Today Teresa and I taught in Ilsan, thirty minutes away by car, provided there's no traffic. I usually take advantage of the drive by studying Korean. Today I had my note pad with me, and was practicing writing. When we got to the school, I laid the pad on my desk, and the little girls crowded around oohing and aahing. Then Kate picked up a marker and wrote 'apple' on the white board. I picked up another marker, and wrote its Korean equivalent, 'sagwa'. She was delighted, and began to scribble word after English word, while I followed with Korean, surprising myself at how much I knew. Great English practice for her; great Korean practice for me. I really like the group of kids there. They're smart and responsive, and all together enjoyable.
I love reading the prayers recorded in the Old Testament - those prayed by Moses and by Abraham and by Ezra and by Jehoshaphat, and so many others. They reasoned with God. They called to His attention those promises that He had made, or the consequences of a certain course of action; as if God was not already aware of all these things! And, yet, God had such respect for the prayers offered that He allowed Himself to be persuaded by them, and the fates of nations were altered. I am dumbfounded.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Friday, October 27, 2006
Getting it out of my System
Dear Family,
I would like to tell you a hair story. My own was beginning to feel draggy. That's not a word, my spell check tells me, but there's no other for it, so I must improvise. Constantly ratty, and constantly in the way. I've wanted to layer it for some time anyway, so (being the improvising penny pincher that I am) I went online to find 'self-cutting' directions. I found what I was looking for, and a few minutes later found me standing in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors in hand, and a pile of hair at foot. I botched it. I really, really botched it. For a few seconds I stood there looking at the mess, then philosophically shrugged my shoulders, "At least I've gotten it out of my system now." Of course, inside I wasn't nearly so composed. I threw my hair back, hopefully to conceal the disconcerting truth, and determined to have a hair dresser fix it as soon as might possibly be.
Yesterday, two days later, Pyongae came down to the teachers' office. "Ruth!" I addressed her by her English name, "Do you know where I can get my hair cut?" She did, and ten minutes later found me sitting in a chair, with the hairdresser's little face laughing above my own in the mirror. I was thoroughly embarrassed, but maintained facadal (that's not a word, either) composure. Ruth asked what I wanted done with it. "It doesn't matter." I replied, "She can do whatever she wants. Leave it as long as possible, but other than that..." I shrugged. The hairdresser trimmed and snipped and combed away. It took a little while, but she did an amazing job, managing (I'm not sure how) to obtain the look I had been going for all along. And my hair isn't very much shorter for all that. Thus the uncourageous sinking feeling that had been tickling my thoughts for the last two days lifted. The others all like it, too, so I'm no worse off for the wear. I'll send a picture of the 'new me' whenever I get around to doing so.
Lots of laughs,
Elisabeth
I would like to tell you a hair story. My own was beginning to feel draggy. That's not a word, my spell check tells me, but there's no other for it, so I must improvise. Constantly ratty, and constantly in the way. I've wanted to layer it for some time anyway, so (being the improvising penny pincher that I am) I went online to find 'self-cutting' directions. I found what I was looking for, and a few minutes later found me standing in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors in hand, and a pile of hair at foot. I botched it. I really, really botched it. For a few seconds I stood there looking at the mess, then philosophically shrugged my shoulders, "At least I've gotten it out of my system now." Of course, inside I wasn't nearly so composed. I threw my hair back, hopefully to conceal the disconcerting truth, and determined to have a hair dresser fix it as soon as might possibly be.
Yesterday, two days later, Pyongae came down to the teachers' office. "Ruth!" I addressed her by her English name, "Do you know where I can get my hair cut?" She did, and ten minutes later found me sitting in a chair, with the hairdresser's little face laughing above my own in the mirror. I was thoroughly embarrassed, but maintained facadal (that's not a word, either) composure. Ruth asked what I wanted done with it. "It doesn't matter." I replied, "She can do whatever she wants. Leave it as long as possible, but other than that..." I shrugged. The hairdresser trimmed and snipped and combed away. It took a little while, but she did an amazing job, managing (I'm not sure how) to obtain the look I had been going for all along. And my hair isn't very much shorter for all that. Thus the uncourageous sinking feeling that had been tickling my thoughts for the last two days lifted. The others all like it, too, so I'm no worse off for the wear. I'll send a picture of the 'new me' whenever I get around to doing so.
Lots of laughs,
Elisabeth
Thus Commenced my Day
Another little Dube arrived early this morning. It was prearranged that, should Beth go into labor on an odd night, Teresa would watch Emma and Owen for them ("Because," quoth she "I'm the odd one."), leaving the even nights to me. Save Monday and Friday evenings, the first of which was to always by default fall to me and the second to her. We had a few good laughs over the oddity of the arrangement, but it fit well with our respective days off, and so was easily enough remembered.
In the wee hours of this morning, sometime between one and two o'clock, Teresa woke me up, "Beth's having the baby, and it's your night. Adam will be over to pick you up in ten minutes." I rolled out of bed, and tried to focus through the fuzziness. That only took a very few seconds, and I was soon stuffing a few random items into a bag, in the likely event that I wouldn't have the chance to return before work later that morning. That accomplished, I made my bed. This, unaccountably, I remember distinctly.
Adam arrived post-haste, whisked me over to their apartment, and then hauled Beth off to the hospital. I reset my alarm to 5:30, one half hour later than my usual waking time, then crashed on their bed. I lay there for an age, and was just beginning to doze off, when Owen began to whimper in the other room. I tiptoed in, and rubbed his back. He woke up from the dream that had been troubling him, "Mommy?" Well, not exactly, but I wasn't about to tell him that. "It's ok," I whispered, hoping that the softness of my voice, coupled with his sleepiness, would fool him. I stood there until his eyes closed again, then tiptoed back to bed.
Emma got up a few whiles later, to use the bathroom. She made more noise, and turned on more lights, than I've ever experienced in the middle of the night. I lay there silently, hoping that she wouldn't take it into her head to visit her parents room. Fortunately my fears were ill-founded, and she went to bed again about five minutes later. That was just long enough to rouse my mind to a state of alertness. I reset my alarm for six o'clock.
My thoughts just began to drift again when my cell phone buzzed. Adam had sent me a text: "Baby here. Healthy." "CONGRATULATIONS!!!" I responded, and had just enough thought space available to be amazed at what a very short labor it had been. Only between two and three hours. I again reset the alarm: 6:30.
Forty-five minutes later, an alarm clock somewhere in the room began to ring. Of course, my first reaction was to reach for my own. That effort feckless, I groped around a bit before finding the other. 5:15. Aargh.
Another forty-five minutes, and I heard the front door unlocking. I had been asleep, but my mind was in such a state of alertness by this point, that I was out of bed before the door was opened. Adam thanked me profusely, and gathered the kids out of bed. We all piled into the car in our PJs, and drove back to my apartment.
Thus commenced my day.
In the wee hours of this morning, sometime between one and two o'clock, Teresa woke me up, "Beth's having the baby, and it's your night. Adam will be over to pick you up in ten minutes." I rolled out of bed, and tried to focus through the fuzziness. That only took a very few seconds, and I was soon stuffing a few random items into a bag, in the likely event that I wouldn't have the chance to return before work later that morning. That accomplished, I made my bed. This, unaccountably, I remember distinctly.
Adam arrived post-haste, whisked me over to their apartment, and then hauled Beth off to the hospital. I reset my alarm to 5:30, one half hour later than my usual waking time, then crashed on their bed. I lay there for an age, and was just beginning to doze off, when Owen began to whimper in the other room. I tiptoed in, and rubbed his back. He woke up from the dream that had been troubling him, "Mommy?" Well, not exactly, but I wasn't about to tell him that. "It's ok," I whispered, hoping that the softness of my voice, coupled with his sleepiness, would fool him. I stood there until his eyes closed again, then tiptoed back to bed.
Emma got up a few whiles later, to use the bathroom. She made more noise, and turned on more lights, than I've ever experienced in the middle of the night. I lay there silently, hoping that she wouldn't take it into her head to visit her parents room. Fortunately my fears were ill-founded, and she went to bed again about five minutes later. That was just long enough to rouse my mind to a state of alertness. I reset my alarm for six o'clock.
My thoughts just began to drift again when my cell phone buzzed. Adam had sent me a text: "Baby here. Healthy." "CONGRATULATIONS!!!" I responded, and had just enough thought space available to be amazed at what a very short labor it had been. Only between two and three hours. I again reset the alarm: 6:30.
Forty-five minutes later, an alarm clock somewhere in the room began to ring. Of course, my first reaction was to reach for my own. That effort feckless, I groped around a bit before finding the other. 5:15. Aargh.
Another forty-five minutes, and I heard the front door unlocking. I had been asleep, but my mind was in such a state of alertness by this point, that I was out of bed before the door was opened. Adam thanked me profusely, and gathered the kids out of bed. We all piled into the car in our PJs, and drove back to my apartment.
Thus commenced my day.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Wet Balloons and Bubbles
Korean has two kinds of stops: the aspirated and the un-aspirated. The later are further categorized as either fortis or lenis. These we studied on the third day of Korean class, which is composed of perhaps sixteen individuals: four Americans, three Japanese, and a smattering of other nationalities.
My fellow American is able to cognize that there is some difference in sound between the aspirated stop its un-aspirated counterpart, but here the cogitation ceases. He aspirates that which is to be left un-aspirated, and in desperate attempt to pronounce distinctly that which is to be aspirated, huffs and puffs and generally blows himself into a state of breathless confusion.
The Japanese, on the other hand, can't aspirate. The only similarity, in fact, between these two antipodal linguistic groups is that of countenance: flushed and strained. Those sounds which the westerner has pronounced like a deflating wet balloon, the easterner pronounces like a bubble popping on a spring day. More pleasant to the offended ear, but no more accurate for it. He, too, hears some distinction. Exactly what that distinction is, he cannot tell. And so his un-aspirated stops are uttered as follows: lenis, fortis, and barricaded casement. His throat contracts. His lips tighten. His fists clench. His entire being is concentrated on the reproduction of that harshness which he hears, while, with an effort diverting to behold, he distinctly pronounces an unadulterated consonant. On more than one occasion I've been forced to lower my gaze in order to hold back the laughter with which my shoulders shake and my eyes water.
Of course, being witness to this little comedy, I'm profoundly grateful for the linguistics training I've had. I have by no means mastered all of the sounds yet, but at least I know what I'm trying for, and look forward to the day when my jaw will cease to ache, and the sounds come fluently.
My fellow American is able to cognize that there is some difference in sound between the aspirated stop its un-aspirated counterpart, but here the cogitation ceases. He aspirates that which is to be left un-aspirated, and in desperate attempt to pronounce distinctly that which is to be aspirated, huffs and puffs and generally blows himself into a state of breathless confusion.
The Japanese, on the other hand, can't aspirate. The only similarity, in fact, between these two antipodal linguistic groups is that of countenance: flushed and strained. Those sounds which the westerner has pronounced like a deflating wet balloon, the easterner pronounces like a bubble popping on a spring day. More pleasant to the offended ear, but no more accurate for it. He, too, hears some distinction. Exactly what that distinction is, he cannot tell. And so his un-aspirated stops are uttered as follows: lenis, fortis, and barricaded casement. His throat contracts. His lips tighten. His fists clench. His entire being is concentrated on the reproduction of that harshness which he hears, while, with an effort diverting to behold, he distinctly pronounces an unadulterated consonant. On more than one occasion I've been forced to lower my gaze in order to hold back the laughter with which my shoulders shake and my eyes water.
Of course, being witness to this little comedy, I'm profoundly grateful for the linguistics training I've had. I have by no means mastered all of the sounds yet, but at least I know what I'm trying for, and look forward to the day when my jaw will cease to ache, and the sounds come fluently.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
For Goodness Sake!
Dear Sister,
I am so tired. I think it would be a good thing if you were here to hug me right now. Then maybe I could cry for a little while, and then things would be all better. Language classes started on Monday, and that makes me crazy. Still not over the head cold, and now I'm battling some sort of intestinal bug. This morning I couldn't find my cell phone for the life of me, and I was so annoyed. I looked everywhere I could think of...including the refrigerator. lol. I finally left home without it, not that it really mattered. This morning class was so difficult. Jeffrey (ADD, if I may so classify) went into a screaming fit, because I tried to take a sticker away from him. I finally sent him out of the room, but it was hard to keep things going after that. And Benjamin wouldn't obey, until I hit him on the head so hard with one of the other kid's pencils that it broke. He was ok after that, but I felt bad about the pencil...of all things. Adam and I took of straight as class ended. Like jetted out of the classroom, grabbing our bags on the way, and walk/jogged 15 minutes to the nearest bus stop. There we waited a good ten minutes for our bus, and ended up arriving at Ewha twenty minutes late. We missed that morning's dictation test, needless to say. After class we ran back outside again, hit the first bus, and took it to SCG, where I proceeded to wolf down lunch (pbj and two boiled eggs) while preparing today's and tomorrow's lessons. Of course kids were missing from both classes this afternoon, and of course today would have been the day I had some more important materials prepared. So I had to put some of that off and improvise. It was ok, but I was glad when it ended. I went back into the office to lock my lap top in its cupboard, but the key's gone. One of the kids took it. I don't know enough Korean to figure out who...so it stays missing. After work, Teresa and I decided to take a cab to E-mart, because I want to get a fleece blanket before it gets really cold. So I spent three bucks on a taxi, but the blankets aren't selling any more. Got home, cleaned up the dog poop on the kitchen floor, looked for my phone for a little bit longer (this time in the trash can), gave up and put on a movie. Teresa got home about an hour later (she and the Dubes had gone out to dinner, which I can't afford to do as often as they do). She knew I had been having kind of a hard day and wanted to cheer me up, so she looked around for my phone for a while too. Where should she find it but in my purse? In the cell phone pocket of my purse, nonetheless. I'm glad it's found, but that just gives you some idea of what kind of state my head's in. I keep my phone in that pocket, for goodness sake! Of course it was there. Oh well. And now I'm eating rice. I realize how much I need to prepare my heart to love God. To be honored by His regard. I'm very sad that I'm not a much better person. "Equilibrium" I said out loud to myself today as I walked through the market. I say things out loud to myself here, because it doesn't matter anyways. People don't stare any more for my odd mumblings, because they can't stare any more. It's obnoxious being such a spectacle. At any rate, I whispered, "equilibrium" because it's such a good word, and I want to have it. But I haven't. I'm like a wave. Caught up in a current to strong for me, and then spit out covered with seaweed. That's an analogy Teresa used the other day, and it fits. Really, not always. Just today. Usually I'm ok. I think what set me off was that Teresa's boyfriend came over the other evening. I went into the room to ask T a question, and they were holding hands. And I was very lonely. Very, very lonely. There's no loneliness like that of being far from all familiarity and those whom you love more than life. But, Sister, I wouldn't trade being here for the world. I was walking to school a few days ago and I realized that, though it's harder on an hour to hour basis, I am so much happier here than I was back in the US. I don't have a good time like I did there, but I have purpose. A sense of belonging, of being, of direction. I am so content to be here, and so eager to learn and to press forward. It's like one part of me is withering up and dying, while the other part is flourishing. It leaves me a little bit confused and lost feeling. Like I mentioned before, 'world' events leave me, to use mild terms, concerned and upset. I know you all don't keep up with what's happening much, but it's kind of unavoidably noticed here, with drills regularly practically shutting down the city. It's a little scary, sometimes. But mostly it just makes me very sad. There is so much sorrow in this big world. I was reassured this morning, though. I read in Isaiah 40, about God measuring the waters in the hollow of His hand. I got up and filled my own cupped hand with water, then just stood there thinking about how very big God is, and me so very small. It was reassuring somehow. My dear sister, I love you so very much. Thank you for letting me share my head. I feel so much better for it. It's bed time. The tummy's doing funny things, and I have to teach tomorrow. Pray for me when you think of it.
me
I am so tired. I think it would be a good thing if you were here to hug me right now. Then maybe I could cry for a little while, and then things would be all better. Language classes started on Monday, and that makes me crazy. Still not over the head cold, and now I'm battling some sort of intestinal bug. This morning I couldn't find my cell phone for the life of me, and I was so annoyed. I looked everywhere I could think of...including the refrigerator. lol. I finally left home without it, not that it really mattered. This morning class was so difficult. Jeffrey (ADD, if I may so classify) went into a screaming fit, because I tried to take a sticker away from him. I finally sent him out of the room, but it was hard to keep things going after that. And Benjamin wouldn't obey, until I hit him on the head so hard with one of the other kid's pencils that it broke. He was ok after that, but I felt bad about the pencil...of all things. Adam and I took of straight as class ended. Like jetted out of the classroom, grabbing our bags on the way, and walk/jogged 15 minutes to the nearest bus stop. There we waited a good ten minutes for our bus, and ended up arriving at Ewha twenty minutes late. We missed that morning's dictation test, needless to say. After class we ran back outside again, hit the first bus, and took it to SCG, where I proceeded to wolf down lunch (pbj and two boiled eggs) while preparing today's and tomorrow's lessons. Of course kids were missing from both classes this afternoon, and of course today would have been the day I had some more important materials prepared. So I had to put some of that off and improvise. It was ok, but I was glad when it ended. I went back into the office to lock my lap top in its cupboard, but the key's gone. One of the kids took it. I don't know enough Korean to figure out who...so it stays missing. After work, Teresa and I decided to take a cab to E-mart, because I want to get a fleece blanket before it gets really cold. So I spent three bucks on a taxi, but the blankets aren't selling any more. Got home, cleaned up the dog poop on the kitchen floor, looked for my phone for a little bit longer (this time in the trash can), gave up and put on a movie. Teresa got home about an hour later (she and the Dubes had gone out to dinner, which I can't afford to do as often as they do). She knew I had been having kind of a hard day and wanted to cheer me up, so she looked around for my phone for a while too. Where should she find it but in my purse? In the cell phone pocket of my purse, nonetheless. I'm glad it's found, but that just gives you some idea of what kind of state my head's in. I keep my phone in that pocket, for goodness sake! Of course it was there. Oh well. And now I'm eating rice. I realize how much I need to prepare my heart to love God. To be honored by His regard. I'm very sad that I'm not a much better person. "Equilibrium" I said out loud to myself today as I walked through the market. I say things out loud to myself here, because it doesn't matter anyways. People don't stare any more for my odd mumblings, because they can't stare any more. It's obnoxious being such a spectacle. At any rate, I whispered, "equilibrium" because it's such a good word, and I want to have it. But I haven't. I'm like a wave. Caught up in a current to strong for me, and then spit out covered with seaweed. That's an analogy Teresa used the other day, and it fits. Really, not always. Just today. Usually I'm ok. I think what set me off was that Teresa's boyfriend came over the other evening. I went into the room to ask T a question, and they were holding hands. And I was very lonely. Very, very lonely. There's no loneliness like that of being far from all familiarity and those whom you love more than life. But, Sister, I wouldn't trade being here for the world. I was walking to school a few days ago and I realized that, though it's harder on an hour to hour basis, I am so much happier here than I was back in the US. I don't have a good time like I did there, but I have purpose. A sense of belonging, of being, of direction. I am so content to be here, and so eager to learn and to press forward. It's like one part of me is withering up and dying, while the other part is flourishing. It leaves me a little bit confused and lost feeling. Like I mentioned before, 'world' events leave me, to use mild terms, concerned and upset. I know you all don't keep up with what's happening much, but it's kind of unavoidably noticed here, with drills regularly practically shutting down the city. It's a little scary, sometimes. But mostly it just makes me very sad. There is so much sorrow in this big world. I was reassured this morning, though. I read in Isaiah 40, about God measuring the waters in the hollow of His hand. I got up and filled my own cupped hand with water, then just stood there thinking about how very big God is, and me so very small. It was reassuring somehow. My dear sister, I love you so very much. Thank you for letting me share my head. I feel so much better for it. It's bed time. The tummy's doing funny things, and I have to teach tomorrow. Pray for me when you think of it.
me
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
God is Excellent
Three months ago today I left home. What a very short space of time, yet how much has happened in it!
Today’s first grade class is still in the foreground of my thoughts. I decided to give my students a sort of pre-test on the same sight-words that we’ve been studying together for the past nine weeks. Poor James, one of my favorites, got eight of the ten wrong. I sighed. “Study, James! Study. Study.” Then I had him read the words back to me. He stumbled over ‘the’, was stumped by ‘to’, then his face crumpled and he burst into tears. I patted his shoulder, “It’s all right.” I’m sure he didn’t understand the words, but my tone was reassuring. He sniffed back his tears, and I helped him to sound out the rest of the list. I’m going to have to think of something ingenious if I don’t want to still be stuck on these same ten words for another two months.
I’m having a hard time getting to sleep again. Once my brain does finally shut down, I sleep like one dead, but usually it takes between three and four hours for me to even get to the drifting off stage. I lie there, not tossing, just limp. My eyes burn and my limbs ache for weariness, waiting for the sleep that will not come. Just waiting for sleep.
On Monday I began language classes at Ewha Woman’s University. Level zero. That’s like Korean preschool. It shouts at me, “How ignorant you are!” I have much to learn, and feel the urgency of it. There’s some amount of pressure, caused by recent developments on this side of the globe. Again, it’s impressed upon me that time is short. Pressure. Always that nagging pressure of a desperate need elsewhere, and I so unqualified to meet it. Sometimes I just want to lay my head down and weep for all the desperate pain and suffering in this world. And yet, as I wrote yesterday in my journal, “God is excellent. Today I read of Him destroying the world with a flood, restoring a destitute man to wealth and honor, winning a battle with zero casualties against impossible odds, and raising a girl from the dead. My God is an extreme master-planner, with limitless mercy, resources, and power at His disposal. How can I be so foolish as to get caught up in these petty concerns and troubles that fill my days? Is He not the same God now that He was then? Ought not my response to impossible difficulties be one of eager excitement as I wait for this unconquerable God Whom I serve to show Himself mighty to the world? God is indeed excellent.”
I’ve still been meeting with the two ladies on Monday. That’s a mixed blessing. Sheena helps me enormously with my Korean, which is heaven and earth to me right now. In return, she practices her English on me. She’s really quite fluent, so I don’t do much but listen. These last three weeks she’s been taking me through the Old Testament, with occasional dips now and again into the New. The topic of study has been the Passover, and how the observation thereof, on its original date, is an essential element of salvation. I will present to her, next week, why I believe that Christ’s death alone is sufficient. I’m persuaded that this won’t in any way cause her to alter her beliefs, so I'm loathe to spend valuable time on such a study. But of course, on such an issue, I can’t keep silent. I can only pray that God will use this in a way unfathomable to myself, as I continue to pursue what seems to me, in light of such afore mentioned persuasion, almost foolish.
The weather has been absolutely lovely lately. Chilly in the mornings, but sweet and balmy once the sun comes up. It makes my heart sing to be alive on such days as these have been. What a miracle nature is!
Please continue to hold me before God. I stand in hourly need of strength and discretion. I’m lately confronted with a sense of my own weakness and incompetence in a way that I’ve never before experienced. I trust that God knows what He’s about, but I do feel so very unqualified for the great task that lies at my door. Pray that He will become my sufficiency.
Missing you all dearly,
Elisabeth
Today’s first grade class is still in the foreground of my thoughts. I decided to give my students a sort of pre-test on the same sight-words that we’ve been studying together for the past nine weeks. Poor James, one of my favorites, got eight of the ten wrong. I sighed. “Study, James! Study. Study.” Then I had him read the words back to me. He stumbled over ‘the’, was stumped by ‘to’, then his face crumpled and he burst into tears. I patted his shoulder, “It’s all right.” I’m sure he didn’t understand the words, but my tone was reassuring. He sniffed back his tears, and I helped him to sound out the rest of the list. I’m going to have to think of something ingenious if I don’t want to still be stuck on these same ten words for another two months.
I’m having a hard time getting to sleep again. Once my brain does finally shut down, I sleep like one dead, but usually it takes between three and four hours for me to even get to the drifting off stage. I lie there, not tossing, just limp. My eyes burn and my limbs ache for weariness, waiting for the sleep that will not come. Just waiting for sleep.
On Monday I began language classes at Ewha Woman’s University. Level zero. That’s like Korean preschool. It shouts at me, “How ignorant you are!” I have much to learn, and feel the urgency of it. There’s some amount of pressure, caused by recent developments on this side of the globe. Again, it’s impressed upon me that time is short. Pressure. Always that nagging pressure of a desperate need elsewhere, and I so unqualified to meet it. Sometimes I just want to lay my head down and weep for all the desperate pain and suffering in this world. And yet, as I wrote yesterday in my journal, “God is excellent. Today I read of Him destroying the world with a flood, restoring a destitute man to wealth and honor, winning a battle with zero casualties against impossible odds, and raising a girl from the dead. My God is an extreme master-planner, with limitless mercy, resources, and power at His disposal. How can I be so foolish as to get caught up in these petty concerns and troubles that fill my days? Is He not the same God now that He was then? Ought not my response to impossible difficulties be one of eager excitement as I wait for this unconquerable God Whom I serve to show Himself mighty to the world? God is indeed excellent.”
I’ve still been meeting with the two ladies on Monday. That’s a mixed blessing. Sheena helps me enormously with my Korean, which is heaven and earth to me right now. In return, she practices her English on me. She’s really quite fluent, so I don’t do much but listen. These last three weeks she’s been taking me through the Old Testament, with occasional dips now and again into the New. The topic of study has been the Passover, and how the observation thereof, on its original date, is an essential element of salvation. I will present to her, next week, why I believe that Christ’s death alone is sufficient. I’m persuaded that this won’t in any way cause her to alter her beliefs, so I'm loathe to spend valuable time on such a study. But of course, on such an issue, I can’t keep silent. I can only pray that God will use this in a way unfathomable to myself, as I continue to pursue what seems to me, in light of such afore mentioned persuasion, almost foolish.
The weather has been absolutely lovely lately. Chilly in the mornings, but sweet and balmy once the sun comes up. It makes my heart sing to be alive on such days as these have been. What a miracle nature is!
Please continue to hold me before God. I stand in hourly need of strength and discretion. I’m lately confronted with a sense of my own weakness and incompetence in a way that I’ve never before experienced. I trust that God knows what He’s about, but I do feel so very unqualified for the great task that lies at my door. Pray that He will become my sufficiency.
Missing you all dearly,
Elisabeth
Sunday, October 15, 2006
No Worse Off for the Wear
Spam. Yep. Processed, over-salted, canned, pork shoulder. It's choice. It's upper-class. As Chusok gifts, SCG went all out, purchasing for each of it's 800 plus employees fifteen packaged cans of delectable Spam.
There's a lot of construction going on in the area. The ninth subway line is being put in right in front of the SCG building. It won't be completed for another two years, which is a shame. But it's fun to watch the workers go. These people don't mess around. I'm amazed at the amount of work that they can accomplish in a very short space of time. Equally amazing is their accompanying sense of propriety and decorum. Between each construction cone is tastefully placed a potted flowering plant.
Feeling sick on Wednesday, and with a pounding head, I desired neither to eat at the school cafeteria nor to fix myself lunch. Kimbop (seaweed, rice, and half dozen vegetables and meat all wrapped together) is one Korean food that I can't get enough of. Sold for only $2.00 a wrap, just around the corner from my apartment, I decided to place an order to go.
I stepped up to the counter, "Kimbop tu. Two kimbop." I said, adding the word for tuna, "ttushe."
"Neh," the counterperson affirmed, "Kimbop tu."
She reached for an ordinary roll of kimbop, without tuna. I stopped her, "Aniyo. Ttushe!"
She looked baffled, leaving me to suppose that I had the wrong word. I was quite certain that I had at least the consonants right, so I tried a different combination of vowels, "Ttusha?"
No luck.
"Tteshu? Ttoshe?"
I was becoming conspicuous. A spectacle. To my mortification, every eye in the entire establishment was now, with intrusive curiosity, gaping up at my chagrined face, and laughing smiles began to show on several of their own.
Ok. Fine. Different consonants. I took a deep breath and, pausing only long enough between each word for her expression to grow more baffled, began again, "Ttuche? Techu? Tashu?"
How supremely exasperating. "Tuna!!!" I finally sputtered, "I just want tuna!"
"Oh!" a laughing voice spoke up from behind, "Tuna. Chamchi."
With some embarrassment, I bowed my gratitude to this helpful individual. Turning to address myself again to the sales clerk, I proceeded with dignified composure, "Chamchi kimbop tu."
Oh well. The hard-earned tuna kimbop tasted delicious, and I had a good laugh with Teresa over the whole episode later, so I'm no worse off for the wear. And I now know how to order tuna.
Every now and again, the kindergarten goes on a class field trip. As their teachers, we Americans are required to go along. I don't mind at all, because we often to go very interesting places, and I get to see some parts of Korea that would otherwise remain a mystery to me. Speaking only English, we have no real responsibilities during these outings. The Korean teachers watch over our little charges, organizing and arranging everything, so we're left on our own to explore to our hearts' content. The first field trip was to a traditional village, where the royal family used to live. That was interesting, and I'll send pictures of that one of these days. The second was to a vineyard, of which I also have a few pictures.
An update on my present situation: I didn't move upstairs on the 28th as expected. Teresa and I still live together in apartment 201. This arrangement is permanent. I was uncertain, at first, about how well we two would get along. But, despite disparity of personality and taste, it's working quite expectedly well. This set up a bonus for me, because this way I'm able to save the money that would otherwise be spent on furnishing an apartment for myself. Teresa doesn't benefit from this arrangement as I do. Exceptionally gracious, she has asked me to stay, thus participating in sending me through school next year. I appreciate her generosity, and we continue to deal famously together.
My mind has lately been quite preoccupied with thoughts of the future. Specifically, how I'm to proceed (both logistically and financially) after I finish language school. The concern is, arguably, premature, but I should like to be directing my time now, in what small ways I can, toward the end at which I eventually hope to arrive. I relish not the prospect of finding myself, three years hence, at a loss as to how to proceed. Even in the midst of these concerns, though, I have been impressed with a deep sense of gratitude for God's trustworthiness. He knows, and is in every way capable and stable. There is such deep rest in that knowledge. I wrote a poem a few days ago that wraps it up pretty well:
This pensive seen upon my mind embossed:
The ruffled surface of a blue-green sea.
Foamy ripples, troubled swellings tossed
Upon the sandy shore, as if to flee
Those restless winds that chafe, and goad, and fret
The ruffled surface of a blue-green sea.
Waves swell and crest against the tempest's threat,
And ache, and sigh, and weep;
And gusty night hours creep;
And yet…the unstirred deep…
Please keep me in your prayers. I don't love God as I ought, and this troubles me. My own communication with Him has been dry lately, and I find myself missing His palpable presence with longing. But, as a dear friend so often reminds me, who am I that I should choose my way? He must use what means He will, be it dryness or discouragement or loneliness, in order to bring me to where I ought to be. And, in loving me as He does, He surely partakes of my weariness. What deep love, then, must compel Him to allow me to struggle, while His own heart weeps with mine. His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
I love you dearly,
Elisabeth
There's a lot of construction going on in the area. The ninth subway line is being put in right in front of the SCG building. It won't be completed for another two years, which is a shame. But it's fun to watch the workers go. These people don't mess around. I'm amazed at the amount of work that they can accomplish in a very short space of time. Equally amazing is their accompanying sense of propriety and decorum. Between each construction cone is tastefully placed a potted flowering plant.
Feeling sick on Wednesday, and with a pounding head, I desired neither to eat at the school cafeteria nor to fix myself lunch. Kimbop (seaweed, rice, and half dozen vegetables and meat all wrapped together) is one Korean food that I can't get enough of. Sold for only $2.00 a wrap, just around the corner from my apartment, I decided to place an order to go.
I stepped up to the counter, "Kimbop tu. Two kimbop." I said, adding the word for tuna, "ttushe."
"Neh," the counterperson affirmed, "Kimbop tu."
She reached for an ordinary roll of kimbop, without tuna. I stopped her, "Aniyo. Ttushe!"
She looked baffled, leaving me to suppose that I had the wrong word. I was quite certain that I had at least the consonants right, so I tried a different combination of vowels, "Ttusha?"
No luck.
"Tteshu? Ttoshe?"
I was becoming conspicuous. A spectacle. To my mortification, every eye in the entire establishment was now, with intrusive curiosity, gaping up at my chagrined face, and laughing smiles began to show on several of their own.
Ok. Fine. Different consonants. I took a deep breath and, pausing only long enough between each word for her expression to grow more baffled, began again, "Ttuche? Techu? Tashu?"
How supremely exasperating. "Tuna!!!" I finally sputtered, "I just want tuna!"
"Oh!" a laughing voice spoke up from behind, "Tuna. Chamchi."
With some embarrassment, I bowed my gratitude to this helpful individual. Turning to address myself again to the sales clerk, I proceeded with dignified composure, "Chamchi kimbop tu."
Oh well. The hard-earned tuna kimbop tasted delicious, and I had a good laugh with Teresa over the whole episode later, so I'm no worse off for the wear. And I now know how to order tuna.
Every now and again, the kindergarten goes on a class field trip. As their teachers, we Americans are required to go along. I don't mind at all, because we often to go very interesting places, and I get to see some parts of Korea that would otherwise remain a mystery to me. Speaking only English, we have no real responsibilities during these outings. The Korean teachers watch over our little charges, organizing and arranging everything, so we're left on our own to explore to our hearts' content. The first field trip was to a traditional village, where the royal family used to live. That was interesting, and I'll send pictures of that one of these days. The second was to a vineyard, of which I also have a few pictures.
An update on my present situation: I didn't move upstairs on the 28th as expected. Teresa and I still live together in apartment 201. This arrangement is permanent. I was uncertain, at first, about how well we two would get along. But, despite disparity of personality and taste, it's working quite expectedly well. This set up a bonus for me, because this way I'm able to save the money that would otherwise be spent on furnishing an apartment for myself. Teresa doesn't benefit from this arrangement as I do. Exceptionally gracious, she has asked me to stay, thus participating in sending me through school next year. I appreciate her generosity, and we continue to deal famously together.
My mind has lately been quite preoccupied with thoughts of the future. Specifically, how I'm to proceed (both logistically and financially) after I finish language school. The concern is, arguably, premature, but I should like to be directing my time now, in what small ways I can, toward the end at which I eventually hope to arrive. I relish not the prospect of finding myself, three years hence, at a loss as to how to proceed. Even in the midst of these concerns, though, I have been impressed with a deep sense of gratitude for God's trustworthiness. He knows, and is in every way capable and stable. There is such deep rest in that knowledge. I wrote a poem a few days ago that wraps it up pretty well:
This pensive seen upon my mind embossed:
The ruffled surface of a blue-green sea.
Foamy ripples, troubled swellings tossed
Upon the sandy shore, as if to flee
Those restless winds that chafe, and goad, and fret
The ruffled surface of a blue-green sea.
Waves swell and crest against the tempest's threat,
And ache, and sigh, and weep;
And gusty night hours creep;
And yet…the unstirred deep…
Please keep me in your prayers. I don't love God as I ought, and this troubles me. My own communication with Him has been dry lately, and I find myself missing His palpable presence with longing. But, as a dear friend so often reminds me, who am I that I should choose my way? He must use what means He will, be it dryness or discouragement or loneliness, in order to bring me to where I ought to be. And, in loving me as He does, He surely partakes of my weariness. What deep love, then, must compel Him to allow me to struggle, while His own heart weeps with mine. His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
I love you dearly,
Elisabeth
Friday, October 06, 2006
Disjointed Thoughts
Well, here we are at the sixth of October already, and three days into Chusok. The first was spent in a lachrymose manner, battling both boredom and a cold. The two days following, having lost the battle, found my head in that unfocused state of dull pain, able neither to stay awake, nor to sleep, and with absolutely zero powers of concentration. I spent most of yesterday wrapped in a very comfortable blanket thinking a thought that, remarkably enough, didn't become disordered with the conception thereof: "This won't last forever. It never does." And sure enough, it hasn't. This evening I feel a little better than last, though my head is still somewhat woozy, and my voice quite rough. I'm happy for tomorrows, because with them end all the long todays.
But enough. I must complete a story. On Thursday, as prearranged, I joined the two ladies mentioned in my last email for lunch. This was an interesting hour. During the first half I was asked to define the word 'non-denominational'. That was a challenge. Just as I felt that Sheena, the more fluent of the two, might be understanding, she interrupted with, "Ah, like Mormons?" Oh boy! Time to start over.
That word finally clarified, she began to present to me the Gospel story via the Passover analogy. Though this was, of course, not new to me, I listened politely, nodding at appropriate intervals. Sometimes she seemed to belabor a point. I eventually associated her inclination thus with my 'mhmmm's, and began to let my tone drop rather than raise. After that things moved on more quickly. Just at the apex of her presentation, she asked, "Do you know where the Passover was celebrated in the New Testament?" I replied that Jesus was recorded to have celebrated it with His disciples just before His death. At this response she was utterly taken aback. "How did you know that?!" I, also, was taken aback, and there we both sat. It took her a moment to regroup her thoughts and continue, and from that point I made a mental note to answer no more questions.
My time with them, both amusing and confounding, passed quickly. I left with a very interesting bit of information tucked away in my head. Sheena has just completed a course in which she was trained to teach Korean to foreigners.
The following Wednesday we met at a park, but only for a very short amount of time. Only long enough, in fact, to arrange to meet for an hour every Monday. One half hour of English practice for her, then an equal amount of Korean lessons for me. I am, needless to say, quite thrilled about this.
On Saturdays I teach forty-five minutes away, on the fourth floor of the school building. In the elevator, the buttons to each floor are marked respectively '1' '2' '3' 'F'. This curious discrepancy led, of course, to questions. The answer is confusing. The English word for 4, 'four', sounds remarkably similar to the Chinese word for death. To say this word, therefore, is a bad omen. A superstitious American won't walk under ladders, spill salt, or break a mirror. A superstitious Korean won't write his name in red, leave his chopsticks sticking up in his rice, or (heaven forbid!) say 'four', unless engaged in English conversation. But why the symbol 'F' is found less offensive than the symbol '4' (which, of itself, carries no particularly evil associations), is a mystery to me. Oh well.
I must go. My thoughts feel quite disjointed. My ears are ringing, and my eyes beginning to ache.
I am doing well, my family. I know that God completes those undertakings which He begins, and take the greatest comfort in His absolute control. I indeed serve a great and marvelous God.
Keep me in your prayers,
Elisabeth
But enough. I must complete a story. On Thursday, as prearranged, I joined the two ladies mentioned in my last email for lunch. This was an interesting hour. During the first half I was asked to define the word 'non-denominational'. That was a challenge. Just as I felt that Sheena, the more fluent of the two, might be understanding, she interrupted with, "Ah, like Mormons?" Oh boy! Time to start over.
That word finally clarified, she began to present to me the Gospel story via the Passover analogy. Though this was, of course, not new to me, I listened politely, nodding at appropriate intervals. Sometimes she seemed to belabor a point. I eventually associated her inclination thus with my 'mhmmm's, and began to let my tone drop rather than raise. After that things moved on more quickly. Just at the apex of her presentation, she asked, "Do you know where the Passover was celebrated in the New Testament?" I replied that Jesus was recorded to have celebrated it with His disciples just before His death. At this response she was utterly taken aback. "How did you know that?!" I, also, was taken aback, and there we both sat. It took her a moment to regroup her thoughts and continue, and from that point I made a mental note to answer no more questions.
My time with them, both amusing and confounding, passed quickly. I left with a very interesting bit of information tucked away in my head. Sheena has just completed a course in which she was trained to teach Korean to foreigners.
The following Wednesday we met at a park, but only for a very short amount of time. Only long enough, in fact, to arrange to meet for an hour every Monday. One half hour of English practice for her, then an equal amount of Korean lessons for me. I am, needless to say, quite thrilled about this.
On Saturdays I teach forty-five minutes away, on the fourth floor of the school building. In the elevator, the buttons to each floor are marked respectively '1' '2' '3' 'F'. This curious discrepancy led, of course, to questions. The answer is confusing. The English word for 4, 'four', sounds remarkably similar to the Chinese word for death. To say this word, therefore, is a bad omen. A superstitious American won't walk under ladders, spill salt, or break a mirror. A superstitious Korean won't write his name in red, leave his chopsticks sticking up in his rice, or (heaven forbid!) say 'four', unless engaged in English conversation. But why the symbol 'F' is found less offensive than the symbol '4' (which, of itself, carries no particularly evil associations), is a mystery to me. Oh well.
I must go. My thoughts feel quite disjointed. My ears are ringing, and my eyes beginning to ache.
I am doing well, my family. I know that God completes those undertakings which He begins, and take the greatest comfort in His absolute control. I indeed serve a great and marvelous God.
Keep me in your prayers,
Elisabeth
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