do my best, not simply because I must, but because it is one way in which I can resemble Christ.

Thank you all for your emails and prayers. Loneliness is very real over here, in a broad and all encompassing way. It is good to continue to be connected with you.

With love,
Elisabeth

God is Good, and I am Happy.

Dear Family,

I anticipate my emails being rather sporadic this year. So far they’ve been coming once a week, or so. Later they’ll probably become spaced out between months. Who knows? Tonight I write because it’s 7:30, and my mind is wide awake and longing for interaction.

This semester has begun slowly. Two four-day weeks (of which this is the second), and a three-day week to come. It’s given me some time to brush up on all the grammar and vocabulary that I forgot over the summer. I’m surprised at how much I know. Last year I measured my progress from one day to the next. Today was set next to yesterday, and tomorrow next to today, so that I often felt discouraged. This time I have two other advents in Korea to compare my present state to, and the conception of those both were distinguished by a remarkable inability to communicate. So the contrast between where I am this semester and where I was the last time I landed in Korea has been pleasantly startling. I could almost suppose that everything I studied in the nine months prior to going back to the States seeped into and saturated my mind while I was away. I’m good with that.

As a full-time student, my life has been (necessarily, to some degree) quiet inverted. Every other occupation (with, perhaps, the exception of modeling) is geared toward serving others in some way, regardless of motive. When I worked as a housekeeper, I made other people’s beds. When I was waitressing, I served other people’s food. At U.V. I processed other people’s money. The point of an occupation is that other people need something which you must work to supply. However, as a student I simply take. All morning I take from my teachers, and all afternoon I give to myself. Every daily necessity and provision is for self. I don’t cook or clean or shop for ‘our’ family; I cook and clean and shop for me. All of it turns back upon myself. Of course, this is a somewhat inevitable part of my existence here, right now, and I some of it can’t be altered. But, as such, I must fight against a self-focused attitude much more fiercely than I would if I had a normal job, or lived with other people.
One very obvious way to do that is to make a point of becoming involved in the lives of one or two people, with the specific goal of blessing them. I’ve determined that, this year, knowing people well must take priority over every other consideration. Finding friends is easy. Everyone wants to be friends with ‘the foreigner’, so every date on my calendar for the coming weeks has been filled with engagements for coffee, or for lunch, or whatever. Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how to approach a thing moderately. I tend to rush headlong toward a goal, and end up, more often than not, in way over my head. My dilemma here, is that relationship-investing is time consuming. And time is not a commodity that I had a surplus of. I want to be entirely available to God, and I know that He will hone my friendships, as they develop, and will cause certain ones to fizzle out, while others grow deeper. But meanwhile, I feel crunched.
I’m trying still to be regular about studying Korean (which is also, of course, a time-consuming priority). I’ve been getting up earlier, to give myself two hours before school to memorize vocab, which helps a great deal. And I bring my books with me on the subway and bus, so that I can study en rout, when I go wherever to meet people. By the end of a day, though, I feel so over stimulated and exhausted that it regularly takes me two or three hours to relax enough to fall asleep.
So I’ve picked up juggling, again. Literally. I taught myself how to juggle when I was about thirteen, but haven’t done anything of the sort for quite some time. I still have my balls, though, and have dusted them off (so to speak). Juggling, they say, uses a different part of the brain than most mental activities use. The mind and body have to both be entirely relaxed in order to catch and throw the balls with perfect synchronization. I lend what support I can to this theory by affirming that when I’m throwing and catching, I don’t watch either the balls or my hands. I stare through them, as though I was watching something on the other side, and let my hands do the work with out the help of my mind. The motor skills wake up, and the cognitive skills (thinking, organizing, solving) seem to go to sleep. It’s like a brain cat nap, or something. So for between ten to thirty minutes a day, wherever there’s time, I throw and catch balls. I don’t know whether that really helps me to balance my schedule better, but at least it puts me in a better frame of mind, beside providing me with a little bit of much needed physical exertion.

Meanwhile, and all the business notwithstanding, I’m enjoying being here and being alive. God seems to meet me in a new way every day, showing me things about myself and about Himself that I never knew. Each morning I come to Him, and each morning I’m brought back to a place of complete rest. Somehow He manages to completely remove the weight of the previous day’s stresses and to pave a clear road through the present, so that there is never a buildup of pressure. Every day there is new strength, new pleasure, new grace. God is good, and I am happy. I couldn’t ask more of life.

I miss you all...
Elisabeth

The Conclusion

I have just a very few minutes, but I thought that I'd let you all
know that my shower-leak saga has reached it's conclusion. Last
evening I took a long, cool shower, and my entryway stayed dry. As it
turned out, water had been seeping through a large crack between where
the tile met the cement half way up the wall, and from there into the
next room. I'm very glad to no longer have to travel half an hour each
way to wash my hair!!
Take care,
Elisabeth

P.S.

Sure enough, my drain isn't plugged! Tomorrow the fix-it man is going
to come by again to reseal the bathroom tile, which also isn't the
problem. I hope you all don't mind if I chronicle the journey of my
shower leak to it's conclusion. It amuses me to do so, and keeps me
from taking it all too seriously.
Until tomorrow...

Rainy and Cool

Life in Korea is in full swing again. My Korean, which seemed to have abandoned me my first few days back here, has resurfaced, with all of its idiocies and stuttering mistakes. But at least I don’t feel dwarfed by my inarticulacy now, as I did three days ago, and can enjoy laughing at myself along with everyone else. One Korean girl, whom I’d only met once last year, called me the day after I got back. We got together, hoping to become better acquainted, and really hit it off. Her English is about at the level of a two year old, and my Korean is (says she) is as that of a seven year old, so it was almost entirely in Korean that we communicated. We talked for two hours on subjects that would have required, for two individuals sharing a common language, perhaps thirty minutes to canvas, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Especially after I became accustomed to the strong alfalfa taste of our shared green tea ice-cream, scooped over red bean paste. Next week we’re going to begin reading the Psalms together, in Korean and in English. I look forward to that.

Today is rainy and cool. I have my one window open, and am sitting in front of that, enjoying listening to the musical pitter-patter of rain, while bigger splashes of pregnant drops, falling from the eaves of my house, keep time. Today excepted, the weather has been stiflingly humid. And I haven’t any AC. During the day, it’s not so difficult to deal with. I can sit in the stale, hot inside air, watching the heavy, hot outside air, and imagine that somehow the window being open causes the two classes of hot air to become cooler. But at night it’s quite a different matter. At night all my windows are closed, and I lie panting in great gulps of humidity. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to sleep in such a state. But I’ve discovered that, if I hold a pack of ice to my chest and can fall asleep before it melts, then I generally stay asleep for a few hours at least.

Later this afternoon a plumber (I suppose) will come by. I haven’t been able to shower at my house, because whenever I turn the shower on, water seeps up through the floor in my entryway, flooding it. So one of my Korean friends came over two days ago to explain the situation to my landlady, who later informed me that on Monday (today) someone would come by to clear my drains. I objected, ‘the drain isn’t clogged!’ But she’s quite sure it must be, and as her Korean is ever-so-much-more proficient than mine, she had the upper hand in the discussion, and I was forced to smile and acquiesce. Whenever whoever gets here, I’ll try to explain the problem to them, and see what happens with that. Meanwhile, I’ve a friend who lives about thirty minutes away, and she has graciously invited me to make free use of her place. Friends are good to have.

School begins tomorrow. I’m trying not to think too much about all the days that will follow today. I was glancing through my level 4 book yesterday, and it looked really difficult. I remember last year, how I had barely enough time to keep up with class. And I look ahead, and dread it being the same scenario all over again: me wrapped up in my little world of books and lessons and tests. It’s a very introverted world, and when I’m in it, I tend to shut other people out, which is unhealthy. I need to be involved in other people’s lives; it is, of course, why I’m here in the first place. But I don’t know at all how to incorporate both Korean and People. They squeeze each other out, because each is time consuming, and there are only twenty four hours in a day. There’s no lack of desire, but I feel an absolute lack of ability. Please pray for me, that I will know how to use my time wisely and well.

With love,
Elisabeth

A Little Animation Figure on a Screen

Hello from Korea!
After a long, and somewhat complicated and erratic flight, I arrived back at my little home, in the big, bustling city of Seoul. So very odd, you know. I feel like a little animation figure on a screen who, having walked through a doorway, has stepped out the other side into an entirely new world. And the world I left behind, such a short time ago, has so absolutely disappeared behind me, that it seems I’ve just awaked from a dream, and nothing more. No time seems to have lapsed between when I closed my eyes in June, and opened them again three days ago. People still bustle happily outside my house, the city lights still flash and blink with regular chaos, the air is still warm and muggy, and my house is just as I left it, only perhaps a little smaller looking. But, however my senses belie the reality that I’ve been away for two months and a half, I know that it cannot all have been a dream, unless I shrunk while sleeping. Ten weeks ago I was brimfull of confidence. Now I feel as small as that animation figure on the screen. My house is very quiet. The large silence fills it, wrapping me around. I feel intimidated by small things, and know that it’s because, in that other world or dream, I was able to communicate effortlessly and fluently, and now I cannot. I tire easily, because my internal clock is still set to the time of that other world, which is seventeen hours behind this world. It all conspires to make me sigh. But school begins in a week, and I’m pretty confident that, when jet lag wears off, and when I have more to fill my time with, I’ll be ready to set that world on the shelf, and tackle this world with renewed enthusiasm. Meanwhile, thank you for praying for me.
Elisabeth

hokshi, hangukmal chal hayo?

Hello Family,

I’m sorry that I haven’t written sooner to let you all know that I did indeed pass level 3!! It was close, but my teachers were merciful, and I managed to drag myself through with trembling legs, burning lungs, and a powerful headache. I wrote in my little, green journal, ‘Well, I did pass. My head is splitting, but that’s okay. It’s okay, too, that I’m likely to pass out from fatigue, and feel like I’m getting another cold. I have nothing to do which demands health or comfort or energy. For three months I’m perfectly free to be as tired and headachy and sick as I jolly well please, with absolutely no extenuating stress. What a light and airy feeling this is!’

Taking advantage of my freedom, I decided to spend a few days at a retreat, in the eastern part of Korea, called the Jesus Abbey. There one may find a few thatched, stone buildings, snuggled up in the mountains, away from the rest of the Country and it’s noises and lights and smells. My object in seeking such seclusion, was to spend some much needed time in reflection, quietness, and prayer. On the verge of a great deal of change, I felt the definite need to reassess my focus and direction, as well as to re-communicate to God my desire to love Him well. So, with this in mind, three days ago I purchased a ticket for a four and a half hour train ride to Taebaek.

Upon arriving in Kangneung, I glanced about me, looking for a road whereby I might carry out Mr. Torrey’s instructions to ‘walk down hill for about ½ block, then turn right.’ I discovered to my amusement and chagrin, but not necessarily to my surprise, that the train station had stopped at the top of said hill, from which point three roads ribboned out, each more down hill than its neighbor.

I’ve been too often confronted by similar situations to be dismayed, so holding my bag close, I looked about for some sort of public city map. These large, posted maps can be found at the entrance of any subway station in Seoul, and often are posted randomly along major streets. I depend on them to get my bearings, when in an unfamiliar district, something like the needle of a compass depends upon the North Pole. I supposed that, in such a public location as a train station one must be displayed. I was wrong, but no matter. Far to the left I spotted a little, round building with a conical roof. Large orange letters adorned the front of it: ‘여행 안내소’ The words were familiar, but I was tired, and while I registered enough to suspicion that the place might be of some use to me, my mind wouldn’t tell me in what way, specifically. I gazed, in a puzzled way, for some moments more, and then my eyes took in even larger English words directly below the Korean, ‘Tourist Information’. It testifies to my obsession with Korean that my eyes automatically registered the Korean before even noticing the English.

I stepped over to the little, half-moon window and inquired, ‘Yaesuwon-ae eotteohkae gayo? How do I get to the Jesus Abbey?’

She pulled out a pamphlet, circled a set of numbers which were swimming in a sea of Korean words, pointed in a generally unspecific direction, and rattled off a string of Korean, the only part of which I comprehended being, ‘and then go left’ sandwiched somewhere in the middle.

I nodded and looked intelligent, and when she had finished, surprised her by asking her to repeat herself. She did so, voluntarily translating the ‘go left’ part into English for me. Since the directions that I had taken earlier said nothing about going left, but rather had ‘go right’ written twice (for emphasis, I suppose), I decided not to worry my head over that particular part of either set of directions, but just to walk in the down hill direction apparently indicated, and trust to fate, or to my finer instincts, to direct me to where I ought to be. As it chanced, fate deserted me after about two minutes, and my finer instincts directed me to hale a cab.

I know that taking such short cuts won’t help me with my Korean, and perhaps I ought to have gone back to the information desk to commence a dissection of the agent’s instructions. But as long as there remain taxis to tempt me, I’m afraid that ‘travel Korean’ may never become my strong suit.

But, aside even from the convenience of that particular method of transportation, taxi talk is by far my favorite. I learned how to ‘talk taxi’ before I knew the alphabet, for all intents and purposes, and that only took me 24 hours to commit to memory. All one needs to know are the name of his destination, and the words for ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘straight’ and ‘stop’. ‘No’ is also helpful, but not absolutely necessary. That particular word is employed in the following manner:

After giving the name of one’s destination and ‘left’ or ‘right’ed his way down a couple of streets, the driver will usually drown his hapless passenger under a flood of words, a mile long and several miles deep. There’s no call for the passenger to comprehend any of it, really, because nine times out of ten, the driver is simply commenting on the passenger’s Korean fluency, to which ‘anyo! no!’ is a culturally, and honestly, appropriate reply. The tenth time, it will turn out that the driver was asking the passenger if he studies Korean, to which a ‘no’ (for the average foreigner) applies in any case. ‘No’ is always a safe reply to either comment, and generally puts a damper on further conversation.

Of course, once I was able to carry on a more in-depth conversation that what could be maintained with ‘left’, ‘right’ and ‘no’, I began to encourage an expansion of topic. Drivers are willing, and usually pleased, to accommodate. So when told what a good grasp I have on the word ‘straight’, I startle even the most sincere by replying with unerring pronunciation and in present perfect progressive tense, ‘Oh no! I’ve been studying Korean for about nine months, but it’s a really difficult language, so I still don’t speak it very well.’

After a moment of deliciously startled silence, a grand smile dawns on our sociable driver’s face, and he repeats his first observation with a great deal more conviction, and then proceeds to ask where and for how long I’ve been studying, following up with such questions as, ‘What’s your major?’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘Are you married?... No?... Then do you have a boy friend?... Why not?’ etc.

All such questions are not only culturally acceptable, but also personally so, because they’re easy to tackle. Before the conversation has a chance to get out of my ball park, we’ve arrived at my destination, and can wish each other a merry farewell, feeling each toward the other a mutual sense of peace and good will.

However, at this point I reach an impasse. In spite of my flexible maneuvering of verb tenses and adverbs and prepositional phrases, I’m confounded, to my chagrin, when it comes to wishing our driver farewell. ‘Stay in peace’ or ‘Go in peace’? The driver is remaining in the taxi, however he (in his vehicle) is preparing to depart, so which to employ?

I used to agonize over the conundrum long before arriving at our destination, until one day it occurred to me that the driver’s confidence in my fluency is so firmly root and grounded, and the two greetings similar enough in sound, that he probably would never notice which I used, if I dwelt fondly on the similarities and rushed over that one syllable upon which the contrast is based. And if he did happen to notice, it would most likely result in his adopting my mistake and the written word, and adjusting his own vocabulary accordingly. It’s not uncommon for a foreigner with no more than a passing command of the language to be told, ‘You speak Korean better than we do!’ And it’s spoken with such simple sincerity that sometimes I wonder if they actually believe it...

I arrived at the Abby in the late afternoon, and had just enough time to settle comfortably in before the dinner bell rang. I didn’t see much, that evening, of the mountains that hug the Abby, but what I did see reminded me strikingly of my Oregon mountains, so that I felt instantly at home.

The next day it rained, so I spent much of it indoors in the ‘tea room’. I was sipping my morning coffee there, and writing some of my thoughts, when a young couple came over and sat at my small table with me. In Korea it’s nothing for perfect strangers to share a table in a public place, but one generally keeps to himself in such a case. So I was surprised to hear myself being addressed. Even more surprising was that the man’s opening comment was in Korean. I think that’s a first for me. When ever I’ve been addressed, it’s always been in English, butchered or otherwise, if only to ask if I, by any chance, speak Korean. In this case the question was the same, but in it’s own language, ‘hokshi, hangkmal chal hayo?’

‘No,’ I replied, adding that rider with which I ordinarily impress the cab drivers.

This, of course, led to further questions, which I was able to answer with perfect ease, even throwing in a few questions of my own, from time to time.

If I may do so without boasting (and yet, may I not boast? I have indeed worked hard for that privilege!), those subjects with which I am familiar, in Korean, I have studied and studied again with such ferocity, that I’m able to converse on them with a respectable degree of fluency, ease, and clear pronunciation (this latter I have received countless compliments on, and I believe that the compliments given were not hollow ones, because, while a Korean may insist that the foreigner speaks the language better than he does himself, he seems not to notice the discrepancy when immediately following that with ‘and your pronunciation needs a lot of practice.’). My ability to handle the lesser topics is quite deceptive, leading people to suppose that I have a much better grasp on the entire language than I really do have. I’ve even pulled the wool over my own eyes, before, which always leads me into trouble.

Unlike my taxi experiences, when sitting together in a coffee room there is no definite end to the conversation in sight, so it shortly moves from ‘How much money do you make?’ to ‘What are your long term goals for studying Korean?’ to ‘How do Americans generally feel about the cultural atmosphere in Korea?’ I can tackle these questions, when given my space, but by the time I’ve properly skinned and gutted the subject, and disposed of the entrails, everyone’s minds have been disabused of the notion that I can do any more than wield the pronunciation, and my linguistic status has dropped from ‘better than a Korean’ to ‘just like a Korean’ with the thoughtful rider that ‘you should practice a lot.’

‘I know,’ I reply, back in swim-able depths, ‘I want to speak more Korean, but when I hang out with my Korean friends, they always want to practice their English on me, so I really get very little Korean practice outside of the classroom.’

And so my new friends are sympathetic and invite me to practice on them, which I do until they inevitably turn the conversation, ‘Yes, and I want to learn English, too.’

But back to the ‘tea room’ wherein I began this monologue.

Just as our friend’s opening comment was out of the ordinary, being in Korean, so also was the flow of conversation that followed. He asked nothing beyond ‘when did you come here?’ and I even had to voluntarily supply my one name. Apparently the fact that I live in Korea was enough to convince him that I was a fluent bi-linguist, and, being the sociable fellow that he was, within ten minutes I realized that I was destined to hear the in-depth history of his short life.

It was an amusing recital. I know this, because he smiled often while recounting it. I watched his face and hands carefully, taking my cues from him. When he smiled I chuckled. When he laughed I split my sides. When he frowned I shed tears. This, coupled with appropriately applied ‘yeah’s and ‘mhmm’s, convinced him that I thoroughly understood and sympathized with the matter at hand.

In all reality, I picked up only one word out of 50, to begin with. When my head began to stop spinning, I was able to pay closer attention, and picked out one word in ten. Enough to grasp the topic of conversation, at least, and at that point my comments evolved from ‘uhuh’ to ‘I understand’ or ‘yeah, I think so, too.’ After this fashion we rushed headlong through some great conversational pieces, for nearly an hour and a half, and though it often seemed as though I was drowning, and a couple of times I even choked and had to be resuscitated, I managed to survive credibly.

Those one or two near death experiences occurred whenever our friend interrupted his narrative with a question. My heart would be absolutely still for a moment, and then return with a plunge calculated to ram itself through my chest wall. ‘Yes?’ with raising inflection. The rough equivalent of, ‘Can you be more specific?’

And so the question would be thoroughly repeated and explained, until I was able to grasp it well enough to answer.

If entirely lost, I would pick one word at random from his explanation and say, for example, ‘Cheolyeon? I don’t think I know that word.’ Which set him off upon the happy embarkment of a detailed explanation, effectively steering us away from the dangerous topic at hand.

In all, I suppose I grasped about 25% of what was toward, and remember none of it. I do need more practice, and sigh to think of how far I’ve yet to go.

So much for boasting.

As I glance back over all that I’ve just written, it occurs to me that I’ve talked an awful lot, without really saying anything. It think that one of the things that was very apparent to me, in contrast to English-speaking Seoul, was the amount of Korean I was expected to use, and my own incompetence. It wasn’t a bad experience, but it was a thought provoking one. So two of those many experiences were what naturally made their way from my mind to my fingertips.

And I was able to accomplish what I had gone there for. I don’t have any of the answers to life. In fact, if any thing, I have more questions than ever. But, while talking with God about them, the questions have taken on definition, form, continuity and definite relation. Like a tumble-dryer: My thoughts were spinning around before, but now the spinning has stopped. The clothes are still there in all their variety (except, maybe, a missing sock or two), but now the chaos has been reduced to something sort-able and fold-able.

...Ummm, okay. So maybe that wasn’t the most coherent parallel, after all. But this email is getting too long, so I’ll leave it as is, and trust to your generous imaginations to supply the discrepancy.

I love you all, and sincerely look forward to seeing you soon,

Elisabeth

Running and Running

Dear Sister,

I have a half-dozen important emails to reply to, and a late dinner to eat, but your email beckons me, and I must 'talk' to you a bit.

I miss you. I have never longed to be home more utterly and completely. My heart is there already, and my body feverishly aches to join it. No reservations. No hesitation. I would take off running toward you now, if I thought it would get me there any faster.

Meanwhile, my mind has absolutely shut off. I have never experienced this before. Weariness, frustration, confusion, overwhelmed-ness; these have all had my mind in their powerful grips before, but never have they so completely razed. When one dashes uphill until his legs burn and his lungs explode, then still keeps running and running, there comes a point where his body must collapse, no matter how close to the top he is. The strongest will in the world cannot prevent it. Two days ago my mind turned to lead, and try as I would, I could not make it go on. It was simply done with contorting and stretching and running and running. In a desperate attempt to lighten its load, hoping that it might be able to pick itself back up and scrape through just one more week, I spoke to my teacher on Tuesday, three class days before my finals, and told her that I was going to drop out of writing class. She was disappointed, no less was I, but there was no other way of going forward.

Or so I though. God seemed to think otherwise, though. The next morning it occurred to me that I hadn't consulted God about my decision. I had simply reacted with something of a natural instinct for survival. I didn't suppose that God would object to my decision, but I decided that I ought at least to give Him a chance to so, if He should want to. So I told Him what I'd done, finishing with, 'Can I just leave it as is?' Sitting quietly for a bit, then, it seemed to me that I had God's permission, but not necessarily His blessing, to do as I wanted. Considering it, I saw that to submit 50 hours of accredited class time, when all that was needed to secure them was three more days of class and one test, would be foolishness. But this left me utterly nonplused. While to stop would be foolish, to continue was impossible.

Then something struck me: Often I have been brought to an end of my own ability to perform physically, so that I have had to lean on God and on His physical strength alone. Often, also, I have been brought to an end of my ability to perform spiritually, and here again God has filled in with His own spiritual strength. But this is the first time I've ever reached an end of my mental strength. I've no doubt that God has brought me here because He wants me to depend on Him in this area, too. Very well. I need not lighten my load, because God is not confounded. I need simply to lean against Him, and let Him do what He will.

So I went to writing class again this morning, to my teacher's amusement, and felt just as dead and heavy as ever. But God will pull us through. He always does.

That's my story. I don't know whether I'll pass my finals or not. I tend to philosophically categorize, "I suppose I will; one does." Either way, I just pray that God will carry me through the next few days of my life, and that I will learn to depend on Him utterly.

If you feel inclined to pray for me, I won't object...

I love you tremendously,
Jonny-Jo

A Multitude of Faces

Here I am again... writing in a state of semi-drowsiness. I've been in school or studying for the last ten hours straight, not counting a break for lunch. This hasn't been an abnormal day, really, but for some reason I'm feeling it more now than I usually do, so I don't know how much I'll get written before my mind entirely shuts down.

This morning I learned my favorite Korean word to date: '토킹아바우트'. The Romanization of that would be 'tokingabaut', stolen, of course, from the English phrase, 'talking about'. English words with a Korean twist, and it's really good for a laugh when one begins to conjugate that with suffixes and infixes.

The weather had begun to be beautiful a few weeks ago, but the day that Mary Horn arrived it clouded over, and has been chilly ever since. The weather in no way interfered with her visit, though, and we had a grand time exploring those parts of Seoul that I only see when I have visitors. The places are worth visiting more often, but I really haven't the motivation to go 'yogi jogi' ('here and there') alone. Some things simply require two.

One very pleasant part of going 'round, was that by it I was able to measure my Korean improvement. Every time I go to Namdaemun Market, for example, I'm able to ask questions of the vendors, or make comments on their wares that I had wanted to speak of the previous time, but had been unable to do. I understand a lot more of the conversations around me, and am able to interact on, if not a deeper level, at least a more specific and thorough one. Very motivating, needless to say.

One of the things we did was something of an adventure, based as it was upon mere speculation. I told Mary about the 'Spectacular Musical Water Fountain', which I had seen last year. The name provides for itself a fairly accurate description: it is spectacular, it is musical, and it is a water fountain. She had seen a similar fountain while in China, and we agreed that it would fun to go see this one together. The only hitch was that it was outside of Seoul, and I didn't know how to get there. I tried to get a hold of Boyeun, who would have been able to provide me with a bus number, but she was unreachable. So I explored a subway map, and saw way off in the left had corner: 'Lake Park'. I was pretty sure that that was the name of the place that sported the fountain, so we decided to gamble an hour subway ride, each way, against the chance of my being right. And I was.

The first time I saw the fountain, it provoked me to record in my journal, "It really was remarkably beautiful. It made me think of Jesus, and I marveled at His nature which is not beautiful, but Beauty itself. My prayer is that I will see, and always be aware of the depths of the beauty of my God."

There is something about living things, or things that resemble life, that resonates with me. Perhaps therein lies my obsession with candles and plants and fish. When I watch the water shooting into the air, and whirling and dancing it time to music and lights, my heart soars with it, and for a time I'm lost to everything around me.

One thing that has struck me, lately, is how very creative God is.
I challenge you to recreate 6 billion of any one item, applying these restrictions:
1. All items must be constructed with the same features.
2. The features of each item must be of relatively similar proportion and size.
3. The same color scheme must be applied to every item, allowing only for variation of shade.
When I see the multitude of faces around me, I see that each of these restrictions has been adhered to, without any one person looking so like his neighbor as to be indistinguishable, or even nearly so. How is that possible? And how great, then, must be the individual value of each man's soul, where so much more creativity and variety have been applied! What a shame that even one should be lost!

Last Sunday I visited the public bath house near my house. My back has been so tight lately, that I'm in almost perpetual pain. I thought that perhaps the saunas and bath jets might help to loosen the muscles enough for my back to return to its normal state. After an hour and a half of almost nauseating heat, my back felt very much better, and I came home with only a very small cramp left in my shoulder. But the effect didn't last long, unfortunately, and all through my upper back and over my right shoulder feels on fire. It's worse than it has been in a long time, and has begun to interrupt my sleep, so I ask you to please be praying for me.

A few weeks ago I was talking to God about my future. It all seems so vague. I have a general idea of where I think I'm going to end up, but no real plan of how to get there. I believe that God will show me what the next step is, when the time is right, and usually I'm perfectly at peace with not knowing. But on the particular night of which I write, I was battling that old feeling of restlessness that always seems to settle upon me after I've remained in one place for any length of time. I was struggling to express to God the feeling of helpless drifting that had begun to possess me, and found that I was unable to do so verbally. So I began to write my prayer, instead, and ended up with a poem, which I have since altered to read as follows:

With no clear call, and no specific thrust,
Footstep follows step, as in a dream.
I am a leaf born on a flitting autumn gust,
I am a bubble on the surface of a stream.
I cannot grasp what spurs me on my way.
Footstep follows step, as in a dream,
And each is swallowed up with every day.

You are my Call, my soul may breathe relief.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek.
Your Spirit is the Wind that flits the leaf,
You are the coursing Water of the beck.
Your purpose spurs my life along its Way.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek,
And Christ, Your Son, the Dawn of every day.

I look very forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth

Every Spring...

Dear Family,

It had been my intention to write last weekend, but I was hindered by an unfortunate cold. Along with correspondence, school has suffered a bit, too. I attempted to participate, and at least showed my face in class every day but Monday. But gallant attempts notwithstanding, an exploding head and raw throat forced me to leave school early every day. My teachers were unhappy, because people will be sick, sometimes, but what has that to say to anything??

Now, if I had been emotionally upset, if I had felt unhappy or depressed, my absence would have been much more acceptable. Koreans are remarkably feelings-sensitive, and place a great deal amount of stress on the importance keeping them buoyant. One’s kibun (mood, or state of mind) is, to quote ‘The Korean’ by Michael Breen, “of prime importance. Not only does feeling good make you feel good, but it’s also better for your health.” So it didn’t really surprise me that the first question asked when I showed my face again after a long absence was, “maeumae nappayo? - Are your feelings bad?”

I heartily enjoy my Asian classmates. There are four tables in every class room. I’m not really sure why or how it happens, but somehow students tend to congregate at each table, either by age or by nationality. Tables are very loose-knit, intermingling freely with everyone else, while still maintaining an indefinite, almost imperceptible, special-bond amongst table-mates. Last semester, we western students began at the same table, but before the end of the first week I had migrated over to the Japanese table (I’m still not quite sure how that happened), and I found myself, before many days, one of their ‘group’ (though I hesitate to use such an uncompromising word). I was surprised to find that I felt remarkably more at my ease amongst them than I had with the Canadians and Americans, but didn’t give it much thought. This semester it’s the same story over again, only this time it’s the Chinese students with whom I rub shoulders. We have a great time together laughing and chatting, and I’m amazed at how instantly I feel at my ease in their midst. I hang out a lot with westerners outside of class, and had begun to worry that I’m not letting myself adjust properly to eastern society. But realizing that, when I’m in a group of both westerners and Asians (either in or out of class), I generally prefer to mingle with the Asian crowd, my nagging doubts were stilled.

A week ago, March 14th, was White Day. White Day is the counterpart of Red Day, Feb 14th (known to the western world as Valentines Day). On Red Day tradition demands that a girl buys something sweet and thoughtful for her man; and on White Day, the guy for his girl. Rose Day will be next month, again on the 14th, and that day is reserved for us singles: friends exchange roses. Black Day, the 14th of May, is set aside for those unfortunates who have neither significant other nor friend, and on this day anyone who received nothing on any of the above holidays is expected to eat Ja Jang Myun, a Chinese dish of noodles and black sauce. Pretty tasty, actually.

For these last six months, I’ve hopped from church to church, looking for something that would challenge and encourage me. Unfortunately, the churches that I’ve been to in Seoul (as in many places, I suppose) seem to lack any real spiritual life. I finally settled on Seoul Union, which meets quite near my house. It’s the only church that I’ve been to in Seoul (and I’ve been to many!!) whose members are mostly good, solid families. A lot of churches cater to young, single adults, which is fine in it’s place. Since I only ever hang out with people my age, it’s nice to be around families with kids, and to have older Christians in my life. So, in hopes of getting to know the people there better, I decided, a month ago, to make Seoul Union my regular place of worship. Unfortunately, the same Sunday that I began regularly attending there, they decided to get some small groups started. So now, directly after service, we’re all is split up according to age, and moved into our own rooms for fellowship and discussions. I can see the point of it, but for me it was a disappointment, because now there’s no real way for me to interact with anyone outside of my own age group, and so my major reason for going there is now nullified. But I find that, if nothing else, I can use church attendance as a declaration to others of where I stand.

Often, as class begins of a Monday, our teachers will ask us what we did over the weekend. When the question gets to me, I’ll describe my Saturday then say,
“And on Sunday I went to church.”
I find that, if I announce that right at the very beginning of the semester, it rather paves the way for me to talk about Christianity later. My class mates know where I stand, and I have quashed all my natural inclination to remain neutrally silent on the matter at the very beginning. In a class full of students from all around the world, my beliefs often raise curiosity. Our common language being Korean, we are none of us fluent enough, yet, to be able to discuss religion in depth, but that will come with time. And meanwhile, most know enough of the basics of Christianity to be able to make the association between my lifestyle and my beliefs.

The Friday night small group that I attend (really my main source of fellowship) meets in the Sinchon area, in a little orange coffee shop called (for some indefinite reason)The Seven Monkeys. There’s a bus that will take me from my front door and drop me right out front, but I prefer to walk. At a spanking pace, it takes about a half an hour. When I stroll, I give myself 45 minutes. Since I always study late on Fridays (so that I can take Saturday off), I only ever give myself time for a fast walk. In the winter time that’s good, because it kept me from freezing. Come summer, it will be a little more wilting. Anyways, we’ve begun reading Philip Yancey’s ‘What’s so Amazing About Grace?’ We haven’t gotten past the first two chapters yet, but it’s provided some good discussions so far, and I look forward to seeing where it will go.

Two weeks ago I wrote in my journal,
“I think that I have felt a little bit discouraged lately. It’s difficult to keep on working enthusiastically toward hazy goals. And when my progress seems so slow, and my way so fraught with difficulties, it’s tempting to wonder if God really did lead me here, of if I’m just here...just because...” It is hard to keep my head up, and a smile on my face – so very alone.

But then I heard a bird sing for the first time since winter descended in all its lofty coldness, and my heart thrilled in response. Every spring birds sing again. Every summer the earth is warm. Leaves fall and crackle underfoot every autumn, and every winter the snow is as white as the last. How is it that the work of God never looses its novelty? That its beauty is not diminished by repetition? How is it that a budding flower causes my heart to sing, as though I had not seen a hundred before it and will not see a hundred again? How can this morning’s sunrise be more beautiful than the last, and tomorrow’s be more beautiful still? Why does my soul exult at another gust of wind? Why do the eternal stars calm my mind? Why does sunshine relax me, or the splash of cold water make my body tingle, or the feeling of soft, green grass under-foot make me want to run and dance and sing, all as though I were experiencing these pleasures for the very first time? In some inexplicable way the touch of God transforms the ordinary into the eternal, and my eternal soul resonates in response.

So God reminded me that His work in His time will never be insipid. I can be certain that the work He is doing in and through my life will take on, similarly, a freshness and a daily beauty. An eternality. And my heart was calm again.

Thank you for listening to my ramblings. Please continue to pray for me...I need the presence and strength of God more than ever before,

Elisabeth

He will Have His way

Naomi,

I've a plane ticket for the 10th of June. I don't know if that's my departure date, arrival date, or (since I'll be crossing the international date line) both. My return flight is set for August 20th, but that's a changeable ticket, so that date is just a tentative guess.

Okay, lets see how much of the history of this last week I can fit into this email, before three o'clock.


Up until just a week ago (the 20th, to be exact), I had been planning, after some prayer (thought none of it very whole-hearted, you know...I think I was more running my already-plans before God, than asking Him what He wanted me to do), on definitely coming home, this summer.

Last Wednesday (did you know that I hate Wednesdays? Always have.) Mom sent me an email, letting me know how much I had in my CD acct. at Sterling. I was startled to find that the CD contained about $8000 less than I'd supposed. Immediately I began looking through and adding up how much I've spent so far, and (based on that) how much more I'll need to complete all six levels at Sogang. As it turned out, even if I decided not to come home, I would only have enough to get through level five. Coming home would cut that down to level four. Which, of course, threw all my plans into absolute confusion.

My first reaction was to cut down on every expense not absolutely essential. Since I already live frugally, the only thing else to do was to turn off my heat and cancel my internet connection (which former I did a week ago, and which latter I'll do this afternoon). Also, of course, I called home, and told them not to be expecting me.

But, even though I didn't have any idea of really coming back, at that point, I found that I couldn't get it out of my heart. I began to pray about it more seriously, and for this last week have been under more pressure and prey to more anxiety than I have since being in Korea this second time.

After a few days of feckless indecision, I wrote an email (at Beka's suggestion, bless her!) to the elders at Camas, which I also forwarded to Sharri and to Dad. In it I stated some of the pros (recuperation, refocus, and preparation for another nine months, as well as the opportunity to get to know the Camas Church better) and cons (lack of resources) of coming home, ending with,

"While I was praying about it, yesterday, it occurred to me that I just don't know enough to be able to make a wise decision. Everything is uncertainty and supposition, and I'm a little bit afraid that my own desires will get in the way of me hearing God clearly, or recognizing what He wants me to do in this case."

Travis and Tim both wrote back, advising me (for their various reasons) to come back home. I felt that I should wait for Dad's reply, as well, before making a final decision. If he agreed with Travis and Tim, considering how unlikely a response that would be, I should know for certain that I ought to plan the trip. As it turned out, his response, after praying about it was, that he felt that the decision needed to be between me and God, as he felt too far removed from the situation to be able to make give very definite advice.

As I relate these circumstances, Sister, I've only, so far, touched on actions and thought process. You must be aware, I know, that my emotions were neither so orderly nor so under control. There was so much at stake, and I felt that the wrong decision would be detrimental. I was aware that God is able (and does) take the choices that I make, and turn them for His glory, but my heart was not there. All my wisdom urged me to follow the advice of those more mature in judgment than I. But that same wisdom screamed at me that to throw a semester of Korean to the wind was foolishness beyond permission.

After wrestling, with no clarity, for days, I no longer even wanted to come home. You know how much I've put into being able to learn Korean. You know how important it is to me, and how much I've given up, how much pleasure and comfort I've put aside, in order to pursue what I believe with all my heart God has called me to do. To leave the language program half way through, is not merely giving up fluency in Korean, but everything that I've worked toward and thrown myself into for these last two years, and more. Every sacrifice that I've made in the way of loneliness, frugality, discomfort. Failure at that which I'm persuaded God has set before me would be the price I must pay for two months in Oregon. The thought of such an exchange left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I was, through all this, persuaded that God could, and would provide for me, by whatever means, if He asked me to go home. But I was in no way certain that He would do so, if I chose to go back without His sanction, and this left my heart in no little anxiety, because still I hadn't heard from God.

The ticket reservation that I had made, while waiting for direction, was to expire by the weekend, so (since I was communicating with my travel agent via email and everything was slower) I needed now to make my decision immediately.

At this point, I felt that, where my own wisdom failed, it would be foolish to ignore the advise of those whom I've asked to take some rule of authority in my life. As I had no clearer direction for myself, there seemed nothing else to do, but come home.

I decided to pray about it one more time, and then (as a decision must be made), simply choose one of the two options at random. So I got on my knees, and reminded God of His promise, in James 1:5, to give wisdom to the seeker. Immediately, as clearly as if spoken verbally, I heard, "It is wisdom to trust in Me." Simultaneously with those words, came the very clear understanding that my decision wasn't one of circumstance, but one of trust. If I chose to stay here, I would be choosing to trust in my frugality, my resources, to make it as far in Korean as possible. If, on the other hand, I chose to go home, I would be placing myself in the most vulnerable place imaginable, where the above were concerned, and leaving myself nothing on this earth to trust, but God Himself. And in that split second, my decision was made.

Oddly, that decision didn't bring a sense of peace, as I had expected it to. I contacted my travel agent and told her to purchase my ticket, then let everyone concerned know that they would see me in June. But my heart was despondent, and it was all I could do, through the whole of yesterday, to hold back tears that would come, and to pursue my normal activities. I was tired and headachy and cross, and decided this morning that, rather than spend another day so pointlessly dejected, I would pray again, and not leave God's presence until my heart had been calmed by Him.

At first I couldn't stay focused at all. For about an hour or so, my mind wandered pitifully, and at random, until finally God brought to my mind those beautiful verses in Mat 6 about God clothing the lilies of the field, and making provision for the birds. From there, I explored other verses about God's goodness and faithfulness, until I came to Psalm 146:5-6 "Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God: Which made heaven, and earth, the sea, and all that therein is: Which keepeth truth for ever."

Sister, is there any comparison to the gentle goodness of God? Remarkable Goodness displayed in His desire to wrest all other dependencies from me. I don't, and probably never will, understand why He takes such trouble to shape and form my life. Why He has so determined to have all my heart, and has diligently and minutely directed and prepared my way. And Remarkable Gentleness displayed in the method He has chosen for accomplishing His work. In what more protective, sustaining way can He have moved than to bring me home, to people who will love, and challenge, and support me? What way more gracious, than to allow me the comfort, for a season, of those dearest to my heart? How carefully He must have worked to bring about this circumstance, which will at once both remove me from my dependencies and self-conceit, all the while coddling my spirit.

The understanding of all this allowed me, finally, the relief of tears, and I find my heart light, today, for the first time in many days.

To conclude: I will come home this summer, and when I get back to Korea, only expect to take one more semester at Sogang. Where God will move me from there is an absolute blank. If He provides, financially, for me to continue, I will be very glad in that. If He ask me drop out of school, He'll probably have to wrestle with me again, but I know He will have His way, because He is determined to have me. All I can count on, for certain, is that He will lead in an entirely unpredictable, and astoundingly brilliant way, so I need not concern myself, at this point, with pointless speculation.


This has ended up being much longer than I had intended. But I don't know how to shorten it, and still include everything. And, somehow, I'm persuaded you won't mind the detail. ^^

I love you, and am wholeheartedly looking forward to seeing you in June!!
Jonny

Little Bits and Pieces of my Life

Dear Family,

I hope you are all well!

As for myself, I’m enjoying a short break between semesters. Level 2 has risen, wrestled, and been defeated. One week from now level 3 will raise to the challenge, and attempt success where levels 1 and 2 have failed. That conquered, I will be half way through the language program. Which is baffling to realize!

Meanwhile, I’ve been teaching myself to write with my right hand. From writing so many hours of Korean vocabulary (the most effective way I’ve so far discovered of stimulating memorization), my left hand has begun to cramp and to be rather weak and shaky. I find that icing it for a few hours, after studying, helps a lot, but what a way to spend a cold winter evening! So now I’m training my other hand to obey me, and am happy to be able to report that my right-handed penmanship is becoming stronger and more readable each day.

My head, as well as my hand, is aching for relief, and as a means of clearing from it the cobwebs of Korean, a Chinese classmate and I have begun meeting, once a week, for Chinese lessons. I have been enjoying these heartily, and find them relaxing, since (both of us having busy schedules and full heads) we’re taking it pretty easy. I’ve been amused, however, by the two responses that I generally receive, when I tell my friends of it. In one camp, well wishers are concerned for my sanity, and caution me not to over do it. In the other, I’m unofficially classified ‘genius’, and wondered at from afar. So far, the most rational responses I’ve received have been from the Wilkes and Amy Horn, which is no real surprise, considering our relative situations.
Titus and Ruth: That sounds really good! Do you think we could do it with you?
Amy: Glad to hear about your Chinese lessons...that sounds like a blessing, and a good way to relax your head from Korean.

Namdaemun (Great South Gate), which was South Korea’s No.1 National Treasure (compliments to it having been built in the 1400’s), was set fire to, a few weeks ago, by a disgruntled citizen, who was dissatisfied about the outcome of a decade-old land dispute. It was a shame, and when I first heard news of it, I was floored. There has been so much destruction to Korea, over the years, by other countries, and so little of her history has been preserved, that this senseless damage really upset me. So I called Rebekah, who (having wandered with me through the streets and alleyways of that ungainly market which sprawls at it’s feet) could sympathize with my dismay, and after talking for a little while, felt quite better enough to apply my mind to other things.

There was another fire in this area, a few weeks ago. Standing cold and formidable on the hill behind my house, a public high school caught fire, and proceeded to be consumed. It was late in the afternoon, so there were no crowds of people in the halls, and the fire seemed to catch slowly enough to allow plenty of time for laggards to make good their escape. I was studying, and hadn’t heard the crowds gathering outside my house, from where there was a clear view of the action. Shouting men, and flashing lights aren’t out of the norm enough for them to really claim my attention, so I gave only half an ear, and wasn’t diverted until a siren screamed just outside my window. That surprised me, and throwing on my coat, I stepped on to the front step just in time to witness a fire engine backing up (apparently the driver hadn’t realized that my alley is something of a dead end) to the computer-generated tune of Fur Elise, in lieu of that more generally accepted series of beeps which one would expect to hear in association with the backing up of a large and cumbersome vehicle. My very intimate understanding of the Koreans’ love of bells, whistles and random tunes notwithstanding, this caught me off guard, and regardless of circumstances, I was hard put not to laugh at the absurdity of that pleasant melody warbling imperturbably forth, from such a vehicle and at such a time.

I’ve begun attending a small to medium sized church on the campus of nearby Yonsei University. My attendance is really more a matter of form, than otherwise, as it’s been difficult for me to find my niche among them. They’re trying to form a small group that will meet after services, which I’ll begin attending as a means of getting to know the people there better. Meanwhile, my main source of fellowship comes, rather, from two other small groups, organized by a different church, that meet in my area, one on Thursday evenings, and the other on Fridays. Outside of the time I spend with Titus and Ruth, these evenings are the highlight of my week, stimulating, creative, and challenging. And English. ^^

Yesterday and all last evening it snowed. I was going out to meet some friends, and my first reaction, as I stepped outside, was to reach for my umbrella in imitation of then native inhabitants of this country, to protect myself from becoming white with the world. Stopping myself, I gave a little laugh, left my pink umbrella on it’s accommodating hook, and put on a pair of black gloves instead. It was beautiful snow. It flitted about in perfectly symmetrically flakes, clinging to the bare limbs of the trees, and setting gently on the sidewalks and streets in little flurries. I held my hands up, exulting inside that something so small could have been fashioned be so perfectly. All evening it continued to fall, and I stopped near my house, on my way back home, and patted together a very little snow man (passers-by at first seemed concerned by this irregularity, but when they saw that it was just a foreigner, they exchanged comprehending glances and passed on), which I set on the curb, thinking all the while of Amy Horn, of course.

Well, this email makes up in length, if nothing else, what my last lacked. I enjoy telling you all little bits and pieces of my life on this side of the world, and look forward to hearing back from you...

With much love,
Elisabeth

Being in Touch

2/7
Dear Family,

It is far too long ago that I last wrote. It’s kind of tough getting back into the swing of things, after having been so royally entertained with first my sister’s company, and then with Amy’s. I find that I’ve begun to let things fall behind, and have a difficult time applying my mind to things that were before simple matters. Talking to my sister, the other day, I laughingly described it as ‘post-company syndrome’ and suppose that pretty accurately sums it up. But I know that moping won’t help me to get back into the swing of things, so today I gave myself a mental shake, rolled up my sleeves, and put myself to work.. Work is always therapeutic.

So are game rooms. I hadn’t wanted to go to Bible study, last Friday evening. After having frustrated myself to the point of tears over evasive Korean expressions, I wanted nothing more than to lie down on my bed, and never move again. But, supposing it would be a good thing for me to get some fresh air (it being nearly a half-hour walk to my destination) and to interact a bit with others, I bundled myself up and took myself off. Excellent intentions notwithstanding, I couldn’t rouse my thoughts to engage in what was toward, and don’t suppose I said two words together. Instead, quietly sipping a latte, my mind, belying my erect position, slept. Our group broke up at ten o’clock, and I would have headed home, had some brilliant individual not suggested heading over to a game room. I decided to join them for a short time, at least, and we all made our way up the street. The atmosphere of a game room is much like that of a coffee shop, warm and small, with lots of tables and comfy (or not quite) chairs. We entered, sat, and after a cursory glance at the game menu, opted for Speed Scrabble. I began to wake up, and by the time we had done with that and moved on to other games, I was fully alert and enjoying myself thoroughly. We didn’t leave until past midnight, and by that time I felt entirely restored to my normal self, and was persuaded that few things (if any) hold a candle to a good game with good friends!

2/10
The Chinese New Year came and went over this last week, and I turned 25 with it. In Korea, Lunar New Year is not only the biggest holiday of the year, but it’s also the day that everyone adds a number to his age. Start with the fact a child is considered a year old at birth, and it can get really complicated really fast. One year at birth, and another added on New Years Day means that babies born on the 6th of this month are already two years old. As inaccurate as this system is, Koreans don’t usually exchange ages, but birth years. In reply to “How old are you?” the common reply is “I was born in 19__.”

Only one more week of class to go before finals. I’ll be happy to be done with level two, so that I can tackle level three. Learning is frustrating, sometimes. I have a lot of knowledge in my head, but don’t feel like I’m really able to make it very applicable. I know all of the material that we’ve covered so far, but I can’t make it happen when I need to. I find myself reverting to baby-talk when I’m on the spot, then slapping my head later for not having spoken as I ought to have been able to. I know I just need more practice. I need to hang out with more Koreans who don’t speak any English. Most of my Korean friends are bi-lingual, and we end up communicating in my language, because it’s smoother that way.

Well, I feel like this email is a little bit choppy, and neither very interesting nor very communicative. I’ve been pretty tired lately, and have had a hard time making my mind engage. But I wanted to be in touch, and to give you all a brief update on how things are going.

I’ll write again soon; meanwhile I pray God’s blessings on you,
Elisabeth